Rick

The morning of the first day of first grade, I sat there on the edge of that big bus seat watching the last minutes of summer zip by the window when the kid in the seat next to me did something I'll never forget; he opened up his lunch box and started eating his sandwich.  I couldn’t believe it.  I sat in amazement.  Never mind that he won’t have anything to eat at lunch, there wasn’t enough bus ride left for him to be able to finish it.  It was a moral and logistical nightmare!  I couldn’t contain myself another moment, and piped up.

“You better put that away - we’re almost there!”  

He seemed a little stunned by the news, looked around and said “We are?”, but then grasped the realness of the situation, and packed up his sandwich posthaste.  I respected that move.  He wasn’t reckless. He was just hungry.

That was the first thing I ever said to my best friend, Rick.  A guy so effortlessly cool, he could eat his lunch on the bus.  A kid who, by age 13, was as smooth with the ladies as anyone I’ve ever met to this day.  He was so even-keeled and just generally seemed to have it all figured out, and we never had anything but fun.  He was 1000 times better at Asteroids® than me (he hit the FIRE button with a blazingly fast two-finger drumroll) and he could always outrun me no matter how hard I tried, but that’s what you want.  You need something to aspire to and Rick was it.  You know that thing about how you never want to be the smartest or even the coolest guy in the room?  Well if Rick was in the room, don’t worry - you weren’t.  

I remember the last time I saw him, he was playing baseball and his dad was cheering him on from the 3rd base line.  “Hey Rico! Just throw it!” he shouted.  "He’s not gonna hit it!”  That was met with slight admonishment from the 3rd base coach but pretty much rolled right off - it wasn’t enough to quell Dad’s enthusiasm.  Cheers for “Rico!” kept coming, and Rico delivered.  

Details of that one weekend I spent in Marlboro, NY in 1982 remain permanently sealed, but it remains one of my strongest memories.  I moved away soon after and we ultimately fell out of touch.  About five years later he was murdered. 

Thanks, Rick.  You were the best, buddy.  Happy Birthday.