And here I thought I hated history

One of the things I appreciated most about my friendship with Lisa was that we had a history together. For those unaware, we met in 6th grade, a union of two girls from two different elementary schools whose daddies worked in the same division for the government. I still remember the first day of 6th grade when I entered the room. She was already there, sitting near the door, reading a book, waiting on class to start. My dad had given me a clear description of her, so I knew her right away.

My memory as sketched by my daughter for a scrapbook. Navy tights, denim skirt, paige-boy haircut and clunky shoes.

Our friendship was a passionate one; when it was good, it was great, when we fought, it was filled with hate. But, by the time we were seniors in college, we seemed to have sorted out the ups and downs and remained inseparable. When we’d bicker, our history came into play and we knew what to do. When one of us was hurting, often words and questions were unnecessary. History had given us the knowledge of what the other needed. When joys filled our lives, we celebrated with equal excitement as if the joy was our own…because it was.

I’ve made new friends in those 33 years, of course. And my life wouldn’t be complete without them. Some have come and gone, some have come and stayed and some, bless them, have come and destroyed, but they all count. This past year, however, I’ve experienced loneliness like I could never imagine. And the one thing I have lamented the most is, “but no one knew me when…” I’m not sure I understood the importance, for me, of longevity in a deep, abiding friendship.

Enter Mindy.

My neighbors from my infancy to age 21. L to R, Herb, Me (big surprise I was a witch, eh? I was 3 yrs old here), Julie and Dwight. Look behind us, you'll see a crib/bassinet. In that crib?? Is Mindy.

Minus the first 3.5 years, I have known Mindy all of my life. Now, full disclosure, we go years without seeing or speaking as adults. But, we’ve somehow kept up with each other through the big moments in life. The death of her father, reuniting 18 years ago for a spiritual retreat, occasional random sightings at restaurants and stores…you know the routine. But, Mindy was always there. Her brothers Herb and Dwight were the babysitters I mentioned in my Michael Jackson post – the ones who stood at the kitchen window with me and sang to MJ, Donnie & Marie, Tony Orlando & Dawn.

Sometimes, our age difference was huge. We were 4 years apart in school, so as an 8th grader, I was probably not so interested in spending time with a 4th grader, even if she was the most awesome 4th grader around. I’ve only hit one person in a fight. It was Mindy. I’ve only been hit by one person in a fight. Yep, it was Mindy. We rode bikes together, we caught fireflies together on the 4th of July as we watched the show shooting over the trees in our neighborhood. For a few summers, we picked berries off of a bush of a neighbor and got in trouble because the owner didn’t particularly like kids, especially berry pickin’ kids.

She had dachsunds, I had a huge Labrador Retriever. She had much older sibs. I was an only. She was a kid when I was a teen and she was a teen when I entered adulthood, but yet…

…we both played trumpet. We both got our Bachelor’s degrees in music education at Ohio State University. We both ended up at the same retreat that would, if for a time anyway, change our faith journeys. I trained her as a music director for future retreats and then, as happened as adults, we parted ways. We’re both happily married, mothers of two children each, living the suburban life.

When I say the names Cain, Pearson, Johnson, Oliver or Stewart, she knows what family I’m speaking of, where they lived. Our moms were friends and would be close today if my parents still lived in my childhood home. She knows the freedom of riding your bike down the hill on Roundelay – with no hands. She knows that no one in town can pronounce the street “Aida” the same way and that our street, Carrousel was definitely spelled wrong, but that’s just the way it was.

Mindy has taken our similar goals and expanded them, making her career path one I could have only dreamed of. Once her dissertation is complete, she will have a doctorate in music. She currently teaches at The Ohio State University’s School of Music and spent a number of years teaching in public schools. Me? I couldn’t stand public school teaching, thought I found my home in the church and…well, that’s for another blog entry. I’m proud of her accomplishments in ways I can’t describe. Yet, in a message in facebook a few weeks ago, she told me that I was always the cool one. The wise one. The older one. Oh wait, I still am the older one. But, the rest of it…pth. She’s passed me a million fold.

And yet, when we sat down to lunch last week, with only an hour of time to give, we slipped into a comfort I’ve not felt since…well…since May 19, 2008, the last time I dined with Lisa. The conversation was different; we had a lot of catching up to do. But there was a depth to the conversation that could only be felt by the two of us. When I admitted I’ve not worked for 10 years, she, above anyone else, knows that that’s a highly unlikely and unusual situation for me to be in. When she spoke of her sibs and her mom, I could hear things she wasn’t saying about their relationships as adults and how everything changes.

And how everything stays the same. And it’s those two dynamics that work so nicely together when you have a history. You don’t have to explain yourself. You don’t have to add disclaimers to anything. You just are. And I’ve missed it like I never knew.

For my high school graduation, Mindy, then an 8th grader, came to my party and gave me a gift. It has, from that day forward, had a prominent spot in my home.

It stays framed in the pewter frame she put it in that says, "Special moments are the start of memories that warm the heart." I think we were about 5 and 9 here and yes, she's on the left and TALLER than me.

Every move we’ve made, it remains with the family photos on our piano, even if other photos get edited or removed. Even in our separations, she’s always a part of me and my life. And now, we have a chance to travel together again. Working through grief (her dad passed 3 years ago), motherhood, being children of aging parents…all of it. Our shared interests are many and above all, we both can say, “She knew me when…”

I can’t wait to forge a new path with an old, dear, treasured friend. It’s time. I think I’m finally ready.