First Friend

 

While going through some old photographs, I found one of my husband's first grade classroom.  He is center on the second row. Third from left on the first row, with black curly hair and sporting a white cardigan, is my first friend.

The old photograph made for a score of memories.

 

1966

A Clyattville Elementary School First Grade Classroom

 

 

 

Tammy and I grew up separated by two dirt roads that sandwiched a field.  She was my earliest playmate aside from cousins.  Yet we didn't play together at school; she was a grade a head of me.  Ours was a summer, weekend, and after school friendship that began before I started first grade.  But, we more than played our share of school.  It's what we did most and Tammy liked being the teacher.  She was smarter and older so I pretty much played what and however she wanted.

When I was nine, my oldest brother died.  Looking back, I now realize that playing school with Tammy brought a sense of normalcy to that sad and tragic time.  We would play for hours at her house--I liked it there. Sometimes I rode my bike; sometimes she would meet me half way across the field.  

These memories made me long to see my first friend who now lives out of state. We agreed via email that we would try and get together when she next visited her daddy. And, sure enough, just as 2012 took a serious turn toward 2013, Tammy knocked on my door.

We hugged long and hard--it was so good to see her. With hair still black and curly, she looks much the same.  We talked, laughed, and nearly cried. I gave her a copy of the old picture and we laughed some more.

It struck me as to how appropriate our childhood game and the old photograph have become in her life; so significant--prophetic almost.

Tammy is now a teacher in South Florida. The children in her classroom have behavior disorders. Many have been thrown out of other schools but function well with her. She told me that she picks her battles--she couldn't care less if they work seated or standing on their heads as long as they do their best. She told me touching and funny stories and described her classroom as loud and full of laughter. She loves each of her students. She calls them her babies.

Our visit ended much too soon and I have thought of her many times since.

In response to all the media focus on the horrific violence in our schools, I pray often for Tammy and her students.

It brings me great comfort to know that my first friend is still in the classroom; teaching, laughing, protecting and loving.