First Friends
Friendships start in the strangest ways. My first real friendship, for example was the direct result of naptime on day two of kindergarten.
Miss Murray was going down her list of students, asking each of us a question. The girl immediately after me on the roll sheet was sent to another location on campus, but there was a slight problem. She didn't remember how to get there. I did. Somewhere between leaving and returning, we became friends, and inseparable, at that. She was five days older than me, her family started attending my church, and every year our parents would request that we be placed in the same classroom. We were so inseparable that people who knew better wondered if we were sisters. In a way, I suppose we were.
My first real friend was one of the smartest kids in our class. She was quiet, thoughtful, and friendly. She was one of those kids who the grown-ups respected.
My first real friend is the daughter of a Sudanese refugee and a Norwegian-American who had grown up in Algeria. These two, one of my original sets of other parents, gave me a view of the world that most suburban five-year-olds do not have. It is because of them that I have always paid attention to world news. It is because of them- both of them- that foreign accents ring in my ears as the most glorious music. (I can spot an East African a mile away because of that music.) It was because of what little I knew of Maisha's dad's story that I wanted to eventually go to the eastern reaches of Africa.
She and I went to different schools after fourth grade. Our church collapsed about the same time. Without context, we drifted apart over the years, but somehow, we managed to never fully lose track of each other. Through the wonder that is Facebook, we can keep up fairly easily, even though she's in Pennsylvania and I'm still in our old stomping grounds of Southern California.
Today, I saw a message Maisha had posted on Facebook. It seems she has a blog. Please do visit. She's only in her second month of blogging, but do stop by and see what she's up to.
My first best friend grew up to be a remarkable person, indeed.
Miss Murray was going down her list of students, asking each of us a question. The girl immediately after me on the roll sheet was sent to another location on campus, but there was a slight problem. She didn't remember how to get there. I did. Somewhere between leaving and returning, we became friends, and inseparable, at that. She was five days older than me, her family started attending my church, and every year our parents would request that we be placed in the same classroom. We were so inseparable that people who knew better wondered if we were sisters. In a way, I suppose we were.
My first real friend was one of the smartest kids in our class. She was quiet, thoughtful, and friendly. She was one of those kids who the grown-ups respected.
My first real friend is the daughter of a Sudanese refugee and a Norwegian-American who had grown up in Algeria. These two, one of my original sets of other parents, gave me a view of the world that most suburban five-year-olds do not have. It is because of them that I have always paid attention to world news. It is because of them- both of them- that foreign accents ring in my ears as the most glorious music. (I can spot an East African a mile away because of that music.) It was because of what little I knew of Maisha's dad's story that I wanted to eventually go to the eastern reaches of Africa.
She and I went to different schools after fourth grade. Our church collapsed about the same time. Without context, we drifted apart over the years, but somehow, we managed to never fully lose track of each other. Through the wonder that is Facebook, we can keep up fairly easily, even though she's in Pennsylvania and I'm still in our old stomping grounds of Southern California.
Today, I saw a message Maisha had posted on Facebook. It seems she has a blog. Please do visit. She's only in her second month of blogging, but do stop by and see what she's up to.
My first best friend grew up to be a remarkable person, indeed.
Labels: People I Know
posted by Sam Gamgee at
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