Since I started this blog, I've written a lot about my friend, Micheal McDowell, and the good times we had. However, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the rest of his family, as they always treated me as one of their own.
I really didn't know Mike's mother that well; she died when I was a sophomore, and before then, I generally saw Mike at school.
Still, she was one of those kind, laughing Southern black ladies that make people feel welcome.
His dad was "Pop" to all of us, and he treated us like his own kids, even when we were all grown. He was hard working, honest,
easy-going, and he passed those qualities on to all his kids, even to a degree those who weren't of his blood.
I rarely saw Mike's brothers, but his sisters loomed large in my life. There was Laura, beautiful, sexy, great to be around.
Inez was like one of the guys, always making people laugh. She was the mother of Betty, whom we called Scoobie when she was little-Scoobie would hang out with us and listen to rock, dancing and turning the knobs up.
Then there was Sylvia....she was like someone of Faerie, ethereal, pretty, kind, gentle, and loving; I carried a torch for Sylvie I never would've admitted to anyone, even myself, and I'll bet a lot of other guys did, too. She made a dynamite pineapple upside down cake, and loved making sure we were well-fed when we were around the house.
Sylvie died a few months after Micheal, from diabetic complications-when I saw her at the house the day of the funeral, she'd gone blind.
Pop's been gone almost as long as my mother, and I miss him, I miss them....I miss them all.
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