Good Friends

Randy and I met in fifth grade; he was the new kid in town and I was in the "cool

group." So naturally "the group" chose a person, me, to check out the new kid's

credentials. We talked about his other school and his hobbies, a baseball fan: right here

he was a hit. One thing was different about him: he was African-American. I thought he

was cool and so did some of the other "cool" kids, but some thought that he was too

different. Right here, I knew that he was never going to make it in the popular crowd.

One day, my best friend and I decided to visit Randy; he lived right down the

street from me so it was no big deal. We rang the doorbell and Randy let us in; his father

worked at night, so he was there also. We were introduced to his dad, the coolest guy,

and decided to go to the park. Randy told us that he had really appreciated us coming by,

because he thought that no one liked him. I hate to say that it was true, but it was; of

course, we completely lied and told him that everyone thought he was cool. I knew we

couldn't tell him the truth, it would break the poor kid. As time passed we became very

good friends, and to my surprise he did become popular.

Randy was one of those kids who was good at everything, especially basketball;

I, on the other hand, was not. So one day, I went to his house and we played basketball.

Actually, we really didn't play basketball at all, he taught me the game.

He patiently taught me all the moves; the cool thing was I began to enjoy the game.

Randy would not move on to a new skill unless I had completely perfected the one

before. It was the first time someone actually forced me to learn a game, and because of

this I grew to love it. As a matter of fact, I would go to his house after school every day

and he would teach me a little more; I was anxious to learn what he would teach me next.

I was becoming a real pro.

There was just one problem, I couldn't really keep up with him, because I had

very bad Asthma. It affected me in every way, I couldn't run as quick and I would get

tired easily, but he would push me to my limits. I can remember it was near the end of

fifth grade, and in gym we had to run the mile. So as usual, I decided to walk behind

everyone else. Randy saw me doing this and stopped, so I could catch up with him. He

looked at me and said, "Come on, Locks we'll run this one together." I just looked at

him and laughed. So he then went behind me, and started pushing me. I got the picture

and started to run.

While we were running, we talked. Randy told me about moving away soon,

because his mother was offered a new job for better money. I was furious at what I was

hearing. I told him he shouldn't move because he had just started to fit in, and