―Lisa Whelchel
Today is the
birthday of one of my oldest and dearest friends. She definitely does not like the oldest part,
but we have known each other for more than four decades ― although I am not allowed
to mention that.
But what I
can say is that there is great kindness in childhood friendships that endure
long after our childhoods are gone.
Those friendships help us to keep important memories alive. Those friends remember parents gone too soon
as well as hairstyles and boyfriends we'd sooner forget. They remember who we were and how we became
who we are. These are the friends who
are at our side during marriages and births and children's operations and the loss
of our loved friends. They love us and
that love extends to our children and ― dare I go there ― to our
grandchildren.
No matter
where my friend is on my birthday, she finds me. One year, a fax from Geneva brought me
birthday greetings. And I find her on
her birthday. These days, she is in
California. Today, as I passed the phone
to my children so they could felicitate her, I was touched by their telling her
how much they missed her and that they loved her ― none of it prompted by
me. Despite her travels and living in
other cities, she has made it a priority to share enough experiences with them
that she is a special person in their lives.
Those
childhood friendships remind me of the security blanket I used to take with me
to sleep-away camp when I was a child. Like
the blanket, these special friendships represent something in which I find great
comfort. There is a kindness in their
understanding and love of both the earlier version of me as well as who I've
become.
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