It’s not What you Know, but Who you Know

It’s not What you Know, but Who you Know

                Several of my closest friends had babies around the time that I did, and like many parents, we decided that they should be the best of friends. This doesn’t always go as planned, and my siblings and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with some of the kids we hung out with because they were the kids of our parents’ friends. Fortunately, my daughter and my friends’ kids adore each other, and the more time we spend together, the better friends they become. It’s really a win-win because I get to spend time with my friends while providing my sweet girl with social opportunities.

                Another fairly common occurrence is for parents to become friends with other parents because their kids are friends or play sports or other activities together. My mother-in-law has lots of close friends who have kids the same ages as her three sons. Parents don’t necessarily become friends with every other parent they meet this way, but it certainly is an effective way as an adult to find friends.

                I recently heard a sweet story about my grandmother (Joyce) and one of her closest friends, who has a daughter the same age as my mom.

                On her first day of kindergarten, little Karen Ballard (who was actually quite tall for her age) fixed her hair in two blonde pigtail braids (her mother didn’t know how to put these in), tied her black and white shoes, pulled on her little white sweater, and kissed her mother goodbye.

            “I’ll see you at lunchtime, Karen. Have a great morning!” Joyce said, and she waved at Karen until she could no longer see her.

            Within the hour, one of Joyce’s friends from the old neighborhood pulled into the driveway and knocked on the door. She ooohhhed and aaahhhed at all of the new appliances Joyce had and helped her figure out how to best display some of her husband’s artwork. They had a lovely morning together, and Joyce was delighted to see her daughter walk into the house at lunchtime with her own little friend.

            “Mother, this is Cindy. Would it be okay if she stayed for lunch?” Karen asked, gesturing to the freckle faced little girl standing by her side.

            “Well, I suppose that would be fine, but I will need to call your mother to make sure she doesn’t mind. What is your last name so that I may call your mother?”

            “Mantooth. My name is Cindy Mantooth.”

            Joyce’s friend, who had started pulling plates from the cupboard, turned at the sound of this name. “Mantooth? Well I’ll be! Is your mother Bonnie?” she asked. Cindy nodded and her curls bounced. “Joyce! I know this girl’s mother! What a small world!”

            After a moment of awing over this coincidence, Joyce called Bonnie to see about Cindy staying for lunch and explained who she was and that they had a mutual friend. Bonnie gave permission for Cindy to stay, and she joined them as they were cleaning up lunch dishes. Cindy and Karen headed out the door to finish their first day of kindergarten on that sunny September day in 1961, and Joyce and Bonnie have been close friends, having lunch together at least once a week ever since.

                My mom didn’t invite Cindy to her house that day thinking that her mother needed a new friend, but if she hadn’t invited her over, my grandmother may not have ever met this very dear friend of hers!