Last night, while making an attempt to be understood in the fewest possible words on someone's Facebook post, with questionable success, I became aware of a post searching for a childhood friend's address so he can be invited to our upcoming high school class reunion. Similar to the thinking one uses when one tries to find missing keys, the online conversation had to do with where anyone had seen him last. The last day I remember seeing him was the day of our high school graduation. I remember running up to him out on the lawn and hugging him, knowing that even though we were from the same home town, there was no guarantee we would ever see each other again.
We had become friends perhaps in part because we grew up a couple of miles from each other on farms. Since our parents knew each other and we attended the same church in town, our friendship was convenient if nothing else, especially when we were sent to the Catholic school for first grade and would have to ride back and forth with each other's mother. We spent many hours playing outside as children who grow up in the country do. It was more than that though as we made our way through the difficulties of navigating the school social scene. We were friends with each other when others were not friends with either of us. As long as we at least had each other, it seemed ok. We could add others to our childhood games but there was an unspoken trust of friendship between us that was not broken.
After going to kindergarten through eighth grade together in our small country school across the road from my family's cherry orchard, we headed to the only high school in our tiny town where all of the outlying country schools would offer up their students. Friendship took on new meaning as we were suddenly thrown together with other groups of kids who had known each other since their first day of school. Finding one's place and status was a confusing process and being a one-friend kind of girl most of the time, I often was unsure who to call my friend and who I was better off not qualifying in that way. And even though we often ended up in different places with different people, I knew if I were to ever need anything, I could call on him. He was still my friend.
Going to college changed everything. Some friends were getting married while I was staying up all night studying. Others were taking over their family farms or heading off to serve our country while I dreamed of pursuing something bigger than the confines of small town life. Keeping in touch demanded a great deal of time and effort before modern technology and unless I was coming home and making a point of visiting old friends who had decided to continue their lives there, we would part ways and have only the memories to live on.
High school reunions are a bit of a cliche and yet the older I get the more interested I become in attending. What I once thought I had to prove about success has faded, along with the color of my hair as the gray/white strands are becoming more numerous around the edges of my face. Looking a certain way or having a certain career become blurred like my vision. What once seemed so important has had several decades to change its mind. What remains is a connection with a person who knows me. Someone who remembers what I was like before life happened. Someone I have always called friend.
But now that friend has become a verb, everything is different--again. What was once a term reserved for the most special people in my life, can be applied to a mere acquaintance or even a customer eager to do business with me. We no longer befriend someone. We friend them by requesting that they become our Facebook "friends" and invite them to this somewhat imaginary world of ridiculous posts featuring cats, political statements and motivational quotes. We act as if this is real friendship. We want to believe that it is. Because if it is not, we will have to face the fact that the hundreds of people who have accepted our friend requests may not really be all that close to us. We may only have a handful of people we can call when someone dies or we really need to talk or be reminded that we are loved.
My friend was found on Facebook and by the end of the night I had summoned the courage to invite him to be my friend . . . again.
We had become friends perhaps in part because we grew up a couple of miles from each other on farms. Since our parents knew each other and we attended the same church in town, our friendship was convenient if nothing else, especially when we were sent to the Catholic school for first grade and would have to ride back and forth with each other's mother. We spent many hours playing outside as children who grow up in the country do. It was more than that though as we made our way through the difficulties of navigating the school social scene. We were friends with each other when others were not friends with either of us. As long as we at least had each other, it seemed ok. We could add others to our childhood games but there was an unspoken trust of friendship between us that was not broken.
After going to kindergarten through eighth grade together in our small country school across the road from my family's cherry orchard, we headed to the only high school in our tiny town where all of the outlying country schools would offer up their students. Friendship took on new meaning as we were suddenly thrown together with other groups of kids who had known each other since their first day of school. Finding one's place and status was a confusing process and being a one-friend kind of girl most of the time, I often was unsure who to call my friend and who I was better off not qualifying in that way. And even though we often ended up in different places with different people, I knew if I were to ever need anything, I could call on him. He was still my friend.
Going to college changed everything. Some friends were getting married while I was staying up all night studying. Others were taking over their family farms or heading off to serve our country while I dreamed of pursuing something bigger than the confines of small town life. Keeping in touch demanded a great deal of time and effort before modern technology and unless I was coming home and making a point of visiting old friends who had decided to continue their lives there, we would part ways and have only the memories to live on.
High school reunions are a bit of a cliche and yet the older I get the more interested I become in attending. What I once thought I had to prove about success has faded, along with the color of my hair as the gray/white strands are becoming more numerous around the edges of my face. Looking a certain way or having a certain career become blurred like my vision. What once seemed so important has had several decades to change its mind. What remains is a connection with a person who knows me. Someone who remembers what I was like before life happened. Someone I have always called friend.
But now that friend has become a verb, everything is different--again. What was once a term reserved for the most special people in my life, can be applied to a mere acquaintance or even a customer eager to do business with me. We no longer befriend someone. We friend them by requesting that they become our Facebook "friends" and invite them to this somewhat imaginary world of ridiculous posts featuring cats, political statements and motivational quotes. We act as if this is real friendship. We want to believe that it is. Because if it is not, we will have to face the fact that the hundreds of people who have accepted our friend requests may not really be all that close to us. We may only have a handful of people we can call when someone dies or we really need to talk or be reminded that we are loved.
My friend was found on Facebook and by the end of the night I had summoned the courage to invite him to be my friend . . . again.
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