It seems to me a crime that we should age
These fragile times should never slip us by
A time you never can or shall erase
As friends together watch their childhood fly
- Bernie Taupin © 1970

On my last trip home I saw Mr. Reed taking his evening stroll up the street as he does most every evening; this time aided by two crutches.

I’m in a curious situation having bought a house a few years ago in the neighborhood where I grew up – right across the street from my Dad. Most of the people I knew as a kid have long since abandoned the neighborhood for greener pastures, though there remain a few stalwarts.

Mr. Reed lives on the corner with his wife and for all I know, they have lived there forever. Their white house was always one of the better kept homes in the neighborhood. There was nothing at all fancy about it. Its attraction was that it looked and felt like a home and not just a house.

I remember well how the neighborhood gang would cut through their yard walking to and from school every day. That route didn’t shave much off our journey but the Reed’s yard had in it the biggest, most fruitful buckeye tree in the known world.

The Reed’s never spoke an unkind word to us for the path we must surely have beat across the corner of their yard. And picking up a handful of shiny buckeyes on every pass just became a ritual. I remember having several shoeboxes full of them one year, but for the life of me, I don’t remember what we actually did with them.

Mr. Reed is ninety years old now and I imagine walking up and down the road once a day his only real activity and he’s definitely slowing down. The couple spends a lot of time on their front porch and it’s impossible for me or Brenda to pull out of the neighborhood without the Reed’s giving us a friendly wave as we pass.

I’m going to miss that when they are gone; but I don’t suppose I will ever forget the Reed’s.

Their lifelong friendliness and good cheer has etched a place in our hearts that’s more memorable than any tombstone that can be purchased. And every time we turn that corner I intend to remember them and that buckeye tree with a warm smile.