You never forget the first person you know who dies.

For most of us, it is a grandparent. For me, it was one of my best friends in Grade 6, Tim Prawdzik.

Tim lived a few blocks away, on the corner of Hixon Road and Charlotte Street in Hamilton's East End. He was an amazing kid. We played baseball, talked about music (mostly The Beatles and The Monkees), gossiped about girls. But mostly we talked sports.

That spring of 1968, Tim's dad built a go-kart. Tim and his cousin were driving it when Tim was struck by a car right in front of his house and dragged more than 50 feet. He died. It was the first day of summer vacation -- July 5. The Spectator reported that Tim was the first child killed in a traffic accident that summer.

Tim played all sports but baseball was his game. He was the captain of our team in what we called Police Minor hardball. Tim was so good that when he broke his leg, the coach continued to let him play -- as pitcher -- with a cast. The only problem was when it came to hitting; it was a home run or nothing since he couldn't run. But it seemed Tim hit home runs every time he was at bat, and we would all cheer wildly as he hopped around the bases on his way to home plate, wearing a big cast and a bigger smile. Amazing.

I still remember our entire team lined up outside the doors at the Dermody-Markey funeral home as his family came out, and they carried Tim's body to be buried at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery.

His dad, who worked at Hoover Co., was tragically killed in a car accident six months after Tim's death. His mom and sister (three years old at the time) moved away. I never saw them again.

I have been thinking of Tim these past few weeks as our community was devastated by several tragic traffic accidents.

Bill and Sandra Smith and their seven-year-old daughter Kaylee, died as they headed out on their summer vacation, leaving Madison, 9, and Genna, 3.

Michael Zabluda, a 16-year-old described as "Mr. Popular," died when his parents' vehicle rolled and pinned him against a tree at the family home.

And Nick Perkins, 17, was hit by a car, dragged and left for dead on Lawrence Road, a few blocks from where Tim died all those years ago. (It is hard to imagine someone who would run over a youngster, get out of the car, beat and rob his friend, then drive off.)

Luckily, Nick lived. He faces a long and tough recovery.

A member of Nick's family called me to ask how the family can work with the newspaper. The family has been incredibly generous in sharing Nick's story, which has touched the entire city.

Sometimes, though, reporters are the last people a grief-stricken family wants to speak with. As a reporter, I covered fatalities, funerals and tragedies. It was never an easy assignment; it is hard to try to speak with someone who has just suffered the loss of a relative or friend.

All this got me thinking about Tim so I asked our librarian, Tammie Danciu, if she could find a story about him. I remembered reading it as a kid but dates and times were blurred. "Go-Kart Boy Dies Under Car" was the headline on the story she handed me.

I'm grateful to the unknown reporter who wrote the story. For me, it meant Tim's life mattered, and that somewhere there was still a recording of his time here.

I'm keeping a copy of it.

David Estok is The Spectator's editor-in-chief. editorfeedback@thespec.com