When I was in 5th grade, my best friend was a sweet little Indian girl who lived around the corner. We'll call her Sadie. Sadie sat behind me in school, and we were both on the quiet, bookish side. We rode bikes, played Barbies, ran through the sprinkler, and even tolerated her younger brother. When she spent the summer in India visiting her family, we exchanged letters and postcards the whole time. While our classmates were starting to "date" and go to dances, Sadie and I were perfectly content to just be ten. We even wore those silly "Best Friend" necklaces that fit together.
Until Catelyn moved in across the street.
Catelyn was "cool." She had older sisters who let us hang out in their room while they dyed their hair, listened to Metallica, and gossiped about boy drama. We snuck their V.C. Andrews novels, and were both horrified and fascinated by what we read. I slept over one night, and we stayed up to watch Pink Floyd's "The Wall" (which still gives me nightmares to this day.)
Eventually, Catelyn started making comments about Sadie. "She's so dorky." (Well, so was I--for an idea of my wardrobe at the time, see Dawn Wiener in "Welcome to the Dollhouse.) "Has she ever kissed a boy?" (Irrelevant, since neither of us had, nor were in any rush to.) "Her house always smells." (It smelled delicious to me, of curry and cumin and exotic spices that certainly never graced my own Irish kitchen at home.)
But at the tender age of 10--and too heavily influenced by books like "Sweet Valley High" which dictated some sort of expected adolescent pecking order--I started to buy into Catelyn's comments. When I planned the guest list for my 11th birthday party, I left Sadie off in order to placate Catelyn.
Sadie biked over to my house one afternoon in a panic. "Are you having a birthday party this year?" I quickly denied it. "I heard that you were, and you didn't invite me because you don't want to be friends anymore." She dissolved into tears, and I wrapped my arms around my sweet friend, begging her to come anyway. But we both knew it was beyond repair.
We wound up at the same high school together, several years later, but never progressed beyond a cordial "hey" in the hallways.
As time went on (I switched schools, Catelyn moved, and our friendship dissolved), I can't say my friendship skills progressed. When things got sticky (i.e. there was a disagreement, a difference of opinion/interest, a general annoyance), I simply extricated myself from the relationship and moved on. I became way too judgemental--instead of accepting my friends as they were, I professed exasperation (as I got older, I would write them off as being "too high maintenance.") I prided myself on what I thought was strength of character (I remember announcing to one poor girl, when I was about 14, that nobody liked her and thought she was annoying--thinking, somehow, that I was helping her!?! My old roommate loved this story and would always quote it at random, "NOBODY LIKES YOU!" But I can't say it was my finest hour.)
Looking back, I think I was terrified that someone would hurt me the way that I'd hurt Sadie. (Oh, and I had my comeuppance--in 7th grade, I was booted out of the "popular" crowd for a spell, and spent several lunch periods in the bathroom.) It was easier to turn away or brush someone off than work at the friendship.
WORK at the friendship. See, I didn't realize that it was just that--work. I thought that friends were just accessories to cement you into a certain social group, or cheerleaders to pick you up when you were down.
Now, at the ripe old age of 33 (and a teacher at a girls' school), I am extremely sensitive to this topic. I cringe when I hear of girls being cruel, rejecting each other, or grinding the gossip mill.
I've also reaped what I've sown. I have a few old friends that I keep in regular contact with (and through the magic of Facebook, I've reconnected with many people that I've truly missed), and I love meeting new people and developing new friendships. Yet I can't help thinking of all the times I failed as a friend throughout my adolescence, and the toll that has taken.
And then my thoughts turn to Sadie, and what would have happened if Catelyn had never disrupted our little world.
As my Teege gets older, and the birth of Baby #2 approaches, I ponder (and worry) how to teach them the value of true friendship--and the concerted effort required to make it work.
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