A kid I knew died a few days ago.

I met Frank going into the sixth grade. That was some time ago, so my memory is hazy. I'd been going to private schools until then (well, the "classroom" in my church's basement with some of the other parishioners' kids). For whatever reason a 12-year old doesn't get, I had to switch to public school. Otherwise I probably would have known Frank a lot sooner.

Frank was the other really smart kid. I recall that he was the smartest kid in the class, and I felt I had to keep up. Sometimes I'd do better on the weekly spelling or math quizzes, sometimes he would. It came out later that Frank thought the same of me; that I was the smartest kid and he felt he had to keep up. I'm happy to share that long-ago spotlight.

We lived on the same street, about five or six blocks apart. I have a crappy memory, so too much of my childhood is gone. I just remember there was a span where we were pretty much a duo.

I remember we worked together to earn some money by raking the lawns between our houses. We did pretty good, too. I remember he thought giraffes were the coolest animals, and also liked seahorses. He wanted to become a veterinarian to help animals, and I wanted to be an ichthyologist to study them.

Too many snatches of memories, incomplete after all of these years. We were crossing guards at the school, and I remember getting to go to the then new amusement park Valley Fair. Frank was dreadfully fearful of the ferris wheel, but went on it anyway. It's the only picture I have of him.

I recall being the top dorks in junior high school. Top of the class, kind of dorks, not socially inept kind of dorks. We were kind of normal that way. I remember believing everyone liked us, 'cause we weren't the kind of kids you couldn't like. We both sucked at sports, but enjoyed watching and supporting them. We were both the kids that had all of the right answers in class. We even set out on a giant joint science and art project to build a life-size paper maché hammerhead shark. I never got to help finish that shark 'cause we moved to the suburbs.

We kept in touch by phone and got together when time and our limited resources allowed. When we were fifteen, I remember swiping a copy of my mom's car keys and taking the car out for a joy ride. Of course I went to get Frank. What I didn't know was that my mom had decided not to see the movie 'cause the line was so long, and saw me drive by as she returned home, followed me to Frank's house, and ended the joyriding right there; who knew Star Wars would be so popular? I never admitted to my mom that that wasn't the first time I stole the car...or the last.

High school intervened and both of us turned our attentions there, and we lost touch. I met a new gang of friends, and started dating, and I trust Frank did much of the same. A few peppered calls, long gone from crusty memory, and contact just dwindled away.

My then girlfriend called everyone that was in my phone book for a surprise 19th birthday party for me, and Frank showed up. It was great to see him again, but I missed that opportunity to reconnect. See, I was being young and stupid, and had a family already; well, she was pregnant with our son. Shortly after I became the vet by enlisting in the service and moving even farther away.

Years, and many "wish I woulda kept in contact" reflections, later I was getting married again. In the list of names was a co-worker of my then girlfriend's.

"Funny. Can't be too many Kara's," I remember commenting, "even funnier, her husband's name is Frank; probably even less of them."

Even funnier, the story returned to me that when Frank saw the invitation, he commented how nice it was that his childhood pal had found him and invited him to the wedding. His wife corrected him pointing out that she was receiving the invitation from her friend and coworker, and he was the spouse... Claire tells the story much better than I.

In the bustle of wedding preparations we left it until the wedding to hook up, optimistically thinking that we'd have more socializing time than, of course, it turned out we did. We did connect, and it was great to see him. I gave him a big hug and we promised to get back in contact and stay in touch. Life was what it was, though, and we didn't.

Other coworkers got married, and we'd see each other then. Frank and Denise were much better at trying than we were. Frank loved Gopher football, and after the little reconnection, a few times they invited us to go to the dome-opener with them. Big crowd of people, again, so not a lot of reconnecting, but Frank always found some slices of time to catch up. I always failed to keep caught up.

They had little kids, we had teenagers at home. I went from running my own little company to being a run-around-town consultant, he was working for and then later became the director of athletic compliance for the University of Minnesota. Life was full of distractions.

A year ago we heard through friends that Claire maintained where she had worked with Denise that Frank had been diagnosed with evil terminal cancer. I know little about cancer, and hesitate to say anything wrong; I leave that to the Karas' log. Suffice it to say that again I neglected to catch up. We'd participate in drives and contribute funds to help the family, Claire's friend still at that job tucking our contributions in with the others and signing our names on the cards.

I always meant to do something more. Stop by and visit, or write something personal and direct. Something more than just pitch in.

Frank passed-away on Saturday this last weekend, June 28. He finally lost his year-long fight with cancer. We went to the funeral this morning.

It was a nice, up-beat ceremony. Frank made all of the plans and arrangements well in advance; the presiding pastor noted that Frank called as soon as he found out about the cancer to start making arrangements. There must have been five hundred people there. We got there close to just on time, and were kindly escorted right up front, a couple rows behind Denise, Frank's wife, 'though I don't know if she saw us, and that's OK.

A celebration of his life, they tried to make it. A few songs sung, some bible stuff read, some readings and such, from close friends and prominent coworkers. Everyone tried to deliver an uplifting message, and it pretty much worked. Frank wrote a "brief" letter to be read, which was filled with chuckles and ribs. He didn't want anyone to lament his loss, but be glad for what he did have. He had a good life, he proclaimed, filled with love and a wonderful family and the best job he ever wanted.

Pretty much the Frank I remember from so long ago, and it made me regret not trying harder to reconnect after we'd re-encountered each other at my wedding. I'm sure I would have liked the man he turned out to be as much as I remember liking the kid he was when he started out.

Of course, I was sad, but I managed to keep it together until the very end. As the pallbearers approached the coffin to cart him away, Goldie, the UofM's sports mascot appeared, sneaking around a corner, bringing a chuckle to all. He got the crowd riled to the University fight song. That led a wave of "ain't that just like Frank" energy through the immense crowd.

They kept a log on the hospital's web site of their last year, pretty much from the beginning of his diagnosis, if you're interested. It's also been the main contact for the family, if you knew him and wanted to say anything, or see what others have said. I added a link to it with this entry. I don't know how long it'll be there.