August 22, 2006

• I remember him best in the 6th grade, eleven years old and confident beyond his years. His hazel eyes were clear, looking into yours unflinchingly.  He received praise or criticism without pride or shame.  He was a leader in his peer group, but he lead with the natural grace of a born leader.  In a school of mostly rich kids, his family was of modest means. Even at his early age, he would work with his father to help pay his tuition. In my mind, I called him a prince. Everything about him spoke of nobility.

  From his parents I learned that when they prayed at dinner, he prayed for the children who had no food. He earnestly prayed that they would have food to eat. He asked deep questions about why they suffered while he didn’t and why were there wars and dishonest leaders. He never snubbed the younger students as some did, but joked with them and taught them how to shoot baskets. He was an excellent basketball player and we all looked forward to watching him in high school. I think he was universally loved by all.

  That summer he moved.  I only heard snippets of information about him.  He was going to a target high school for advanced students. The family had quit going to church. Recently, I learned that he’d quit college and was a bartender.

  I would love to look into those deep hazel eyes again and ask, “Where are you?”

  • 10:53 pm
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