In the 9th grade, I went to a school dance. I'd been to only two dances before that one; I wasn't a particularly popular girl in junior high. But, I had my friends. We stuck together. We sat outside after lunch, or in the bleachers in the gym. We took speech class together and dramatically interpreted Steel Magnolias (I was a killer Shelby--those judges were wrong). We passed countless notes in the halls and giggled away late Friday nights watching Shag. My friends were the ones who convinced me to go to that one last 9th grade dance.
It was a fancy dance, held at the local country club--high living in our small town. My mom made me a polished cotton pastel floral Laura Ashley knock-off; she hot rolled my hair; and she helped me put on mascara and lipstick. I felt beautiful, and terrified. Would I get asked to dance? By a boy? What would I say? What would I do with my hands?
In an attempt to ease the adolescent angst, the dance organizers revived a late nineteenth century: dance cards. Each young lady was issued a small, half-fold card with numbered lines one through ten. The card was charmingly attached to a silk cord, on the other end of which was a teeny, tiny little pencil. In theory, the boys would simply approach a girl and ask to see her dance card. He would sign up for a dance. Simple. Effortless. A mere registration process. Also in theory, a girl's dance card would be full, and she would have a lovely evening chatting and dancing with ten fine young gentlemen.
Theory rarely translates to reality, particularly when dealing with junior high romance.
My dance card wasn't full. Not even close. I had one dance. Maybe two. They were so awkward. The best part of each dance was when the song ended. Then, I was free to scamper back to my small herd of girlfriends to giggle, squeal, and wonder if I would get to repeat the experience at least one more time that night.
In life, we don't have dance cards. We do have text messages, and Facebook. Sometimes, we even talk to friends on the phone or manage to grab lunch. We meet each other at work, on soccer fields, at kindergarten fundraisers.
Last week, I had a realization: my dance card is full. I have more friends than days in the week. If I were to have a party at my house, I wouldn't have enough chairs to seat everyone I wanted to invite. (Note: Need to buy more chairs.).
My mom always tells me that we have different friends for different times in our lives. Campfire girls taught me, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold."
For the first time in forever, I have new friends, and old friends, silver friends, and gold friends--all very much treasured.
I have my old friends--the ones who giggled with me at junior high dances and introduced me to V.C. Andrews books. I have my older friends--the ones who knew me before I had permanent teeth and who loved me even when those permanent teeth grew in crooked.
I have my ladies--the ones with whom I share the commonality of law school and law firm experience. When I left private practice, I was afraid I would lose that close knit network of truly brilliant women. Friendship survives firms, and I'm so grateful that it does.
I have mom friends who I know will be lifelong friends, sharing birthday parties, graduations, soccer games, and the occasional (or not so occasional) margarita.
Tonight, I went to Parents' Night at our little Lutheran school. Gigi is technically in two different preschool classes, MWF, and TT. When I mentioned that we would probably attend only one field trip day, her teacher responded, "I would try to go with the Monday/Wednesday/Friday section. Her best friends are in that class, and she'll have so much more fun." (Gigi's bestie isn't in class with her this year, and saying goodbye to him very nearly breaks her heart most mornings).
Gigi is two. Already, she has made friends--the ones who knew her before she had permanent teeth and who will love her when they come in crooked (we've already started the fund for her orthodontic work).
My hope for my little woman is that when she is 37, she'll have the realization that her dance card is full. Friends have made the difference for me. And, to each of them, thank you, I'll call you for lunch (or margaritas) soon.
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