Hi! My name is…
September 1956: First day of school for my junior year in high school.
And I hated it.
Until this year, I’d attended school with the children of my parents’ friends. Small town. Very small town. But everyone knew everyone. And it was safe.
Now, I was definitely the new kid. I wasn’t alone. I just didn’t know the difference between the new ones and the others who’d known one another since kindergarten.
Then I met Bonita. Her locker was next to mine. She was new. And our miserableness (that must be a word, there’s no red squiggly line under it) was evident. We latched to one another like velcro.
It would take a larger word-count than my editor would allow to pen our relationship since that day. We made new friends in our new school. We met and married guys who were also best friends. We raised kids together. We’ve laughed and cried. Miles have distanced us. Life has taken us down different paths. But through it all we’ve stayed in touch.
Yesterday hubby and I joined a myriad of other friends to celebrate Bonita’s birthday. The joy of hugging her kids again brought tears. To visit with friends we’ve shared—friends we’d never known had our parents not made the move we thought was the end of our lives—added another chapter to our saga; a chapter I will read over and over again in my heart.
It was Bonita who, when I was pregnant with our third child, led me to the assurance of my salvation.
It was Bonita who would encourage me to “practice the presence of God.”
It IS Bonita who always has a sweet smile and word of encouragement.
The term ‘old friends’ has no real correlation with age. Well, maybe age does come in there somewhere. But it’s also a reflection of life experiences that no matter what—can’t pull the velcro apart.
And the sweetest part?
Not even the grave will separate us.
And that matters!!
Hi! My name is…