Somebody said, “Friends...how many of us have them.”

Some of ya’ll know that song.

Some of ya’ll my age.

That somebody was a rap artist by the name of Whodini.

And sometimes, friends disappear.

These days, at our age, the frequency of disappearances has been unsettling…

Downright depressing, but don’t be discouraged … Keathel wouldn’t be.

The man had courage in spades, enough to let you borrow some if you was short.

And over the years, as we grew older together (classmates and teammates in Middle School, High School & College) … he came to teach me that smiling was an act of bravery.

It’s why he always laughed in the face of fear. It sounds crazy … and if you recall his explosive cackle which served as some sort of reward for coming up with something funny enough to trigger that laugh … you couldn’t help being infected by the tenor of passion, with a hint of madness, inside of it. Wildness, he loved the wild.

“Crazy like a fox,” he’d say to me, before we’d take to the field of competition in college.

And if you knew him, and if you’re here today, I assume you did … You already know, to Keathel crazy was a compliment. And if he was crazy about you, like he is his kids, like he is his wife, you knew it … and he never let you not know it.

Pardon my manners, I didn’t introduce myself.

If this pulpit I’m standing in is Mr. & Mrs. Haynes kitchen, I grew up about 6 or 7 houses that way. Through the woods … the woods that separated Cedarbrook west from Cedarbrook east. When my family moved there from the bustling metropolis of Sicklerville in middle school, Keathel and I became attached at the hip. Legit, like if we weren’t playing pick-up basketball around the way, we were kicking the soccer ball at Stella Maise, if we weren’t traveling to Club games all across the state, we were playing table tennis in the garage at 134 Country Lane. What I’m saying is…

We were together so much that folks thought the “H” in Keathel H Haynes III stood for “Hakim”. Might as well have.

He did everything before me. Played Varsity Soccer at Edgewood H.S. … before me. Had the Starter Parka...before me. Had the Timbaland boots...before me. Had the floater...before me. Got dropped off at the bus stop, right before me. Had the rasta locs...before me. Went to Lees-McRae...before me.

In the obituary I saw that...I think it said, and I’m paraphrasing, he had an “eclectic” taste in music...boy is that an understatement...but yeah, he had an eclectic taste in music before me. He had the hemp necklace and the Hippie hem corduroy jeans...before me. Gave the most rallying halftime locker room speeches...before me. He spent weeks at a time on camping excursions … without me. Cause … yeah, he was different.

He found his way to the woods before me. Got married … before me. Left this earth … before me. I am the oldest of three, and he was like a big brother to me. The kind that was never threatened. The kind that was always welcoming because … he was easily the most interesting and confident person in the room, whatever room he was in.

He always knew the funniest thing to say … before me.
He knew to not say a thing … before me.
He knew when there was nothing to say … before me.

And now feels like one of those times. I don’t know what to say to Mr. & Mrs. Haynes. I don’t know what to say to Keathel’s wife and children. I don’t know what to say to all the wonderful friends Keathel and I share. I don’t know what to say for him … or me.

But I heard someone say “Grief is the price we pay for love.” That there is no right we to grieve, grief is as unique as a fingerprint. As unique as Keathel.

And today, I am grateful. That the family has allowed me to share some thoughts on how that man has changed my life … for the better. Took me under his wing, before he even had any.

Just a few years ago, when my father passed away in 2019, Keathel brought his family to my house...6 or 7 or so houses that way. We went swimming, kids and wives in tow. We laughed. Told stories. Promised to get our families together more often … but not like this.

A pandemic got in the way of that, we shared a few phone conversations and texts over the course of the past year and half … so, I guess I could say, I missed him. Missed him then, miss him more now.

He came home … before me.
Now, he’s gone home … before.

He is partially responsible for my indoctrination into the cult that is Bob Marley. It’s a Lees-McRae thing, you wouldn’t understand. But, those who knew him towards the end of his life saw him transform into an aspiring chaplin and all around lover of the Lord. I was blessed to witness this transformation in him over the years...and upon hearing this song a few days ago...realized what Keathel has always been. A blessing.

When I was just a kid (children)
My mama used to sing a song.
now I've grown to be a man
Well it lingers deep within my soul
Lingers deep within my soul.

Talking about, this train is bound to glory(this train).
This train is bound to glory(this train).
This train it is bound to glory,
This train it don't carry no unholy.
(This train) yeah,yeah (this train).