It might have been third grade or second, we went on a field trip over to Bobby Clark's house to see his dad's motorcycle. His dad, also Bobby Clark, was a motorcycle policeman.
It was actually a very exciting thing for us, at least for me. Who didn't love a field trip? And there was something very special about knowing someone whose dad was a policeman. A motorcycle policeman, better yet. But, I mean, we were 7 or 8 years old.
Bobby and I were friends from kindergarten on. We graduated together and see each other at high school reunions. That's not very often, you know. Still friends, though.
Time was he liked me, as in "liked" me. And some people used to say things like we should go together, whatever that meant back then. You know, a friend of his would come up to me and say, "Bob likes you." Okay. I'm sure I thought it was nice. Was I supposed to do something? Sure, I liked him, but . . . And all this was before junior high even.
Some time in high school Bob Clark and Edna Cobb became a couple, which is what they are to this very minute.
Bob was athletic, smart, good looking, polite, honest. Know what I mean? A very good boy.
It's not as if we have kept in touch over the 50 years since high school, but when we see each other we know each other.
And I like him, not as in "like."
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