I'm not eloquent enough to begin this with something poetic or deep enough to start with a thoughtful contemplation on life and death, so I'm just going to jump in with a few fond recollections of Jim Wehmeyer, the father of my good friend Adam, who died unexpectedly Tuesday morning at the age of 45.

I've known Adam since kindergarten and attended school with him for 13 years at Jefferson Central. His house was always something of a second home to me and I couldn't even guess at how many nights I spent there.

Forever linked to my friendship with Adam will be trips to Albany with him and his dad when we were in elementary school.

Mr. Wehmeyer owned his own small engine repair business in Jefferson and frequently went to Albany to pick up parts. Occasionally, Adam and I would join him on these excursions, much to our delight.

The trips almost always included stops at Toys "R" Us, or paradise on Earth for kids, where we would stroll through the aisles goggling at all the toys. Mr. Wehmeyer, an avid collector of Starting Lineup figurines, would check to see if they had new or rare ones in stock.

He also collected baseball cards and I remember he would always pick out packs of cards from the bottom of boxes, believing that specialty cards were more likely to be found there. I have no idea if that's accurate or not, but to this day when I sporadically buy a pack I always take it from the bottom.

Often as we rode to and from Albany, we would listen to Weird Al Yankovic on the car's tape deck. Far from playing it to humor us foolish kids, Mr. Wehmeyer occasionally sang along and enjoyed it almost as much as us. In fact, the first live concert I ever went to was a performance by Weird Al, which Mr. Wehmeyer got tickets for as a birthday gift to Adam.

Mr. Wehmeyer was an avid bowler and quite good at it too. Once in a while, Adam and I would wander into his parent's bedroom, usually chasing a cat, where bowling trophies lined every available shelf space. I remember we asked him once why he didn't turn pro, but I don't recall his answer.

Occasionally on league nights, Adam and I went with him to various bowling alleys around the area. As we were too young to bowl, we'd pester him for quarters to use on the arcade game machines. Sometimes it would take a while, but he almost always caved to our badgering for just a few more.

The Fourth of July was always a treat at the Wehmeyers, as Mr. Wehmeyer often made the trek out of state to purchase fireworks for everyone's enjoyment. These he would set off throughout the night, a child-like expression of glee and amusement on his face all the while.

Mr. Wehmeyer was that rarest of breeds - a cool parent. Not because he tried hard or because he spoiled his children, but because he treated us youngsters as equals. If anything, I remember thinking he seemed more like a big kid than a true grown-up.

The last time I saw Mr. Wehmeyer was this summer at a surprise birthday party held for Adam at Brooks' Barbeque. While talking to adults who watched you flail around in an attempt to grow up can be extremely awkward, I actually looked forward to seeing him and chatting for a bit.

I couldn't tell you what we talked about, but I remember walking away smiling. And I suspect his memory will leave those of us who knew him in exactly the same state - with a smile on our faces.