text: My life was about to change. It just missed me, but not my new freshly painted, 10-year-old 1950 Studebaker coupe. It was around 7 A.M and was my first day of junior college. I was nervous because I had no idea as to what to expect. I had just parked and got out of the car when a baseball bat came whirling over the car parked next to mine just barely missing me. Why would someone throw a baseball bat at me? Did I take a reserved parking spot? Was I in the teachers' parking lot? What did I do? Is this how new students were greeted? I picked it up looking for an attached note such as when a brick is thrown through a window as a warning for someone to get "out of town." No note. I didn't see anyone. Why me? I needed to get to class, but then the answer came out of nowhere! I first heard the voice, "Sorry!", it said. My life was about to change--for the better. A blond head peered around the corner of the next car. "Sorry" , it said with a quiver. Next came the rest of a tall skinny body. He was maybe six feet tall but I was only 5'7". The average height at that time was 5'10". His eyes, forehead, pursed lips, and overall demeanor showed that he was concerned and under some stress. "Is anyone hurt? Did the bat do any damage?," he asked. I told him that no one was hit, but my car let out a yip. He was a real car buff. He introduced himself to me, and the two of us proceeded to check out the side of my new $29.95 custom Earl Scheib paint job. He offered to pay any damages. We could only find a very small paint chip and less of a dent. The Studebaker was fine. He picked up the errant bat and said that he had to get to class. I remembered that I did too. We exchanged names and phone numbers. As he left, he turned and said, "I'll always be around, see you later." Always around, he was. For nearly 60 years, he was my best friend, my best buddy! Yes, my life was about to change--for the better. Al had been talking to a couple of friends in the parking lot. He was swinging a wooden bat which had no tape on the handle, and it accidentally slipped out of his hand and up and over two cars and into mine. How was it possible that it had done no damage? I ducked but heard it hit. In fact, it was just the opposite! A baseball bat had been our introduction. It was, as if by fate, meant to happen, that it was scripted, that GOD had a hand in it. Never-the-less, he was to become my BEST friend for life. Some people believe that the relationships you have in this life, you have also had some time in your previous lives. It was as if the universe had to find a way for us to meet again. And, a baseball bat seemed like a novel way to do it. At a school with thousands of students, it was .. his bat that sliced through the morning sky to say, "Hi, I want you to meet an old friend." Later that day, we found ourselves in the same physical education class, a tennis class. I had never played before but was very good at most sports. Al had come to the warm Californian climate from Chicago because of all the allergies that he had. He could not have dairy products or eat things with eggs in the mixture. I was fast, he was slow. Neither of us had had any tennis lessons and both developed unorthodox tennis strokes. We played for 50 years, and I seldom beat him, if ever. We were told we were going to partner up in the tennis class. The teacher randomly selected the partners. There were around 40 novice tennis players in the class. She would point to any two players and say "you are partners." Al and I were unaware we were both in this class, but, that's right, she pointed to me and then to Al. It was as if everything had, once again, been preordained just like the bat hitting my car. I wondered if he felt the same way. Neither of us ever mentioned it. As slow as Al was, he seemed to sense where the ball would be before it crossed the net. I relied on quickness whereas he relied on extra-sensory perception. He was lethal when he was at the net. We played in numerous tournaments and did reasonably well each time. I ended up coaching high school tennis, and he became one of the best tennis players at a very nice country club. In our 20's and 30's, we played in some full court and half court basketball leagues. I had played high school varsity basketball for two years. We had won many tournaments, had a 21-5 record one year, and had beaten many very good teams. Al had played no high school basketball mostly because he was sickly in his youth. But could he shoot! He had the "touch". He had no jump shot but an unbelievable set-shot. He could make a basket from almost anywhere. He had a running hook shot ala Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, only better..*.yes, better*! He could hit it15 feet out from the basket(imagine a 15-foot arc) while on the dead run, right or left handed!! His hook could never match the beauty of Kareem's sky hook since Al's was more of a line-drive. Kareem would carefully set up his move, but not Al. He would shoot on the dead run at any time from anywhere. Players on opposing teams would, at first, just let the skinny awkward looking guy shoot "at will" until they found out that he seldom missed this running 15-foot hook. They began to put their best defensive player on him only to find that Al needed to be "double-teamed". They would talk "dirt" to him. They needed to rough him up or triple-team him, but this would leave the rest of us wide open. Soon they stopped the rough stuff as they respected him throughout the various leagues. A new strategy was neededdon't let anyone throw the ball to him! I already knew that because when the ball was thrown to him, it would never come back. I don't think he knew what the word *pass* meant. He always shot the ball. We had a lot of fun playing in night basketball leagues in an old gym at a nearby college. I believe the baseball bat was never meant to hit me, rather it was an introduction to a life-long best friend. I have many stories about Al that I intend to write in the future, so don't be surprised to see the recurrence of his name. Al passed away quietly three years ago this December watching a football game at an inn at a local mountain resort while on vacation with his wife. I still miss him. He would call my wife Trish instead of Pat. He would add "*ish*" to many other words like "let's meet at eightish". *Gallivant* was his word for doing something. He was as nice of a person one could be lucky enough to know. He always had my back. Luckily, it hit my car...NOPE, not luckily, **it was MEANT to be**.