The Art of Friendship

I really love G-man's preschool. It's on a farm. Literally, they have sheep, goats, a horse, a donkey, lots of gardens, and plenty of open space full of wonderful nooks with musical instruments, wind chimes, and other exciting tactile, natural treasures to explore. Like most preschoolers, G typically brings home a backpack full of colorful and creative artwork, which I dutifully display and then file in his portfolio, wanting to show him how proud we are of his efforts.

While he can name many of the classmates in his class picture, Grayson reports that one of them is missing, a boy named Luke. Luke wasn't there for picture day. They only see each other once a week, for about three hours. They've become such good buddies that the teacher has resorted to separating them, pairing them up with other friends to make sure they're socializing with their other classmates.

Last week, "May Fair," a benefit for local families in need, had transformed the school grounds into a carnival with pony rides, a helicopter amusement ride, all sorts of games, and other fun activities. It happened to take place on a Thursday, the day Grayson shares with Luke.

An invisible rope kept them tied to each other, allowing no more than about two feet between them at all times. At one point, we went inside for the face painting extravaganza, and I had to excuse myself from the room to find a place to nurse Zoey.

"What do you want painted on your cheek, G?" I asked.

"A GECK-o!!" he said enthusiastically.

"Ok," I said, making sure the volunteer artist had heard his request before I stepped out, leaving G with his teachers, classmates, and other parents.

When I rejoined them, I was surprised to see a rocket, emblazoned with "USA" rather than the gecko he originally wanted.
"What happened to your gecko, Grayson?" I asked.

"I gotta WOCK-et!" he said with a smile.

"Hmmmm. By any chance, does Luke have a rocket, too?"

"Uh-huh! We MATCH!!!"

They laughed and ran around together, sharing some secret bond of boyhood. A passion for trains, helicopters, airplanes, and other modes of transportation unites them, or perhaps they just "get" each other. Apparently, they both think falling off of their chairs in the middle of class is hilarious. "Monkey see, monkey do," Miss Sandy said, laughing while she described their antics.

Making sure I took down Luke's parents' names, phone number and email address so we could arrange playdates for the pair over the summer, I came away from that carnival with a warm feeling (not just from the sunburn on my face, since I had slathered it on the kids but neglected to do so for myself.)

This isn't Grayson's first friend. He has others, from home, whom he remembers and still loves to see when we can coordinate schedules for visits.

This is Grayson's first self-made friend, if that makes sense. This wasn't the result of an arranged playdate, where we get the kids together and pretty much teach them how to play with each other instead of side by side or across the room from each other, barely acknowledging the other during "parallel play."

I wasn't there to tell Grayson that Luke is his buddy. His teachers didn't force them to play with each other. They found each other, on their own. Each discovered something about the other boy that he liked.

When Luke was out sick for a couple of weeks because he had taken a bad fall and hit his head, Grayson told me all about it. He was genuinely concerned, not to mention very relieved when he found out Luke was ok (and back at school.)

It is an organic, independently-formed friendship.

Grayson has brought home some wonderful artwork, but I couldn't be more proud of anything else he's accomplished at school this year.