Well, he’s not little anymore, but he was at the time. When I was fourteen, Jay was six years old. He was a well-mannered little kid with curly red hair, a face full of freckles and an easy smile. As a matter of fact, he could even cook a full breakfast for himself, at six years old!

His mother worked odd hours, which usually left him on his own most of the time, so Jay learned early on to do for self. After I discovered he was an only child, I became his unofficial big brother and he treated me as such.

One day, I saw him as he was going to the neighborhood convenience store. I spotted him walking at a quick pace in my direction. I was on my way to the tennis court to practice my game.

Calling out to him as I always did, I shouted, “How’s it going, Jay?”

He yelled back, “Fine, but I can’t talk right now because I have to go to the store for my mom.”

After we had made it within a few feet of each other, I noticed something was in his hair that made it look all matted together.

I inquired, “Jay, what’s that in your hair?”

His response was, “Nothing…I can’t talk right now or I’ll get in trouble. I have to go to the store for my mom.”

He started to cry.

I called out, “Jay what’s wrong?”

Once again, his reply was the same.

“Nothing.”

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