The Willow Glen Resident

You just have to take that first scary step

By Sue Fagalde Lick

Megan put on her best jeans, fluffed her curly hair and set out on her bike. Her mission: to make new friends.

When you're 12 and have just moved into a new neighborhood, that's your job. Mom and Dad may be obsessed with finding enough dishes to make dinner and setting up the beds so everyone has a place to sleep, but that's not Megan's problem. She knows all that stuff will be taken care of. Her job is more important because if she doesn't find new friends, she won't have anyone to play with, and she'll start school next month not knowing anyone.

Kids make friends by making themselves visible. When you're a quiet, spectacled girl like Megan, you cruise the neighborhood on your bike or your skates until another kid sees you and invites you to play. If you're a bold, no-fears kid like my grandson, you march right up to the door and say, "Hey, I'm Brandon. Play with me."

Both methods work, but you have to take the first step. You can't expect the other kids to come find you if they don't know you're there.

It's not much different for us grown-ups. Megan moved into the house next door two weeks after we moved into our new house. My husband and I hadn't made any new friends yet. Mostly we had stayed in the house, doing grown-up things like writing letters and hanging pictures. Sure, we met Shellee at the bank when we set up our account, and Rex, the cable TV guy, was nice, but they weren't friends, just people doing their jobs.

We might never have found anyone to play with if our dog hadn't introduced us. Last night on the beach, Sadie, who's a lot like Brandon, ran up to a pleasant-looking woman and nudged her until she pet her. "Sadie!" I scolded, but then my husband and I started talking to the woman. We discovered her name is Sue, too, and she's about my age. She moved into the neighborhood the same week we did. She didn't know anybody yet, except her sister and brother-in-law.

The old excitement of finding a new friend warmed our hearts as the sun set and a chill wind blew through our sweatshirts. We compared rents, restaurants and jobs and exchanged addresses. We talked until even the dog was shivering and we had to go home, but I could feel myself bouncing in my tennies, wanting to run home and tell my mom, "There's another kid here just my age! Her name is Sue, too." Of course, Mom lives 700 miles away now, but I still want to tell her.

Now that I've made one friend, I think it will be easier to make more. You just walk up to a stranger and start talking. My grandfather was a master at it. You couldn't go anywhere they didn't know Clarence. Why? Because when he was next to another person, whether in line at the grocery store or walking on the Seacliff pier, he talked. Too many of us grown-ups put up a wall around ourselves and pretend other people aren't there.

When you've lived in one place for a long time, you have friends. You don't need to talk to strangers. But when you move to a new town, you need new friends. Maybe you play bridge instead of Barbies, but if you don't come out of the house and seek other people, you'll be playing solitaire for a long time.

Yesterday I heard young girlish voices next door, talking, laughing. Sure enough, Megan had a new friend. Her quest was successful. I'm happy to report that mine was, too.

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