It happened on a Sunday at 10 o’clock am mass. The eight grade students were all in attendance celebrating their graduation. I turned my head to give a look and one of the boys, when I saw his face, jolted a memory. His long blonde hair, small nose, fair skin and slender body reminded me of my best friend forever when I was in grammar school. I am guessing I was eight and he was 10.
I really loved him like a brother and maybe I even had a young crush on him, too. He always stood up for me when the other kids on the block were making fun of me. He was my protector and wouldn’t let anyone bully me. We’d play all kinds of games on the street with the other kids, and he would always pick me.
We played Ringolevio which consisted of two teams. One team would run away and hide, and the other team would head out to find them and put them in “jail.” When all the opposing team members were in “jail,” the other team would win.
We also played stickball. It was played like baseball except you would use a long wooden stick, like an old broom stick and a pinsey pink ball because they bounced the highest. Two teams would play against each other and the team with the most runs would win.
Marbles were always a popular game and was set up on somebody’s grass. A bunch of kids would dig a hole about five feet away from where they were standing. The kid that got the most marbles in the hole by rolling them across the grass won.
Everyone played flashlight tag! The excitement of it was that you played after dark. One team hid and the other team searched for those hiding with a flashlight. When the entire team was found the game was began again with new teams members.
I played all of these games and more and with the help of my best friend forever, I always got picked first.
My best ever friend was also very funny and always made me laugh.
When I was growing up, my father would always come up with something he needed from the store on a Sunday. He would insist that I go to the deli for him. There was only one, shabby, run down deli that was opened illegally on Sundays. The owner was a bent over little man who had a voice that sounded like gravel was stuck in his throat when he talked. He also had an accent so he was hard to understand and he was extra mean to kids. I dreaded going there but I dreaded my father more.
To make my Sunday visits to the deli more bearable, my best friend, my protector, would always perform these hysterically funny skits about the scary deli man. They were so funny they made me laugh until my stomach hurt. My friend could even make his voice sound like the deli man’s and he would walk around all hunched over. My friend was a master at imitating grown-ups or kids that bothered me or hurt my feelings.
As we moved up through different schools, we lost touch with each other. I remember how much I missed him when I didn’t see him anymore. I was lucky to have a friend like him.
Ellen
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