Tag Archives: teeny-bopper

“Just as long as we’re together…”

Yesterday Jezebel.com featured an article about childhood friendships; it was originally published in the Daily Mail. The piece is mainly about how friendships from childhood are the ones that tend to last forever. Because we are forced to spend all day with our friends during our formative years we supposedly create these intense bonds that last well into adulthood.  Now I don’t completely disagree with that sentiment, I’m still friends with a few people from high school and middle school. We’ll always share certain memories and experiences from those times in our lives that the friends we make later on won’t understand/care about because they weren’t there.  However, that doesn’t mean that the friends I’ve made over the last few years won’t be life long nor does it mean that they are any less valuable than those I’ve had for a longer period of time.  Two of the people I’m closest with are people I’ve met within the last 5 years, one of the two I met last year.

The comments on the post are mixed: some are still friends with their preschool buddies, others are really only close to the people they met later on in life, a lot have a mix. Some commenters point out that childhood friendships (turned into adult ones) can be simply friendships of convenience, or have pathological/co-dependent elements to them. I have seen that side. I’ve also seen how exclusive those friendships can be, to the point where it means ignoring friends who aren’t in that group because they aren’t as “important” as those friends are.

I once had a friend/ex-roommate, *Ellen, who conducted our friendship like the ones she had with her “friends from home.” What this meant was, I basically had to initiate contact between us, because God forbid she ever IM or email me first. I had to tolerate her flakiness and not get wished “Happy Birthday” because she didn’t see at as important. I think the cake topper was when we had a falling out she chose to side with the friend she knew longer–even though they were being false. I suppose what frustrated me was as roommates I really saw the potential for us to have a great friendship–to the point where I would’ve considered her one of my closest friends. But, when I was constantly being compared to that group of friends and their standards there was no way we would’ve been able to maintain any sort of friendship, especially when she wasn’t willing to meet me half way.

In the end I do disagree with the article’s author, Lucy Cavendish’s statements. I don’t think it’s fair to limit ourselves to the friends we made when we were kids. We never know who really will allow us to be who we truly are, who will help us grow into a better person. Saying that it will only be our tween/teen friends ends up limiting our possibilities. I want the option to have a great friendship with those I’ve met in the last few years and those I’ve known forever. I also want the chance to make even more amazing friendships.

The Edge of Seventeen

I once read an astrological profile for my sign Gemini, that said Gemini’s eternal age is between 14-21.  Having other friends who are Geminis I can say this is for the most part true. I think sometimes it expresses itself in different ways.  For example an ex-roommate of mine is trapped emotionally and behaviorally (and I’m sure one could argue physically) in the mind/body of a 14-year-old girl.  That tender age where girls still think the world revolves around them and have a difficult time handling experiences that suggest otherwise. It’s a time when the movie “Mean Girls” is more of a documentary than a comedy.

But it can also be a sort of magical time, where anything seems possible. Maybe that cute boy will ask you out in front the whole cafeteria, maybe you will score the winning goal for your team, and you just might pass that calculus test with a cram session and a bit of luck. I think there are some great writers who can really capture that time in our lives where we seemed on the edge of something great.

They’re able to make us sigh with longing for an easier time (or what seems like a simpler time when our days are full of bills, appointments, job hunting). Even now I revisit the pages of Francesca Lia Block novel or a Judy Blume book.

I suppose the reason I’m drawn to the coming of age story  is because everything seems so raw. Even calculated experiences turn out otherwise, things are left hidden; everyone is waiting to unfold and show the world who they could be. I like it because it’s so different from the 20’s and 30’s syndrome where everyone thinks they know who they are, and they’re just waiting for everyone to bow down and say they’re “fucking amazing!”

Sometimes I think we should celebrate the people we used to be, before we got caught up in being a grown up.  Maybe we should take a page from Marie Howe’s book and examine those turning point experiences.

Practicing

I want to write a love poem for the girls I kissed in seventh grade,
a song for what we did on the floor in the basement

of somebody’s parents’ house, a hymn for what we didn’t say but thought:
That feels good or I like that, when we learned how to open each others’ mouths

how to move our tongues to make somebody moan. We called it  practicing, and
one was the boy, and we paired off — maybe six or eight girls – and turned out

the lights and kissed and kissed until we were stoned on kisses, and lifted our
nightgowns or let the straps drop, and, Now you be the boy:

concrete floor, sleeping bag or couch, playroom, game room, train room, laundry.
Linda’s basement was like a boat with booths and portholes

instead of windows. Gloria’s father had a bar downstairs with stools that spun,
plush carpeting. We kissed each others’ throats.

We sucked each others’ breasts, and we left marks, and never spoke of it upstairs
outdoors, in daylight, not once. We did it, and it was

practicing, and slept, sprawled so our legs still locked or crossed a hand still lost
in someone’s hair … and we grew up and hardly mentioned who

the first kiss really was — a girl like us, still sticky with the moisturizer we’d
shared in the bathroom. I want to write a song

for that thick silence in the dark, and the first pure thrill of unreluctant desire
just before we made ourselves stop.

-Marie Howe, 1997