Photograph of Ronny F. Wade by Andrew Weaver

We were little boys. Stanley and me. Best friends from our beginnings.

A "Halloween" ;) costume party. All the friends of our folks were there. Dressed in garb where hiding one's real identity was the goal. We were gathered inside the garage, sitting in a circle with folks mingling...watching all the new arrivals. Up the driveway walking like Frankenstein was a gray robot. A red light bulb for a nose. Illuminated. There was no way to know who was underneath the garb of spray-painted cardboard boxes forming this ultra low-tech robot.

I had already identified my grandmother, Marie, dressed as Peter Pan. I recognized her immediately somehow. Walked right up to her, calling her by name ("Re" is what everybody, including me called her) asking her to pick me up. Nobody else could identify her.

Then there was this robot creature, easily the most captivating character there. Fascinating.

It was Stanley's dad, Johnny Elmore. That's my first memory of him. I was very young. Pre-school.

Johnny was my best friend's dad. That was my first context for him.

There was never a time when he wasn't in my life. His family was my second family. It's just how it always was. Even when Stanely, his son and my best friend, passed from this life in 2013. Losing Stanley was the most devasting loss for me because we had so much history together. And because we were both older. Fifty-six to be precise.

Losing grandparents, especially "Peter Pan," was sad, but she had been suffering badly...relegated to a nursing facility because of the constant care she required. Losing Stan was different. He was a peer. A close friend. A trusted phone call away all the time. Until he wasn't.

Johnny Elmore and his wife, Sally, who preceded him in death were close friends with my parents. My life began in a small Oklahoma town, Ada, where Johnny was the evangelist working with the congregation where we all worshipped. They were a family of four - they'd soon become a family of 5. We were a family of four.

Randy, Lexie (Randy's sister), Joni (Stan's sister) and Stan - Ada, OK circa 1960 or so?It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.    - Ralph Waldo EmersonIt's true of close friends, too. Close family friends. We've been plenty stupid around each other through the years. I know I've contributed MORE than my share.

My heart was broken when Stanley died. I was sad for my own loss, but I was especially sad for Stanley's folks. My imagination kicked into full swinging trying to understand what it must have felt like to bury a child - albeit a child in his 50's.

As a dad myself I was especially sensitive to Johnny's emotions at that time. I entered the funeral home and hugged him. He whispered something about thinking about me and Stanley jumping on the bed as little boys. Here we were, two old men now, and memories of long, long ago were at the forefront of our mind. Memories of kids acting stupid. But acting stupid together is still what I miss most since Stanley died. And it's among the many things I'll miss most about Johnny. All the snarkiness. All the sarcasm. All the bagging on each other. Stuff that's been part of my existence since I was that little boy in the dark suit (and before)Say what you want about aging, it's still the only way to have old friends.     - Robert BraultRegularly Johnny would tell me, "Getting old isn't what it's cracked up to be." Sometimes I'd say, "It beats the alternative." And he'd quite often quickly reply, "I'm not sure about that."

Age does that. Especially when age brings infirmities. Johnny had his. Most recently loss of balance and eyesight. The eyesight loss was especially vexing because Johnny Elmore was a reader. A study-er. A lifelong learner.

Glaucoma and a detached retina (surgery was performed to fix that). He was hoping doctors could restore his eyesight.