I remember what happened as if it were yesterday but I can't tell you how or why.

Jeff stayed on campus during his final college winter break, and I stayed with him. In the house at 403 Comstock, recently demolished.

Most days, I would spend a few hours training, usually with a predictable run past Manley Field House, a warm, dry place to stretch. Then I would continue along E. Colvin St. to Westmoreland and finish strong through Euclid. ("Euclid" ... Jeff's nickname in high school.)

In the dead of winter, the neighborhood streets were quiet. Buffalo has the greater reputation for harsh winters, owing to The Blizzard (yes, we had the board game growing up!), but Syracuse's are statistically worse in terms of snowfall and low temperature days. After a run, my eyelashes were usually frozen together from my own wind-induced tears.

There was a small school or day care along the route. One day, I heard quiet sobbing as I passed it. I saw a small child standing perfectly still, shivering slightly, waiting patiently at a closed door. No lights were on inside and the parking lot was empty. I approached him quickly and cautiously. I asked him his name and he stammered "Lucas" between his sobs. His cable knit hat was embroidered with the name "Lucas," so I kicked myself for not being observant.

I asked the usual questions of him and then took him door-to-door, trying to find someone at home. A young woman who claimed to be a teacher herself answered after only a few tries and we came in from the cold. She asked the boy his telephone number and he rattled it off like nothing. We were both impressed and quite pleased. She called his mother while I made plans to move along. The mother was on her way to pick him up. I can only imagine what was going through her mind.

And, as I said at the beginning, I haven't any idea how the little boy happened to be there alone but I'm glad that I was passing by.