Danny Brink lived down the street from me and even though I never really knew him, his accident changed my life forever.
It was around graduation day–1971, I think. He was a senior and I was just a kid. There must have been eight or nine years between us–an unbridgeable chasm at that age.
But when you look up to someone, I guess age doesn’t really matter all that much.
As I’m sure you can already guess, Danny Brink was the kind of guy every young kid wanted to emulate–and I was certainly no exception. He was one of those special people that made everything look easy. And, if that wasn’t enough, it was obvious that Danny Brink had the gift–he made you feel like you mattered.
All romanticizing aside, everyone loved Danny. Everyone.
On that windy summer’s morning back in 1971, I remember riding my bike past the Brink house on my way to the baseball field. Holding his silvery blue graduation gown in his hand, Danny was the center of attention.
And everyone was happy.
As I passed by (and I always made it a point to ride on the side of the street closest to his house) he waved at me and I waved at him–just like we did every time we saw each other. I’m convinced to this day that he never knew my first name–but that matters little to me. He waved and I waved–that was the deal.
I’m not exactly sure what happened that day. All I remember is hearing the news that there was an accident and Danny Brink was dead.
When I think back to that time, I still get sad.
I think about all of the lives that he could have touched. And I think about all of the people that would have considered it an honor to sit on the stool next him in the local cafe–and how he would have made it a point to make sure that they felt like they mattered. But most of all, I think about all of us whose lives are just not the same without him.
I miss you Danny–you left us way too soon.
Leave a note.