Kurt and I spent hours together as children. We tromped through the rural outdoors at the edge of our small town. We hung out at home.
Then, when I was 11, my family moved 1,800 miles away. I lost connection with Kurt and made new friends.
More than a dozen years later, I returned to the state where I’d known Kurt – same state, different city – to work as a newspaper reporter. He saw my name in the paper, called and said he lived there too. What a swelling good feeling!
Of course we met.
Of course the reunion proved disappointing.
We’d more than doubled in age. As 11-year-olds, we’d clicked. At 25? Like a Lego and Lincoln Log, we didn’t – comfortably. Or at all.
Friendships are like that, aren’t they? They have their seasons, blossoming in a metaphorical spring, then flourishing in summer. Some friendships, fewer than we’d like, then grow into long and comfortable autumns.
But others meet a winter demise – and often only because time inevitably has changed us. No fault, no blame. Just puzzlement dangling from memories.
On friendship
Count your friends, if you dare
Fabulous video.