I’ll give you one guess who was the most popular kid in Carl Sandburg Elementary school in Springfield, Illinois from August 1983 through October 1987. Here’s a hint, I’m probably the only person you know who attended that school during those years.Ding, ding, ding. You’re right! I was the most popular kid in school during those years. From the time I started kindergarten until I moved away in fourth grade, I was Mr. Popularity.One day in first grade, when we were running outside to start recess, I fell on the blacktop. The coolest fourth grader in the school stopped running and came over to see if I was okay. Another time during recess, I was on the ground as six or seven third grade girls kicked me. Out of respect and kindness. Seriously. It wasn’t bullying. They just really liked me. (Elementary school’s weird, yo!) Want an e-mail every time I write something new? Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want. 
During my time at Sandburg, I made quite a few friends. After all, that’s what popular kids do. After I moved away, I lost touch with all of them. In recent years, thanks to the miracle of Facebook, and me returning to the school for the ceremony opening a time capsule twenty-five years after it was planted, I’ve reconnected with a couple of friends. I haven’t talked to Sam much, but Stephen and I correspond every now and then, and I’m very thankful to know what he’s up to.There’s one other kid who I’ve wondered about for the twenty-eight years since I moved away from Springfield. His name was Devon. I don’t remember his last name. All I remember is he pronounced his name Duh-von, as opposed to Dev-in, which is how I’ve always heard Devon pronounced since then.Devon lived in my neighborhood, and we rode the bus together for a few years. I vividly remember sitting in the front seat of the bus with him when we were in kindergarten and trying to hide from the bus driver.As we grew older, Devon and I stayed close. We sat next to each other on the bus, played together at school, and ran around the neighborhood together. He was great at tetherball, and we always had fun goofing off in gym class.At the time, Sandburg Elementary was tremendously diverse, although it never occurred to us. I was a white kid, and Devon was black, and I had a bunch of other black friends, but I can’t ever remember thinking this was unusual. When we moved to northwest Indiana and I went to a new school and saw only white kids I actually asked a kid on my first day of school, “Where are all the black kids?”That’s the first time it occurred to me that maybe not every school was like Sandburg.I’ve thought of Devon often since then. I have no idea if he was a good student. I don’t ever remember going to his house, so I don’t know what his family was like. All I remember is that he was funny, he was nice, and he kicked ass at every game we played.I often wonder what he’s doing today. We’ve lived a long time since we last saw each other. So many life experiences, so much growth, so many opportunities. But also so many chances for hardships, so many obstacles to overcome, so many chances to take a wrong turn. I’d love to know which path Devon ended up on. I hope it’s a good one.As much as I wish I could talk to Devon, I take some comfort in the fact that I can’t talk to him. Knowing the reality of how he turned out might disappoint me. What if he’s a jerk? What if he’s in prison? I think I’d rather not know, and just assume he’s living a great, noble, fulfilling life.I’ve seen how some childhood friendships devolve over decades, and I’d prefer that Devon and I remain nine-years-old in my mind forever. That way I don’t have to wonder how he’ll betray me, or witness the pitiful disassembling of his priorities. I won’t grow to be sickened just by hearing his name, or seeing his face. I won’t wonder how we ever became friends in the first place, or how I could be so dumb to think him worthy of my friendship, my time or even my scorn.He won’t end up the focus of the only thing worse than hatred: indifference.I wonder about Devon all the time. And I’m perfectly happy to just keep wondering.This was was written as part of ChicagoNow's monthly writing exercise, in which we're given a topic and have one hour in which to write a post. Tonight's topic: "Write about a friend or acquaintance from your childhood with whom you’ve lost touch"PREVIOUS POST: Take Your Kids to the ParkIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: I Wish I Could Live my Kids' Dreams+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++