The Gift

Cricket McRae

Some of my friends are serious about birthdays. Serious. Not content with a mere, single-day hoorah, they celebrate for at least a week: birthday lunch with one friend, birthday dinners with other friends, an intimate celebration with their man (yes, these are all women – well, there’s one guy, but he still has a man), another get together with parents and siblings and usually a nice chocolate sheet cake in the break room at work.

Not me. In fact, I once forgot my own birthday until UPS delivered a package from someone obviously more on the ball than I was. I’m afraid this also means I’m not always good about other people’s birthdays. But I make an effort because I know it’s important, and everyone deserves to have a fuss made over them.

Last weekend I turned forty-seven. My guy is much like me about birthdays. He gave me a funny card, a practical gift, a single tulip, and took me out for brunch. No fuss, no muss, no bother, just eggs Benedict. He’d already brought home a flourless chocolate cake for Arbor Day, and it was way too soon to repeat the decadence.

(Side note: We celebrate Arbor Day largely because Hallmark doesn’t try to make us. The cake said, “You’ve got me treed.” What a romantic, eh?)

And that was that. Until …

The mailman brought a box to the door in the afternoon. I have a friend who still sends me birthday presents. They are thoughtful, often funny, and distinctly personal. This woman knows me well. After all, we’ve been pals for thirty-three years.

Her gifts were, as usual, spot on and much appreciated. But this year the card took the cake. So to speak.

She wrote me a story.

Two pages, about one teenaged girl teaching another one how to drive a stick shift on the dump road outside of town. About almost getting hit by a truck. About how they made up a song about it.

About a friendship overflowing with laughter that ended up spanning more than three decades.

The little story is so well-written. Poignant sans sentiment and intensely personal to yours truly. It made me cry. Hell, I’m tearing up as I write this now. That this thoughtful gift, utterly free and utterly priceless, came from her when I know she’s swamped with work, family, and a dozen other obligations just floors me.

But there’s more. I’m working up to the deadline for my next book, and that always makes me a little crazy. Okay, a lot crazy. I planned for the stress better this time, as well as the inevitable distractions, visits from friends and family, etc., but let’s face it – I’m still crazy. In this frame of mind, writing loses its luster. After this many go-rounds, I know it’ll come back, but the word that comes to mind when I sit down in front of the keyboard yet again to fuss and rewrite and add scenes and make decisions is slog.

That precious, two-page story turned out to be a gift in another, unexpected way: It reminded me of the power of words, of how much I love them, and that stories are truly important. It shifted my attitude at a time when it sorely needed a shift.

There just isn’t a Thank You big enough.

How Do You Define True Friendship?

My son came home the other day and shared something he’d heard on the bus: “Friendship is like peeing your pants. Everyone can see it, but only you can feel it.”

This peculiar and somewhat amusing statement started me thinking about friendship and looking up different definitions. In my 1976 American Heritage Dictionary, the first definition of a friend is “a person whom one knows, likes, and trusts.” The 1977 Webster’s New World Dictionary first defines a friend as “a person whom one knows well and is fond of.” Wikipedia says, “Friendship is the cooperative and supportive relationship between two or more people.” Hmmm. Perhaps friendship is not so easily put into words.

When my children were little and learning about stranger danger, we talked about who were our friends. At that time, I defined a friend as anyone who had been in our home or whose home we had been in. That was simple enough for a child to understand, but after further consideration, not a definition to stand the test of time. Just recall the flap over Obama’s visit to the Ayers’ home and the ramifications during his presidential campaign.

My first childhood friend was Judy. We were in the same grade in elementary school, and we both had curly brown hair. In fact, people often confused us because we looked quite a bit alike. Sadly, Judy’s family eventually moved to the next town. We still got together for a while; then, as often happens, our get-togethers ended. But I still remember her with fondness. Just seeing her picture makes me smile.

Now my dictionaries are dated and definitions may have changed. I wonder how many ways future editions of American Heritage or Webster’s dictionaries will define friends and friendship. Someday, will a friend be defined as a person one exchanges “tweets” with or a person one links to on Face Book? I have a dozen or so “friends” on Goodreads.com whom I know nothing more about than what they’ve read or plan to read. At least we all share a mutual interest in reading and Goodreads.com.

I like to read about different friendships. Mystery series in particular often have friendships—or sidekicks—woven into the stories. Stephanie Plum has Lula; Myron Bolitar has Windsor Horne Lockwood III (Win). Even loner Jack Reacher has his band of ex-military police buddies who appear when he calls them. These characters do not always choose the same course of action or share the same beliefs, but they always support and respect one another’s choices and beliefs.

For me, true friendship is an intricate balance of respect, trust, mutual values and interests, shared experiences, loyalty, fondness, and acceptance. That’s the kind of friendship that never moves away. And it doesn’t come along everyday.

How about you? Do you remember your first friend? What fictional characters’ friendships do you enjoy? How do you define true friendship? And don’t tell me it’s the person who buys enough books for you to sell through :)