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I have to write this, though it is not quite 40 years after the fact. It is appropriate for Memorial Day. Do you remember the home run you hit, back in '62; the one that bounced off your Dad's work van? I do, and I remember you and Johnny beating us everytime we played, 'cause it was always us (the little kids) against the bigger kids. Those were great times, even when I got mowed down at First everytime I tried to block the base. You taught me a lot about baseball, and unfortunately, one of the saddest lessons I learned as a child. I saw your picture in the paper one day, and before I read the caption, I showed it to my mother, bragging about how my friend's picture was in the paper. My mom knew what it was, though, and didn't share my enthusiasm. She explained to me that it meant that we wouldn't be playing together anymore. It's a funny thing, the human mind. Sometimes we forget the most recent events, but remember those things that we wish we could forget. After all these years, dear friend, I still have that picture indelibly etched in memory. I have come to cherish it, by the way. The only thing I cannot do is visit the Wall. I would rather remember your picture from the paper than your engraved name on a piece of cold stone. For me, you still live on in my memory and will always be playing baseball on that corner lot in Nacogdoches, TX, and waiting for the others to join you. Someday, my friend, someday.
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