I lost another influential person from my childhood this week.
My parents’ good friend – the man who stood up at my christening and agreed to be my Godfather – passed away.
My Uncle Virg and Aunt Grace lived five doors up from us in that neighborhood of post-war bungalows. It was a railroad town and every man on our side of the street worked for the railroad.
In the 60s, when my parents were best friends with them, we did everything together. Our families celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, homecomings from Vietnam for their older military sons and weekend bar-b-ques.
There isn’t an old 8mm home movie we have that doesn’t include them.
But it wasn’t all play; when our parents wanted to renovate or expand our little bungalows, the other family was there.