In Charlotte’s Web, E.B. White spoke for Charlotte when he wrote:
“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
I agree.
We’re constantly confronted by a host of troubling news stories, and as Americans, we should speak out against what’s wrong and stand up for what’s right.
But health researchers consistently advise us to put disturbing news stories aside when we can. They encourage us to focus instead on things that make us happy. These include staying in touch with our friends. As geriatrician and author Dr. Kerry Burnight has noted, strong social connections can help people live longer in good health. Burnight adds that we should even be “proactive” about maintaining and strengthening these bonds.
Consciously or not, I’ve chosen to maintain and strengthen the bonds of friendship. I continue to make new friendships. But I also choose to maintain and enhance my longstanding friendships.
I’m still in touch with friends I first encountered during my childhood. I especially treasure a black-and-white photo my father took one summer day when I was seven. My next-door neighbor Helene and I are holding hands outside our apartment building. We were best friends, living next door to each other until we were twelve, when my family moved away.
Astoundingly, Helene and I are still friends and talk now and then on the phone. We have very little in common these days, other than growing older, but we still chat about our childhood memories and how lucky we are to have a lasting friendship for so many years.
I keep in touch with still others who go back almost as long. Childhood friends who shared our public elementary school, some in high school. Friends from college and law school and a bunch of jobs, neighbors who are now other people’s neighbors, and even a former boss or two.
As Valentine’s Day approaches, I’m thinking about a friend who created a remarkable Valentine’s Day for me when we were in 6th grade.
I’ve written about this friend before. Today, when many of my friends have become seriously ill, his story reminds me how precious friendships really are.
My friend (I’ll call him Alan R.) grew up with me on the Far North Side of Chicago. We were in a pack of friends who attended the nearby elementary school. This was back when all of us walked to school, walked home for lunch, and walked back to school for the afternoon.
On the very coldest days, Daddy would drive me to school if he could. Those days were different in another way, too. Girl students, who otherwise were required to wear skirts or dresses to school, were granted a dispensation because of the sub-freezing weather. We were allowed to wear something that would cover our legs.
I usually opted for blue jeans. But wearing them was verboten during class time. They could be worn only going to and from school. So I would wear my jeans under a skirt, then remove the jeans and stash them in my locker. I’m still angry that, in that benighted era, it was unthinkable for a female child to wear pants in school. Thankfully, that rigid prohibition has largely disappeared.
I had a handsome “boyfriend” in 5th grade. (Although we thought of each other as “boyfriend” and “girlfriend,” we simply had a pre-teen crush on each other.) My best friend Helene had a crush on my boyfriend, but I was the lucky girl who got the misshapen plastic pin he made when he went off to camp that summer.
By the fall, Alan R. had replaced him.
Alan was never one of the best-looking boys in our class. He was tall for his age and somewhat awkward, and he tended to be rather stocky. But he had a pleasant face and a pleasant way about him, and he became my 6th grade “boyfriend.”
In October, he invited a bunch of us to a Halloween party at his house. Helene and I decided to don similar outfits—tight t-shirt tops and skinny black skirts. We were trying to look like French “apache dancers.” I wasn’t really sure what that meant, but I suspect that Helene’s savvy mother inspired us to choose that costume. However it came about, we knew we looked terrific in our very cool garb. We may have even added a beret to top it off.
Alan played the gracious host, and when the party wound down, he led us outside, and all of us paraded through the neighborhood, knocking on doors and yelling “trick or treat.” It was a truly memorable Halloween.
I don’t clearly recall the next few months. The days must have been filled with other parties, school events, and family outings. But I definitely have a vivid memory of Valentine’s Day the following February.
When my classmates and I exchanged valentines, I discovered that Alan had given me two. Not one. Two. And they weren’t the ordinary valentines you gave your friends. These were store-bought pricier versions. One was sentimental, flowery, and very sweet. The other one was funny and made me laugh.
What inspired Alan to show his affection for me that way? We were fond of each other, but I don’t remember choosing to give him a special valentine.
Looking back, I can’t help thinking about his decision to give me those two valentines. Did he choose them by himself? Did he have enough money in his pocket to pay for them?
As a mother, I also can’t help wondering what role his mother may have played. Did she accompany him to the card store on Devon Avenue where we all bought our valentines? Was she standing next to him when he chose his valentines, offering her advice? Did she ever learn of this extravagance on his part?
I like to think that Alan came up with the idea and executed it all by himself. He saved his money and walked alone to the store with the firm intention to buy a valentine for me. When he saw the display in front of him, he couldn’t decide whether to show his affection with a flowery card or try to make me laugh with a funny one.
So he bought one of each and, head held high, gave me both of them. I hope I responded in a way that pleased him. I simply can’t remember. But I know that his delightful gesture has remained with me ever since.
Sadly, those valentines disappeared when my mother one day scoured our house and tossed everything she considered inconsequential. But they weren’t inconsequential to me. I still remember the thrill of receiving not one but two valentines from Alan, my 6th-grade beau.
Everything changed in 7th grade. A new school, new boyfriends, and new issues at home when my father’s health grew worrisome. As always, life moved on.
I recently learned that Alan R. died a few years ago. He and I had drifted apart long before, but his fondness for me during 6th grade never faded from my memory.
Did Alan’s flattering attentions give me the confidence to deal with some of the rocky times that lay ahead? Teenage years can be tough. Mine often were. But his two-valentine tribute stayed with me forever.
Thanks, dear Alan, for being a warm and caring young person, even at the age of 12. Although the rest of our lives have had their rough patches, the valentines you gave me in 6th grade have never been forgotten.
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “True friends will leave footprints in your heart.” Alan certainly left his footprints in mine.
susanjustwrites
Susan Just Writes 