I didn’t cry when I first heard. Not because I didn’t like the quiet, shy, gentle tail of the 7-kid monster that used to roar through my house almost nightly.
 
I did like him.
 
I hadn’t been in his orbit in a little over 10 years, when I moved out of a golden era enclave that I still look back on with gratitude dented by a wistful, sad nostalgia. Back then, our single block radius had sprouted parents with kids all the same ages, and bikes and skateboards littered the oceanfront street for about a decade. The gentle break out front saw every single one of them learn to surf. 
 
I witnessed, engaged in, and somewhat enabled their idyllic childhood, and at that time, hadn’t yet started wondering why I didn’t have my own hellion child to contribute. I think one reason was that those neighborhood groms were around literally all the time, so my kid cup was already pretty full. 
 
As they moved through their wonder years together, wreaking joyous havoc on our beach town ecosystem, that shy kid was the even keel, the steady calm in a hurricane of 6 other decidedly non-programmed kids. I don’t think a single one participated in ‘official’ team sports…they were too busy harvesting lobsters and fishing for tuna and breaking arms on the skate ramp one parent had built in his garage. They were a different kind of team, I guess.
 
And even in those early days, I saw my childhood self in him. Not just because he was smaller than everybody else. I was sort of cute-ish in my long-since irretrievable past, and he had the same blonde hair and big blue eyes as I did. I still have the blue eyes. The hair color situation these days, however, would best be considered fluid.
 
I ran slightly behind the pack, just like he did. Until I didn’t. And as he got older, he found a quiet mastery in almost everything he embraced. He was generally the best at whatever he did, from surfing to music to ceramics, but he didn’t need you to know.
 
Quiet walk, big stick.
 
Which is how I see myself in my better moments, except I think he probably walked quieter and carried a bigger stick than me. 
 
We were cut from the same cloth.
 
So I was beyond confused as to why he made the choice he did.
 
Which is probably why I didn’t cry when I first heard.
 
Doesn’t mean I didn’t.