When I was in sixth grade we moved across town to the house where my parents still live. I went from a neighborhood with 20+ kids, to one with only a few, most of them younger. I went from a school where I knew everyone, to a school with only strangers.
Fortunately, there was a girl down the street, in my grade, who became my friend. We spent a lot of time together, listening to LPs or 8tracks, stalking boys we liked , playing marathon games of Monopoly, and walking home from school. When summer plans took us different directions, we wrote a lot of letters.
My parents never asked me where I was going when I went out with this friend, because we had fun, but we never got in trouble. (We accepted as fact that we would get caught if we did something we weren’t supposed to be doing.)
My friend has a wonderful sense of humor (translation: she gets my jokes and likes puns) and while we don’t see each other often, due to distance, we do occasionally send each other a bad joke or pun. Sometimes I run across a pun so bad (or good, depending on your perspective) that I have to send it to her. Our punny interactions always make me think about happy times long ago.
About the same.
For instance, I remember the two of us visiting my grandmother. Grandma was getting a little forgetful, and when Grandma asked how my friend’s little dachshund was doing (we already had told Grandma that the dog had passed away) my friend answered without hesitation, “about the same.” It was kind, true, horrifying and funny – all at the same time.
I thought about that visit the other day. A detour took me by my grandmother’s house…and my friend’s visit is the thought that popped into my head…About the same.