The new comfort zone

A couple of weeks ago, I watched my son make a new friend.  Two friends, in fact – a brother and a sister, each several years older than he is.

He is an only child, most likely will remain an only child, and he doesn’t truly understand the concept of a brother or a sister.  As I watched the brother and sister duo splash and play in the pool near our house, I felt a familiar twinge, knowing that they will always have each other as playmates.

My son hovered near them, watching.  He got closer and closer and they took interest in him, inviting him into their game and allowing him to participate in a way older siblings would dote on a younger one.   The girl was about 10 or 11, and had a beautiful singing voice.  I told her so.

“I want to be a singer or a babysitter when I grow up,” she said, with a toss of her blonde curls, before returning to the game at hand.  

Happily, the trio frolicked in the water together, pretending that leaves were boats and their boats were floating down the channel to the decorative pool.   I smiled widely, watching my son develop before my eyes.   The siblings’ mother caught my eye over her book from across the pool, and we shrugged and grinned at each other.

As a baby, my son was reserved and shy.  Even at two, he would cry if another child got too close to him or if we were not in his immediate line of vision.  We enrolled him at a local teacher-led playgroup, a great concept that allowed him to attend a preschool of sorts, with lots of free play, music, and art projects, with the babysitters (for working moms like me) and moms playing along with the children.  

Over time, he has come out of his shell.  My son is happier, usually, to watch for awhile and get the lay of the land first.  He’s so much his father’s child in this way.  He is more likely to play by himself than ask for company.

Recently, he has been asking his teacher at the playgroup if certain friends can play chase with him through the tall curtains hanging from the ceiling, laughing as they circle round and round.   

“Can Brian play chase?”  he would ask her.

“I’m not Brian,” the teacher would say.  “You need to ask him directly.” 

And so he does.  He is learning to ask, approach, and take a chance that someone will say no, or ignore him.  He is learning to assert himself and figure out what it means to make friends of your own.

Making friends is a lifelong skill.   I grew up with a sister who was my constant companion on every vacation, and we would make up games and dream together.  My son won’t have that, and he’ll have to build his extended “family” from friendships he forms along the way.

Time is the key, and making friends is a lot like dating.  I was nearly 38 when I reluctantly moved to Austin, after 10 years in Atlanta.  I had a strong network and a group of girlfriends I didn’t want to imagine living without on a regular basis.  Love makes you do funny things, though, and I ended up falling in love with Austin too after the first year.  

Luckily for me, I take after my mother.  The traits that I was embarrassed about as a teenager with my mother are the ones I find myself exhibiting:  I talk to the woman in the aisle next to me at Babies R Us, and compare orange juice brands at the grocery store.  I’ve exchanged cards with people I met on airplanes.  Now I have more friends in Austin than I could have ever imagined, and I don’t want to live anywhere else.

My son is not me.  He is more likely like his father, a reserved, introspective person to my no-question extrovert.  But maybe he’ll be a mix of the two of us: someone who is eager to make friends but takes it slowly and cautiously.  Maybe he will not put his foot in his mouth quite as often as I do.  Maybe he won’t have the same insecurities.

He’s learning.  At 3, he has much of his life to practice.  Some friends will stay by his side, and others will stray.  Some potential friends will not accept his invitations to play.  Some will hurt his feelings; it’s an inevitable lesson we wish our children didn't have to learn, even knowing it's the only way.

He’s just getting started, and he’ll have to figure it out on his own.  I’ll be nearby, hoping it’s easy for him to make friends, but also hoping he chooses wisely and cherishes the ones who are loyal and true.     

And last week, he grew even taller and more confident: he approached two grade-school boys, probably 9 or 10, who were playing catch with a baseball and gloves.  He had seen them playing, and he asked me if he could play too.  “You’ll have to ask them, honey,” I told him, skeptical that they would even notice my little boy.   The result brought tears to my eyes:  when my son ran up to the closest one and said, “Can I play with you?” the boy called out to his friend, “He’s playing with us now.”  For a time, they threw grounders to him that he could retrieve, and didn’t complain when his throws didn’t quite reach their gloves.  When I called my son over to let them go back to their game of catch, he walked away triumphant.

He’s going to be just fine.  

Love,