Best-Good-Friends Are Forever
The kickball game was supposed to be a reward. The only problem was that the kids who were dying to play kickball were all inside doing classwork. The rest of us seventh and eighth graders, out on the P.E. field, would have been much happier with light refreshments in the library.
The 'positive reinforcement' didn't seem all that positive for me. I still have nightmares about middle school P.E. class, and in my young mind the kickball game was an extension of that class. I was chubby and uncoordinated -- still am. I had always been picked last for teams; I'd been hit in the face with Frisbees, badminton rackets, dodge balls, baseballs, basketballs, and golf clubs. Sports and I still aren't friends.
The only reason I haven't entirely blocked that day from my memory as a traumatic experience is that something really awesome and life-altering happened. I hit it off with my Best-Good-Friend.
We were on opposing teams. If I recall correctly, she was serving as the third-basewoman when my turn to kick came up. Of all sports, I loathed kickball the least, partly because I have strong leg muscles. Being able to launch the ball way into the outfield partially made up for my heartbreakingly slow run to the bases, which was a clumsy jog at best.
Somehow I made it out to third base where Angie was standing. When we talk about it now, she always mentions how memorable my run to her base was; apparently it's one of the things that stands out to her about the day we met.
I don't remember exactly what we talked about. I recall rejoicing when we both realized that we loved fluffernutter sandwiches; the rest of the conversation was probably about weird dog tricks or the 'origin of lint.' The important thing is that we talked, talked, and talked some more. We found out we had lots of things in common, and we've been talking ever since.
In high school she was one of the great friends that kept me grounded with statements like, "Who needs drugs, when we can eat bean dip?" She was always up for marathon movie screenings of Monty Python's The Holy Grail and Fiddler on the Roof.
Once we decided to bring daffodils to the patients at the local nursing home. We went out and cut tons of them, and then we walked around handing them out to the elderly. We didn't know they were poisonous and, consequently, got in trouble. Don't worry; nobody's granny was harmed. In fact, the nurses were following us around taking them away, trying to figure out where they were coming from.
When we were in college, she'd always call -- just to check on me. In fact, she deserves all the credit for the longevity of our relationship. She was born a 'friend keeper.' That's why I need her. The year I got married and moved to North Carolina was a tough year. I was in a new place, learning a tough job, and my parents were divorcing. Angie's calls always came right on time. I'd find myself dragging around after school. Then the phone would ring, and her peppy voice would pick me right back up again.
She gave me an anniversary picture frame for my wedding. I'll admit the gift was unusual, but then again so is Angie. (She used to pretend to be a cannibal in the high school cafeteria!) Just recently she told me the story behind her odd gift choice (it's been waiting in the living room closet for my fortieth wedding anniversary for eight years now). It's not really my story to tell, but the idea is that she received a ton of change, mostly pennies, from a man she met on her travels. His house had burned, and the change had been one of the things he'd salvaged from the ruins of his home. She told me she used those same pennies to buy my wedding gift and hoped that my marriage would be, some day, something that had 'come through the fire' just like those pennies. If it does, it will be in large part because of the support of people in my life like Angie.
I'm writing this today because it's her birthday. Let me just say that her birth is definitely something worth celebrating. I hope you know her, or have a friend like her in your life. I don't know anyone else who would send me cards written in Spanish, with personalized illustrations, and kitty chew marks. Did you see the 'photo -shopped' picture she put on my Facebook wall for my birthday? If not, check out my wall. It's, um, interesting.
She's one of those people who stopped being just a friend and became family a long time ago. You know that's happened when your friend is in every special memory you can recall from the past. Years ago my family's door was never locked, so sometimes I'd come home to find a note from her stuck to the fridge with a magnet just to let me know she'd stopped by to see me.
My husband says that he can imagine Angie and me being friends when we're elderly. "I can just see you both now sitting out somewhere in lawn chairs acting crazy." I know he's right because best-good-friends are forever.
The 'positive reinforcement' didn't seem all that positive for me. I still have nightmares about middle school P.E. class, and in my young mind the kickball game was an extension of that class. I was chubby and uncoordinated -- still am. I had always been picked last for teams; I'd been hit in the face with Frisbees, badminton rackets, dodge balls, baseballs, basketballs, and golf clubs. Sports and I still aren't friends.
The only reason I haven't entirely blocked that day from my memory as a traumatic experience is that something really awesome and life-altering happened. I hit it off with my Best-Good-Friend.
We were on opposing teams. If I recall correctly, she was serving as the third-basewoman when my turn to kick came up. Of all sports, I loathed kickball the least, partly because I have strong leg muscles. Being able to launch the ball way into the outfield partially made up for my heartbreakingly slow run to the bases, which was a clumsy jog at best.
Somehow I made it out to third base where Angie was standing. When we talk about it now, she always mentions how memorable my run to her base was; apparently it's one of the things that stands out to her about the day we met.
I don't remember exactly what we talked about. I recall rejoicing when we both realized that we loved fluffernutter sandwiches; the rest of the conversation was probably about weird dog tricks or the 'origin of lint.' The important thing is that we talked, talked, and talked some more. We found out we had lots of things in common, and we've been talking ever since.
In high school she was one of the great friends that kept me grounded with statements like, "Who needs drugs, when we can eat bean dip?" She was always up for marathon movie screenings of Monty Python's The Holy Grail and Fiddler on the Roof.
Once we decided to bring daffodils to the patients at the local nursing home. We went out and cut tons of them, and then we walked around handing them out to the elderly. We didn't know they were poisonous and, consequently, got in trouble. Don't worry; nobody's granny was harmed. In fact, the nurses were following us around taking them away, trying to figure out where they were coming from.
When we were in college, she'd always call -- just to check on me. In fact, she deserves all the credit for the longevity of our relationship. She was born a 'friend keeper.' That's why I need her. The year I got married and moved to North Carolina was a tough year. I was in a new place, learning a tough job, and my parents were divorcing. Angie's calls always came right on time. I'd find myself dragging around after school. Then the phone would ring, and her peppy voice would pick me right back up again.
She gave me an anniversary picture frame for my wedding. I'll admit the gift was unusual, but then again so is Angie. (She used to pretend to be a cannibal in the high school cafeteria!) Just recently she told me the story behind her odd gift choice (it's been waiting in the living room closet for my fortieth wedding anniversary for eight years now). It's not really my story to tell, but the idea is that she received a ton of change, mostly pennies, from a man she met on her travels. His house had burned, and the change had been one of the things he'd salvaged from the ruins of his home. She told me she used those same pennies to buy my wedding gift and hoped that my marriage would be, some day, something that had 'come through the fire' just like those pennies. If it does, it will be in large part because of the support of people in my life like Angie.
I'm writing this today because it's her birthday. Let me just say that her birth is definitely something worth celebrating. I hope you know her, or have a friend like her in your life. I don't know anyone else who would send me cards written in Spanish, with personalized illustrations, and kitty chew marks. Did you see the 'photo -shopped' picture she put on my Facebook wall for my birthday? If not, check out my wall. It's, um, interesting.
She's one of those people who stopped being just a friend and became family a long time ago. You know that's happened when your friend is in every special memory you can recall from the past. Years ago my family's door was never locked, so sometimes I'd come home to find a note from her stuck to the fridge with a magnet just to let me know she'd stopped by to see me.
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