The summertime in the cul-de-sac was the time of year we all looked forward to.

Three months of most school, days spent running the sidewalks and riding bikes, and the familiar

sound of the ice cream truck a couple times a day.

We were all just middle-class kids, and those without older siblings were under no orders

to stay with the group if they went out.

We lived in those halcyon days when he didn't come in until the street lights came on.

Mom was only worried when something came out of the newspapers about stranger danger or an abduction.

The street I lived on had about 12 families, and all of them have kids.

Me and Mikey Castro were best buds.

We had been since first grade.

There were usually enough kids out on the road, riding bikes or shooting hoops,

to get a game of stickball or soccer going if we wanted. Sometimes,

if their parents were cool with it, we'd play touch football in someone's yard, or I'd drag my radio flyer wagon out of the garage, and we'd load it up with plastic guns and play war.

Most of the kids came in pairs to play the game of the day, pairs of triplets or even

quads, but everyone on the

block had someone or several someone's. Solo kids show out like a sore thumb, and we all

usually chum together. I'll tell you all this so I could tell you that Robbie was odd by the

standards of the neighborhood. Robbie didn't have a best friend, and I'm not entirely sure that he had any friends at all.

He was a skinny kid, rail thin, my mom would have said, with big, thick glasses and a mouth

made for frowning.

He never joined in our games, and we never really offered.

We weren't unfriendly, kids, far from it, but Robbie didn't feel

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