This article was last updated on the 19th June, 2015 by Patrick Carpen.
I remember Pecko from primary school so vividly as though it were yesterday. We were best friends. We always stood by each other in the playground and the classroom.
Pecko ventured to ask me about my family once, and when I mentioned that my mother doesn’t live at the same house with me, he seemed deeply disturbed and interested in learning more. I would tell him what I knew of the story of my mother: where she was, what happened, and why she was not with us. Pecko was moved to tears. He couldn’t understand how a child or children could live without their mother. I actually saw tears welling up in his eyes.
I couldn’t understand what made him so sad. I was not sad. This was just the reality of the situation and I figured that God knows best.
On many occassions Pecko would say to some of our classmates “if you hear this boy’s story, you cry”.
He was sympathetic towards me just for this situation. He always looked out for me. He always said nice things to me and tried to help me any way he could.
After primary school, Pecko and I went to different high schools. From then, we only hailed each other out when crossing paths on the streets.
In his late teens Pecko got married to a pretty girl. His father set up a bar with a pools table and many times I would go over to play pools – pools having been one of my favorite games for a quite a long period of time.
Pecko would try his best to entertain me in every way he could, and make me feel happy and comfortable. In Pecko’s eyes, I was deprived of something very dear and precious. But for me, living without a mother was not so bad. It meant more freedom, more playtime and more fun. Besides, we did use to see each other from time to time.