My youngest son called me tonight with the very sad news that our friend Michael Goodman died Saturday of a heart attack.
We've known Michael since Dylan and Aidan were young. We all met when the boys were in preschool together. Over the years, his sons, Elliott and Julian, and mine became fast friends of a rare sort. The sort that showed up at each others' sports games, cheering for one another.
The type that enjoyed weeks together at Camp Mather.
The sort who had sleepovers, played video games, and spent precious times together, as a foursome. Most often, when they did so, the next morning Michael was there cooking them a big, delicious breakfast.
This was a man who struggled to support his family, just as I did mine. He was thrown out of work, thanks to the economic changes that are strangling what used to be our middle class dreams. But he never gave up hope that he would find the next job.
Over and over he kept trying to do the right thing for his family.
He ended up losing his marriage, much as I lost mine. Still, he kept on being a great Dad, a great friend, and a wonderful host to my boys whenever our kids got together.
Tonight I am in mourning for Michael Goodman. I am a better person for having had the privilege of knowing him.
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