I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
July 6, 2010
>When I was six, my parents divorced and my brother and I moved with my mom to a new neighborhood and a smaller house.
Far from being traumatized by the unexpected turn of events, I was thrilled. My new street was crawling with kids and our neighbor across the street had turned an empty lot beside his home into a small park, complete with playground equipment and a flat field of grass that was perfect for all sorts of games. In the summers, we kids would meet at the park each morning and play outside together until sundown. Looking back, it was one of the happiest times of my life. Every day brought new adventures and I have so many memories of running barefoot and climbing trees and riding bikes and building forts and picking flowers and just plain having fun.
That’s why it gives me the most wonderful feeling to see the kids on our street finally reach an age at which they’re able to play outside together. We have ten kids on our cul-de-sac and most are between the ages of 2 and 7. This summer has marked the first year that Punky was really old enough to play outside without constant supervision, and she and our neighbors have spent hours together catching fireflies, riding scooters, playing in sprinklers, swinging, forming a club, planting a garden, and a million different other games and imaginary activities. Punky loves her next-door neighbor, who’s just five days younger than she is, and plays with her nearly every day of the week when she gets home from camp each afternoon– but she’s also finally managed to befriend the girl on the other side of us, who is ten. And to my six-year-old daughter, having a ten-year-old friend is a very big deal.
“Can I invite Molly over?” she asks each morning within a few minutes of waking up. If we don’t have immediate plans, I’ll let her call next door at a reasonable hour to see if Molly wants to come over for a little while.
“Hello, this is Punky,” my daughter says stiffly on the phone after I’ve dialed the number for her. “I’m calling to see if Molly would like to come over for a playdate.”
I watch my daughter with amusement. She’d die if she knew that 10-year-olds don’t call their get togethers ‘playdates,’ and I’m certainly not going to tell her.
More often than not, Molly agrees to come over for a while. She’s very smart and very patient, and the two girls both love animals, gardening and the outdoors, so they have no problems coming up with something fun to do. But a visit from Molly means extra preparation for Punky. She roots through her closet for her prettiest dress and generally asks me to put her hair in a bun, so that she’ll look like Princess Leia. This, in her soon-to-be-first-grader mind, is the way to impress a ten-year-old.
Once Molly arrives, I have trouble keeping a straight face as I watch Punky interact with her. She wants Molly to think she’s cool, but at six, she has no idea of what cool even is. So far, she seems to think it involves using lots of hand gestures while talking– and coming up with unusual topics of conversation.
“Guess which Star Wars character I am,” she says with her chin out as Molly arrives. Molly smiles and shrugs her shoulders.
“Okay,” Punky says. “How about I give you three choices. One? Luke Skywalker. Two? Chewbacca. Three? Princess Leia.”
“Um, Princess Leia?” Molly asks.
Punky claps her hands together. “You’re right,” she says gaily.
“Boy, that was a tough one,” I say. Molly laughs and Punky looks very pleased with herself.
Last week, we took Molly with us to the zoo. Molly kept Punky enthralled with facts about horses and sharks and zebras, and Punky countered with some sophisticated conversation techniques of her own.
“I have a very in-stress-ting question for you,” she said in an Oprah-esque tone. I looked back at her in my rearview mirror and grinned. “Let’s say you had two puppies who were exactly alike.” She sighed and flipped a piece of hair behind one ear, as if she had faced this dilemma herself too many times to count. “They eat the same things, they bark at the same time, they play with the same toys, they are exactly alike. So my question is,” Punky finishes, crossing her legs and placing her hands atop her knees like a seasoned television presenter, “would you name them both Grace?”
Molly carefully considers her question. “I think I might name one Grace and the other Gracie,” she tells her.
“Perfect!” Punky bubbles. She leans in to Molly confidentially. “I’m not a very fancy person, you know,” she says in a low voice. She holds out a hand, palm up, for emphasis. “I like very plain things.”
So says the girl who loves dresses and begs to wear my makeup and still wears a princess costume at least once a week. It’s all I can do not to laugh out loud.
I don’t know how long this budding friendship will hold out; Molly will enter junior high next year and I’m thinking playtime with a first grader won’t seem so appealing. But who knows? Neighborhood friendships are born of necessity. Perhaps this one will withstand the test of… puberty.
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.