I’m not sure why it is that it takes a death anniversary to cause me to reflect on a life lived. Better to remember a birthday or better still to celebrate that life independent of any particular anniversary. I don’t just think of Scott on this day though; often a photograph or a movie or a place or a person will instigate reflection. Still five years gone is significant and warrants acknowledgement. I used to have a steel-trap memory and so did Scott. We could toss off movie lines, quips and quotes with symbiotic familiarity and we did so often way back when. But time takes its toll and memories once ingrained begin to fade and peel away. I’d like to preserve a few of my memories of Scott while I still have them, he was a good person and a longtime friend. The all too common fact that life leads once youthful friends in opposing directions, resulting in long durations apart, never diminished that friendship.

My earliest impression of Scott was when he appeared one day on Phelps, one of two streets where most of our teenage business was conducted, the other being my street, Ralls. This was in the now vanished Brigadoon neighborhood of Carrollton, probably the summer of ’79. Scott was driving so I knew he was older as were most of my friends in the neighborhood, Brian, Harry, Kyle and Tim. Scott was a friend of Harry’s, that’s how we were introduced and I can still picture him with his aviator glasses, t-shirt tucked into coaches shorts and long tube socks pulled all the way up, like Eleven from Stranger Things, as was the style of the day. He had an athletic build and a distinct, purposeful stride. I liked him right away and he became a good friend and a welcome addition to the crew.

Scott drove a gold Firebird, not as flashy as Jim Rockford’s but sufficiently cool. At least I remember it as a Firebird, could have been a Camaro. At any rate we spent many a night cruising in that car. During those High School years we spent a lot of time at Scott’s house meeting up to make plans or just plain hanging out. Between Scott and his older brother John and their various groups of friends coming and going that house was always an active place. One reason for this was that Scott’s parents were two of the nicest people you’d ever want to meet. In most cases parents were to be avoided but Mac and Marge were always welcoming and actually liked to engage us in conversation. You’d be hard pressed to find two nicer people.

Scott was quick to laugh and quick to rile which I would attribute to an abundance of passion. He and John could go at each other with pointed barbs until you were certain it was going to escalate to physical blows and a couple of minutes later they would be laughing. Mac and Marge just took it in stride like they had seen it too often to warrant cause for concern. Scott had a great laugh and you heard it often. He loved movies and television and could, like many of us quote Caddyshack, Night Shift, Monty Python and Mel Brooks at the drop of a hat. He had a keen wit and good comedic timing and was a master of the double take. I can still here his voice throwing off lines, “Bud, aren’t you going to introduce me to your, fiends?” “Come on Adam!” (spoken as Ceemon A-dam!) or the more familiar, “It’s good to be the king” and “Oh piss boy!” When I think of Scott, this is how I remember him.

I remember too those long ago summer nights with Scott, Brian and Harry, Steve, Greg and Don, playing pinball at Velvet Freeze or wasting time at Lindbergh McDonalds or trips to Six Flags with Jenny, Pam, JoAnn, Sherri and Trudy. College came sooner for Scott and soon the dynamic changed for us all. He of course made new friends at school and briefly brought lovely Dawn into our circle when home. The girls made frequent trips down to Cape to visit but I never did and before we knew it Scott had joined the Navy eventually serving on a Carrier in the First Gulf war.

Scott was a groomsman in our wedding and as Jenny and I started a family life we inevitably saw less of him. Jenny likes to recall how he showed up at just the right time after our twins were born. Jenny was alone and exhausted and I was working late when the doorbell rang and she opened it and handed Scott a baby at an instant before suffering a potential breakdown. Another time he showed up, a little out of the blue at an Autism walk in a show of support for our son, Pete. I wished Scott had become a parent, I think he would have been good at it and I think it would have been good for him. Often in those years, when we saw each other infrequently, I would get the impression that he wanted some stability that had eluded him. He was capable of being sullen and moody which I never held against him, as I am prone to both tendencies myself. It seemed he was often seeking something or someone he didn’t have but here I get into the dangerous territory of speculation. I have to remember that he built a whole life outside my view and was by all accounts a good and respected math teacher, who I’m sure, affected a whole host of students in a positive way. I’m certain too that he has many friends whom I never have met that miss him as well.

I’m thankful that a few years back we were able to see a little more of Scott before he was gone. He would come out and play sand volleyball with us and we spent a little time just hanging out and shooting the breeze. It felt a little bit like the good old days. Scott Dickinson was a good and a decent guy and a friend to many and should be remembered as such, on this or any other day.