Pearl #4 ~ Forrest, This One's for You

Today's six-word memoir:  We were like peas and carrots.

When I started this blog, I knew there would be some periods of silence, and that while my goal was to write "daily-ish", there would be some days where I post multiple "pearls" and some where I post none.  That's just the nature of taking on a project like this, and as long as I get to 365 pearls (We're gonna keep it 365, even though it's a leap year, okay?) by January 25th, 2013, I'll be satisfied.



I'll admit, if I had realized that I would write three pearls and then take a two month hiatus, I might have held off on the official start of this blog.  But then, I might never have attempted it at all, and that might be worse than making the attempt and failing.  In fact, I know it would have been worse, because without at least making the attempt in the first place, I might not have reconnected with Forrest the way that I have in the last couple of months.

Of course, Forrest is a pseudonym, and while Forrest himself will know why I've chosen that name, I feel this one deserves an explanation.  I've known Forrest my entire life.  Okay, it's possible that we didn't meet until I was a few days old, but he's older than me and his family and mine have been friends as long as I can remember, and we grew up together.  Forrest was the closest I ever got to having a big brother, but unlike real big brothers, he never really picked on me and always watched out for me.

He was two years ahead of me in school and during grade school we only lived a couple blocks apart.  Since our moms were best friends and our sisters were best friends, it was only natural that Forrest and I were close. We were never officially best friends, though.

In fact, I had a series of best friends throughout grade school - the typical "declared" best friend relationships that girls the same age will form, staking a claim on one another to let the world know that there will be no tampering with this relationship, thank you very much.  Those were the best friends worthy of the necklaces sold at Claire's Accessories, where each girl got a piece of the necklace, one saying "Best" and the other saying "Friends".  The description of the penguins in the picture below said they're mood penguins (the kind that change color to show your mood), and only $10.00!!  That would have been right up our alley!

The problem with these relationships is that they don't allow for the natural ebbing and flowing of friendship that happens throughout life.  When two "best friends" began to go separate ways, or found somebody new and exciting to spend time with, the current person holding the Best Friend title had to relinquish it.  This could be very painful, and often marked the end - or at least the diminishing - of the relationship in its entirety.

Now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with having those sorts of best friends throughout my girlhood.  Those relationships taught me a ton about general socialization and continue to help me be a good friend to this day.  I will say, though, that after "losing" two or three best friends, I developed a distaste for the whole concept.  This was actually a healthy development.

I stopped labeling just one person as my official Best Friend, and started referring to my closest girlfriends (and sometimes guy friends) as "one of my best friends".  This eliminated the exclusivity and demand for an unrealistic and unsustainable mutual friendship, and allowed for me to have many very close friends in my life while using the term "best friends" to indicate the particular degree of closeness.  In addition, it allowed my close friends to have other close friends of their own without provoking that jealous guardedness that lends itself so well to popular crime show motives.  In fact, I developed a preference for the term "kindred spirit" when referring to the really cherished friends I've made, and I often find that my kindred spirits also use the term "kindred spirit".  A sure sign of kindred spiritedness.

But Forrest never got labeled like my other close friends did.  That's because his and my relationship wasn't like my other best friend relationships.  It was more than that.  He watched out for me.  He walked me home from school when I was too little to walk home alone.  We always argued over a chain-link fence enclosing a yard that was home to a dog named Bandit.  The fence had a sign that said "Badger Fence" (still does, in fact), but Forrest always claimed that it was a Bandit fence.

I remember that I had a little stuffed bear that wore a winter eskimo-like outfit.  This could be unzipped and removed and, underneath, the bear's body was entirely white and red striped like the old fashioned full body bathing suits that people wore in the 40's and 50's.  Except that Forrest said the bathing suit was underwear.  He was wrong.

Forrest taught me all the secrets of Mario 3 on the original Nintendo Game System, or at least all the secrets that ever mattered to me.  We would play house and Forrest came up with the idea that he and I were the parents so we had to go to work.  We would go into a separate room of the house where our job was "testing" video games.  Eventually, one of the younger kids would come in to ask if we were ever coming home from work.

And when the younger kids were watching cartoons in the living room after school and Forrest had to do his paper route, I would as often accompany him as I would stay with the others.  I was in awe of how he  knew every house and the specific paper delivery method that went with it.  There was an apartment where a lady left the tip under the door mat.  Certain houses had dogs that would bark at us and Forrest knew whether they were actually threatening or not.

There was a house called "Old Musty" (there's always an old musty something-or-other) and another called "Grumpy Old Man", both aptly named.  Forrest had the timing  and the process down for the entire route, and when any of the rest of us kids came to help, he led us with such natural authority that it was never questioned.  He was a fair and pleasant leader, and once he bought us each a Popsicle from an ice cream truck.

This probably sticks in my brain because I was never allowed to get anything from ice cream trucks when they came down my street.  Not that I minded.  My dad would call us in and give us ice cream or a Popsicle from our own freezer, explaining that it was much cheaper that way.  To this day, if I'm at home in the summer and I hear an ice cream truck nearby, I'll pull out a treat from my own frozen stash.  But that day, the treat was that Forrest was treating us, from his own money.  To any kid, that's a huge milestone.

A defining moment came in our lives that guaranteed Forrest's and my relationship would be preserved for eternity.

Now you see, don't you?  One afternoon in the mid-'90s, we were watching this classic, and Forrest Gump made a singular statement:  "Jenny was my best-good friend."  And then my Forrest told me that we were the same, and so it has been ever since.  In the movie, Jenny goes off on her own, leaving Forrest so many times that their relationship never should have lasted.  But it does.  Because a best-good friend is one that has committed to be there through thick and thin, near or far.  

And that's the way it'll always be between my Forrest and me.  We lead separate lives, seeing each other only on occasion, sometimes making an effort to do more than that.  More often than not, Forrest initiates the contact, or invites me to do something with him.  He's still the big brother, the one watching out for me, paying for my Popsicles.  Half the time, we're trying to figure out where we left off.  There may be an awkwardness, or a lull in the conversation, but the compassion and love for each other never hesitates.  He's my best-good friend, never to be replaced, and that will never change.