﻿ 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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showed last 75 words of 766 total
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.