There's a group of guys I grew up with in Annapolis. None of us had it easy. Some had trouble in school. Others had trouble with the cops. A lot of us

were missing our dads and we were pretty ungrateful for our moms who juggle

multiple jobs to keep us fed. But we had each other and I think that's why we all found a path to a better life.

Every few years we meet up back at home in a nice restaurant to drink, joke, and show off pictures of our kids.

What we don't talk about... to drink, joke, and show off pictures of our kids.

What we don't talk about is the other guys we knew,

who didn't make it.

But sometimes, the past catches up with you.

The last time we met up we just popped open a bottle of red

when my buddy looked out of the window. He went pale and asked, is that Simon?

A disheveled man shuffled on the street trying to chat up strangers.

Once I saw his yearning eyes, I knew it was him.

Simon was like a kid brother to us, a 15 year old kid brother nobody wanted.

He was needy and earnest like a sad clown, and he clung to us like a barnacle.

We tolerated him, but hell, even if we'd bullied him, he'd probably thank us for the attention.

Simon's dad always had a get-rich quick scheme and never had a job.

Simon's mom was working on a nursing degree, but her real passion was being in a bad mood 24-7.

The year after my crew graduated, Simon's dad ran off.

Poof, no good-bys.

His mom worried about keeping her son on the street. poof, no goodbyes.

His mom worried about keeping her son on the straight and narrow, so she moved to a small town

outside of Frederick, Maryland.

...