To My Friends’ Parents

I miss my hometown friends, and I miss their parents too. It’s a strange double loss when you leave home and go on to college or move away. You aren’t just leaving behind your friends, but often a scrapbook’s worth of moments and memories shared with their entire family. They say it takes a village, and I’m realizing just how much of my own village consisted of my friends and their families too.

So much of my childhood was spent in other people’s homes. Teammates, friends, neighborhood playmates, etc. It wasn’t until I went home this past Christmas that I spent time with some old friends’ parents. It felt different— in a good way, like we were equals. Not in terms of lived experience but from shared responsibility. There was a sameness for the first time in understanding pressures of adulthood and what it takes to be in charge of what happens in your own life.

This weird understanding made me view my friend’s parents not as a parent, but as a person. They were no longer on the ‘grown up’ pedestal, but now seemed relatable and approachable in a previously unexperienced way. Just another human, with stories and stressors, in the same way that I have stories and stressors too. 

This Christmas while I was home I was reminded of how gracious friends parents can be and the way they make me feel. I thought about hoping to be that type of presence for someone someday in my own circle of life. Each friend's family, I remember, had a different quirk that made them who they were. In preschool, my friend’s mom would make shapes Mac and Cheese and always gave it to us in those funky bowls with the straw on the side. My family never had those bowls and for some reason I convinced myself it made the pasta taste even better. At their house they made mundane things fun and did everything with intention. 

I remember the way my friends houses all had their own smell. Walking in and feeling like they waved a dryer sheet in your face. Not because they did any more or less laundry than my family, but because they used Tide and we always used Downy. I remember how no matter if it was the hottest summer day, their family always offered massive blankets when we would spend the night and watch movies. I would bury my face in that blanket and breathe in as much of the laundry scent as I could. Their home made me feel cozy and welcome.

It’s strange to think of all my youthful memories and realize there was an invisible hand guiding us the entire time. Watching as we trekked an ungodly amount of mud into their pool, got crumbs in the deep crevices of their car seats on the way to tournaments, or drove an extra half hour because we insisted on Panera instead of Subway for a pregame meal. It’s both wholesome and moving to know those sacrifices were happening far more often than a younger me could recognize, all in an effort to make sure that childhood was everything it was supposed to be. 

This past Christmas my friend's family was kind enough to host me for dinner—something I now appreciate even more, as I recognize what it means to have more mouths to feed. I was reminded of all the dinners I had spent with them when an afternoon hang inevitably spilled into the dinner hour. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner if you’d like”, the mom or dad would say. That magic phrase as a kid meant I just extended time with my best friend and would get to eat something out of the usual rotation, but now it’s an invitation for good conversation and the pleasure of sharing a home cooked meal. 

I look forward to moments when I find myself alone with the not-so-scary adult. Waking up before my friend and sharing a cup of coffee with their mom or dad while we catch up on the last few years, talking about things as trivial as the weather or as important as our thoughts about life. Now I welcome their stories and life experience, watching their face light up while the movies of their memories dance behind their eyes. Their stories are palpable and I’d like to think I’ve matured enough to appreciate their advice, or at the very least, read between the lines to find the themes of each new chapter they graciously decide to share. 

When I think of my own parents, who had each lost their mom by the time they were my age, it feels like a gift to have time with them and my friends’ parents too. There will always be an element of reverence towards the ‘proper’ adults in my life, but it’s a pleasure to also get to know them in this ‘friend’ stage of life. To look them in the eye, call them by their first name, and give them a hug knowing there’s an understanding of your past, and a celebration of who you’ve become, wrapped firmly in that squeeze.

All this to say, I miss my hometown friends… and I miss their parents too.