My friend Rico is dead. A car struck him as he walked along a busy road the other night. The force of the impact knocked him out of his shoes, and he died instantly.

Rico was a true friend, but what I call an occasional friend. By this, I mean, I saw him just about every day, but we didn’t really socialize.

He was the dishwasher at my Pub; the Pub I frequented on a daily basis in another city. He was a good man with a huge heart and soul. He was always ready to help me with anything…moving furniture or washing windows, it didn’t matter. He was always there; he wanted to be there.

Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had were with Rico. Everything was “black and white” with him…he played no games…he was what he was, and was proud of it. He had no formal education…he was raised on the streets, but he knew right from wrong, and he knew the truth. He was a great guy.

As I look back, I now realize, when I gave him a Titanium Buck for Christmas one year, it sealed the deal. Rico liked a nice blade. It wasn’t the knife though; it was the thought. He never received anything, from anybody, ever. When he gave me a Christmas present several days after Christmas, I knew they were the gifts someone had given him. What do you say to that? I’ll tell you what…nothing. I graciously accepted them, and choked back my emotions. Rico was all about “the good”.

Rico my friend, I’m going to miss you.

God rest your soul.