i lost susanna for a brief period of time last week. it was one of our hot afternoons, and she and liam had requested frozen yogurt for their afternoon snack as we walked home from the bus stop. (unfortunately for them, "frozen yogurt" means just that -- yoplait yogurt in a tube, frozen. they don't realize that in other worlds it's a treat that tastes like ice cream.) so i had given them their frozen yogurts and out of the blue, susanna said to me, "i think i'll take a walk around the neighborhood while i eat my snack."
"sounds good," i replied, intent on adjusting the new window treatments in the breakfast room that had finally arrived. "just don't go past the stop sign." i was reminded yet again of how blessed we are to live where we do -- at the end of a very long, private cul-de-sac with no traffic whatsoever.
ten minutes or so later, i finished up with the valances and headed outside to join the kids. i found liam playing tennis with the fourth-grader from two doors down, but, surprisingly, susanna wasn't with him. "where's your sister?" i asked.
he shrugged his shoulders. "i haven't seen her," he said, before returning to his game.
i scanned the cul-de-sac up to the crest of the hill, but there was no susanna. i walked to our back yard, convinced i'd see her on the swing set. but she wasn't there either.
right around the time that a small glimmer of panic began to creep in, she appeared from our next-door neighbor's front yard. she sauntered towards me, still holding her frozen yogurt wrapper in hand, with a sticky face and a big smile.
"well there you are!" i said brightly, trying as hard as i could to not convey my worry. "where have you been?"
"oh, i just went over to mrs. barbara's," susanna answered. barbara and john are our next-door neighbors who are older than my parents. they often will call the kids over to show them a bird nest, or a project they're working on in their garage, or to see pictures of their grandchildren.
"oh! great!" i said, stifling a huge sigh of relief. "did she have something cool to show you today?"
"no ma'am," susanna replied. "i just wanted to talk to them while i ate my snack. so i went over and rang their doorbell."
i looked at this child standing in front of me, and wondered if it was indeed my daughter. you know, the introverted daughter who will give shy smiles to friends' parents when we see them at the grocery without opening her mouth to say hello. she looked the same and sounded the same, so i continued.
"i see. and what did you talk about?"
"oh, lots of stuff. i showed her my lost teeth. and we talked about my birthday party coming up. and did you know they're going to the mountains this weekend?" she prattled on about this conversation as if it were one she'd had with her best friend in kindergarten. and i couldn't help but smile.
i'll admit that i've often wished we had more children around us. out of the twelve houses on our street, there's only one other kid in elementary school. but seeing liam and susanna forge relationships with all of our neighbors, some of whom are up to twelve times as old as they are -- chatting with them on our way home from the bus stop about what they learned that day at school, or playing an impromptu game of baseball with them with the mailboxes as the bases, or fetching their mail and newspapers while they're out of town as a favor with nothing expected in return -- these things all matter.
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| mrs. barbara, susanna, and mrs. shirley enjoying an american girl tea party last spring |
i think it gives them a sense of family beyond just relatives. i think it teaches them that a home extends past the exterior walls of a house. and, in a world where it's very easy to become self-absorbed, i think that becoming friends with people with seven decades' worth of life experience helps give our children a healthy dose of perspective.
i think i'll send susanna on her merry way more often. with a frozen yogurt in hand, of course. or maybe two.
