Writer & Columnist • Santa Barbara, CA
Once upon a time, I had friends. Actual flesh-and-blood buddies with whom I made plans. Went out. Shopped and danced. Ate and drank. Took walks. Met for coffee. Attended shows.
We knew the intricacies of each other’s families, kept up on each other’s work, hobbies, and health. Their problems were mine; my struggles theirs. They felt like my Allies for All Eternity.
And then the Pandemic hit.
If you ever need a friend, introduce yourself to a kid. Unguarded, transparent, and loyal, kids collect pals like pennies.
You never see toddlers nix a friendship over political ideology, or renounce a terrific rapport just because their buddy has a nicer lunchbox and it makes them feel bad about themselves. Their only requirements for friendship: proximity and a grin. And a pile of goldfish crackers doesn’t hurt.
This is a remarkable character trait. Beautiful, really. Until the unchoosy little chums force it on their picky, prickly parents, and then it’s annoying as hell.
Have you ever been thrust unwillingly into crony-hood with other parents simply because your kids are friends? Forced to play nice with a mom you can’t stand — to meet for play dates, chat in schoolyards, attend awkward barbecues — because your children can’t bear to be apart?
It’s irksome. Adults are far more fastidious about investing in friendships. We’re lazier, less patient, more close-minded, but …
“It’s hard to give up valuable time to people who drive you nuts,” explains a mom I know who’s experiencing this now. “I have nothing in common with this woman other than our daughters being friends, and she is so irritating, it’s hard to tolerate more than five minutes of her.”
