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 sa...