My Friend Reggie

My friend Reggie always had a huge smile on his face.

He had 5 kids at home.

He was born with lungs that didn’t quite work right, and he had to be careful about where he worked, and was often simply hurt by breathing air.

Yet, our conversations were always so upbeat. When I asked him about his health he would often say:

“It’s all right. I just have to deal with it.”

Outwardly, he always looked healthy and strong and he hated to miss a day of work.

“I have five kids, man!”

Reggie was so happy to be a Dad. He had a photo on his phone that he would show everyone.

“World’s Best Dad!” was written on the mug.

We became friends as Reggie ran some jobs and he’d ask me for help in setting up the safety. I would greet him with the old Bronx chant:

“Reggie! Reggie! Reggie!”

And he’d flash that huge smile.

We spoke about the race riots years ago.

A black man working in an industry where ignorance can run rampant some days.

“Some people just ain’t right,” he said.

A coworker of Reggie’s texted me:

“Did you hear about Reggie?”

I answered:

“Don’t even say it!”

And my phone rang, and I had to listen to the guy tell me that my friend Reggie, the world’s best Dad, passed away.

He only got 39 years of life.

“Damn,” was all I could say.

My friend Reggie was a good man, and he will be greatly missed by hundreds of coworkers as we wander around wondering how that could happen.

I thought about what Reggie might say to me as he considered my reaction to the news. 

He was always so upbeat.

He’d smile and say something like, “It’s all right.”

“He thought the world of you,” the coworker who broke the news said.

“And vice-versa,” I said.

Wish I could chant the Reggie greeting to him one more time.

Rest in peace, buddy.