This reminds me of someththat I wish I had still forgotten.
When I was in elementary school my best friend in the world was the son of the Hispanic Baptist minister. We had just been picked to play LL baseball together. His fathers church was across the street from our little 3 room house and their parsonage was one block down. Being best friends with a Hispanic kid was pretty much frowned upon back then.He had a large family, 8 brothers and sisters all of whom were great people. I awoke one Saturday morning with my dad telling me he needed to have a serious talk with me. Turns out the pastor and his whole family had gone to a Baptist conference in San Antonio Friday night and on the way back had been hit head on by some asshole driving on the wrong side of the road. Everyone was killed except my friend, and his next older brother. I refused to believe it and rode my bicycle to their house. I sat on their front porch waiting for them, crying and praying until dark when my father finally convinced me to come home. I saw his brother Alex at Alto Frio Baptist encampment a few years later. He was severely handicapped, unable to ever use his legs again. I never saw my best friend Ricky again. It reminds me of the Eagles song, End of The Innocence, because mine damn sure died that day.
Ricky, Alex, if you're still out there, I love you guys...