The boys in the neighborhood

Frank and I attended David Balfour's memorial service this morning at Peachtree Presbyterian Church in Atlanta. Mr. Balfour didn't recognize us at first. Referring to myself as Tom Baynham didn't help. After he remembered us, he immediately referred to me as "Tommy".

According to a story Scott told about his little brother, David led him to a saving relationship with Jesus in a bar in downtown Atlanta. He asked him, after visiting three or four bars, what made him, a Christian, any different than the rest of the partiers in the bars. Quite ironic that David's middle name was Andrew.

I have been thinking about those happy days in Dunwoody, when we were kids and young adults. The Balfours had a tree house where we used to meet and talk and play with snakes or insects or whatever we might find. It was a big group of boys, all around the same age. We played football and baseball in our front yard and in the grassy median of the cul de sac behind our house. We played football and baseball at Murphy Candler. A couple of those years, I played with David. A couple years I played with Scott. On the championship Atlanta Colts 115 pound team in 1970, Scott and I were the right side of the offensive line. Later, David and I played for Dunwoody High School together for one year. My last year at Dunwoody, I got to play with Frank in one momentous game against Chamblee High. I would have liked to have played more with him.

I recalled a story just a second ago. The boys in the neighborhood were all gathered in the front yard, shooting bottle rockets into the night sky. One big one flew over toward a house across the street and exploded behind the house. Everybody scattered. Frank, David and I ended up sliding on the den floor into a grouping with Mom and Dad and Susan. Panting like puppies, we feigned watching the program on the tv. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. My dad got up and answered it. The neighbor across the street was complaining about the Baynham boys shooting off fireworks and one exploding in their kitchen window while the family was eating supper.

My dad asked how many boys there were. The neighbor replied "ten or twelve". My dad answered, "I only have two boys." He closed the door.

I remembered staring wide eyed into David's face and both of us laughing. I guess David went home soon thereafter. We had a lot of fun in that neighborhood.