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 I Remember..... I remember the kid next door with whom I grew up, a short and stocky lad named Donald Meaux. Did I say stocky? A modern day Pillsbury Dough Boy with high top sneakers and knee high-socks is a more accurate description. He has been my next door neighbor for more than eighteen years. We met as most children do through the friendship of our parents. Our fathers shared cold beers in the evening, …

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…years and had what was probably the most interesting conversation the two of us have ever had. Is this not ironic? For years we lived so close physically, yet so far apart socially. We lived next door to each other, but could not stop by each other’s house just to talk. Only when one of us moved far away to college did we find it in ourselves to once again visit with each other.