I heard a couple days ago that Mr. Bartels passed away. The Bartels family was a member of the neighborhood pack that hung around the Meadows when I was a kid. John hung out with my brothers, the eternally cool group of older boys that allowed us little kids to join them for kick the can, Frisbee football, and regular football. Sarah was the older sister, classy and sophisticated. Sharon was just one year older than me, and seemed more polished then I was, with my eternal tom-boy ways. I occasionally hung around the Bartels house, playing under their porch in what seemed like a huge expanse of beams and supports. It was cool and shady in the hot summer. And Sharon had an enviable collection of beanie babies. Not the Ty version of yesteryear. These were actual bean filled baby dolls with plastic heads, hands, feet, and butt. The butt had a little snapped flap that covered it. I loved those beanie babies. I suspect those babies are why my girls have an enviable collection of groovy girls. The Bartels are a part of my childhood, woven through happy memories around the neighborhood and pool. I oddly even remember John doing some long distance run on one of the hottest days of summer. We were his support crew, handing him water and putting ice in his socks as he passed his house again and again.

The parents were in the background, as all parents seemed to be. We kids never gave them much thought until we were trudging home in the pouring rain, covered in mud after a football game, wondering how much trouble we would get into for the mess we were bringing home. Turns out, not much trouble. Our parents knew where we were and probably thought it looked fun to splash around in the mud and rain. I know that’s what I would think now. So my specific memories of Mr. Bartels are soft and faded. I wasn’t inside their house much. He seemed quick with a smile and always had a mischievous look about him. I thought he was probably a prankster as a kid. I suspect he got angry from time to time, but I never once saw it. Although, my brothers could come up with ideas that would test any parents’ patience, so I’m sure there must have been some amount of trouble.

I am sad to see this kind, giving man move on. Through the years, I would see him from time to time, long after the family moved out of what I will always consider the Bartels house (sorry Aldona), and he always inquired about my family. He remembered so many of us. Rest in peace Mr. Bartels. I am so sorry for your loss Mrs. Bartels, Sarah, John, and Sharon. Thanks for the walk down memory lane.