Make new friends, and keep the old
My children had more play dates than usual this summer. Part of this is because my son is entering kindergarten; his school has encouraged parents to have play dates to ease the transition, so that the first day of kindergarten feels is smooth and full of friendly reunions rather than tears. It makes sense, but it’s always hard to make the time for these nice-to-haves.
As much as I would like to navigate my children’s social lives for them, I can’t choose which kids they will “click” with as friends, who they will feel an effortless connection with and who they won’t. I’ve watched with some sadness over the last couple of years as one of my daughter’s close friends moved to Europe and my son’s best friend moved to another school. It might have been easier if they had been distraught or inconsolable. Instead, my children asked a few questions.
“When am I seeing her again?”
“Why did he leave? Can I play with him again?”
But as the weeks and months passed, both children registered the loss with what looked to me like quiet sadness and acceptance. Neither of them mind playing with other kids, but both tend towards being “slow to warm” to others.
So this summer, when my daughter met a new friend at camp and couldn’t stop talking about her, I was thrilled. They whispered and laughed together, and when camp was over, requested play date after play date. She hadn’t lit up like that about a friend like that in ages. And although my son’s social calendar was full with his new kindergarten buddies, he wanted to see his old friend. In the two years since the boys have been in school together there have been a few opportunities to see each other, but it’s not as often as any of us would like. Both boys ran through the house, playing with Legos and toy light sabers as though no time had passed since their first play date four years ago.
As I cleaned up after countless peanut butter sandwiches and bowls of Goldfish crackers, mopped up droppings from all of the places the kids had played with the hamsters and bird, and looked with longing at the computer (where no writing whatsoever was taking place), I couldn’t help feeling that the chaotic non-writing was serving a purpose. My kids were having a wonderful time with their friends: discussing the finer points of Harry Potter lore, re-creating real and imaginary Star Wars duels, and trying to play songs from both movies on the piano.
There’s an aspect to all stages of parenting so far that has felt like childhood, version 2.0. Making friends was far less of an engineered enterprise in the 1970s than it seems to be for my kids. When I was my children’s age, my family had moved numerous times and would move again. I didn’t keep in touch with my friends from my childhood in Chicago or the cousins I left behind in Taiwan. I remember feeling less upset about specific friends I’d left behind than about the boxes of toys I had just won from Bozo the Clown on WGN-TV in Chicago. But that is how a six-year-old registers loss.
This summer I haven’t been the writing powerhouse that I hoped to be. Trips to visit faraway family members and other family responsibilities have kept me in a near-constant state of packing/unpacking and housewifery. I can’t claim to be thrilled about all of this. But watching the kids make friends has been a worthwhile way to Not Write. Of course, it helps that I’ve got some new friends too: my kids’ friends’ parents. Now that is a rare thing.
