My parents were involved in a babysitting co-op when I was little. Frustrated young stay-at-homes hither and yon would drop their kids off at similar spawner's houses on a rotating basis - pay wasn't involved, just co-op dues, and for 70s and 80s mothers who were married to teachers (ie, my mother; ie, broke) this was heaven on earth. It freaks me slightly to realize all the parents involved in that co-op back then? Well, they were all around my age now.
So through my mother, who's still in ye ole hometown, I tend to know whats happened to the co-op children- even twentyish years later. The parents have stayed, if not best of friends, at least social; they send Christmas cards, that sort of thing.
One family in the co-op had three sons and lived down the street- one son was my age and another was my brother's age, so I recall spending a lot of time at their house. Then there was the oldest- a really quiet kid who was into skateboarding. I think I had a crush on him when I was seven.
The last time I saw him was 10+ years ago, when he came to my HS art class to talk about being a graphic designer. I don't think I talked to him, (What do you say? "hi, uh, remember that time we built a tree fort behind your house? no? oh.") but I remember his visit. To this day, I partially blame him for a career choice that didn't seem to work out. I also partially blame him for a short fascination in college with Transworld. Everyone has someone like him. He never knew some 8-year old kid in pigtails thought about him years later, as an angsty 21 year old art major.
He was a pretty incredible designer, I'm sure a good son, and an odd little flash-in-the-pan influence on my life. For anyone who read DC Pulse, or who took the time to look at club flyers thrust in your hand on Adams-Morgan corners, you probably knew his work.
Sidenote: I have answered my sweet share of phone calls this year that start "I have some bad news..." I'm done, okay? 2005, you have a little time left to redeem yourself. Get on it.