Sunday
Jun132010
wherein i love lou and george, or: friendship, the perfect blendship
Sunday, June 13, 2010 at 8:16PM
My first re-introduction to the way kids make friends was at the hands of this amazing little creature, my favorite little girl in all the world:
From the time she could communicate easily, I would watch her sidle up to other kids and make friends with them. I heard her unabashedly refer to others she had met moments before as her friends. There was no agreement made; nobody asked permission. Just an assumption that they were now friends. This isn't unique to her, I know. Most extroverted kids do it but that doesn't make it any less cool.
Now I have one of my own, who makes friends everywhere he goes. People love babies -- this is not news. Especially round, smiling, toothy babies that goo and ba at the slightest encouragement. We take George with us when we eat out, when we go for walks, when we see bands. I see no reason to sequester a child away from normal entertainment in favor of a rigid schedule of staring at primary colored plastic and sleeping. Besides, he won't even humor the idea of bedtime before 11pm.
This is him making friends with the waiter at the Horseshoe while I was trying to get a nice photo of him and papa ("you take your baby to the horseshoe?" yes.).
I sometimes have to stifle the urge -- HARD -- to deter him from interacting with people I deem... undesirable. Old, kinda filthy hippie guy outside of the Grand who kept calling George "a treasure": sweet and well-intentioned. George loved him; chill out, mama. Cross between Jimmy Buffett and Santa Clause drinking mead at the Honeymoon: wanted to hold George, did so like a pro; George was thrilled and gazed adoringly at the guy for the remainder of the evening. It makes me wonder how often my own prejudices or hang-ups have gotten in the way of making new acquaintances.
Today, at our usual Sunday breakfast place, the sweet girl whose glasses we've admired, who wears red lipstick so adeptly and takes our drink orders, asked if I was on facebook. She was nervous-seeming, and I told her that on the walk home last week, Nathan and I had talked about how to ask her to be our friend, and if it was even appropriate. I hadn't yet mustered the nerve -- for what reason, who knows -- but I'm glad she did. Thinking about how silly and chicken I was, I was reminded of the ease with which we used to interact before rejection dulled our collective confidence. And I am so grateful for these two, for their guilelessness.
From the time she could communicate easily, I would watch her sidle up to other kids and make friends with them. I heard her unabashedly refer to others she had met moments before as her friends. There was no agreement made; nobody asked permission. Just an assumption that they were now friends. This isn't unique to her, I know. Most extroverted kids do it but that doesn't make it any less cool.
Now I have one of my own, who makes friends everywhere he goes. People love babies -- this is not news. Especially round, smiling, toothy babies that goo and ba at the slightest encouragement. We take George with us when we eat out, when we go for walks, when we see bands. I see no reason to sequester a child away from normal entertainment in favor of a rigid schedule of staring at primary colored plastic and sleeping. Besides, he won't even humor the idea of bedtime before 11pm.
This is him making friends with the waiter at the Horseshoe while I was trying to get a nice photo of him and papa ("you take your baby to the horseshoe?" yes.).
I sometimes have to stifle the urge -- HARD -- to deter him from interacting with people I deem... undesirable. Old, kinda filthy hippie guy outside of the Grand who kept calling George "a treasure": sweet and well-intentioned. George loved him; chill out, mama. Cross between Jimmy Buffett and Santa Clause drinking mead at the Honeymoon: wanted to hold George, did so like a pro; George was thrilled and gazed adoringly at the guy for the remainder of the evening. It makes me wonder how often my own prejudices or hang-ups have gotten in the way of making new acquaintances.
Today, at our usual Sunday breakfast place, the sweet girl whose glasses we've admired, who wears red lipstick so adeptly and takes our drink orders, asked if I was on facebook. She was nervous-seeming, and I told her that on the walk home last week, Nathan and I had talked about how to ask her to be our friend, and if it was even appropriate. I hadn't yet mustered the nerve -- for what reason, who knows -- but I'm glad she did. Thinking about how silly and chicken I was, I was reminded of the ease with which we used to interact before rejection dulled our collective confidence. And I am so grateful for these two, for their guilelessness.
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