By Rosie Moore
A dear friend of mine passed away a few days ago. He was not a “boyfriend” but he was a boy and a friend. He was seven years older than me and had a car. I was around fourteen when I met him at church. He would pick me up and bring me home again after services. He loved to have long conversations with my grandmother. The precious memories cascade through my mind when I think of him.
One summer he took my grandmother and me to Atlantic City to visit relatives. We walked the boardwalk and sat on the benches and watched the people walk by.
He took me for a boat ride, on a long boat that could accommodate around six people and soared over the ocean waves. How thrilling!
He took me to see a horse jump into a pool on the Steel Pier, which was a big attraction back in those days. We would have seafood dinners around midnight on the balcony of the boarding house where we stayed and where a lighthouse loomed over us directly across the street. We walked on the beach and he took pictures of our journey.
He took me on my first airplane ride on my sixteenth birthday. He was a licensed pilot. A scary but thrilling escapade. He taught me to believe I could do anything if I put my mind to it.
When there were three foot snow drifts on the side of the road he would turn the car lights off and drive with a full moon lighting our way. A fabulous winter picture.
He took my grandmother to my graduation so she could see me get my diploma (she was an invalid in a wheel chair).
We were not “boyfriend and girlfriend” per se, but best friends. He married a lovely lady and she also became my best friend.
Remember the movie, “When Harry Met Sally”? Harry declared that men and women could not be just “best friends.” He was wrong. My friend is proof of that.
Thought of the day: Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer. Anonymous
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