A Safe Place

I am 31; she is 11.  Today I picked a ripe strawberry from my garden and gave it to her.  We stood in the yard and talked about her boyfriend of one month, who she doesn't see now that school is out.  The rain clouds rolled in and she headed for home, but not before Mikey ran to her for a hug, and Winston wrapped his arms around her waist.  This is her safe place, where she doesn't get yelled at, doesn't have to clean or get out of the way, where the expectations are to be kind and share. 

Because I remember.  I was once small and weak and therefore vulnerable to a world that eats its young.  I was around enough unsafe adults to appreciate the ones who were considerate and protective.  So this is what I can give to her and the others who are like her.  I am not your parent.  There is just a world of complication in that one word.  I know the expectations and the disappointments that you will cause each other, and you won't get that here.  I'm not a peer, because I can drive and have my own home and don't have to raise my hand to ask questions, but I will be your friend.  I can model for you what it is like to be a good friend, something I was blessed to have from the age of 12 til now.  When I see you smacking that other girl out of frustration, when you argue over what game you are playing and don't talk for a week, you can come to me and talk about it.  I'll be direct and won't tolerate abuse that is verbal or physical, because you're getting older and that becomes less and less okay.  I have these little kids and a million responsibilities, but I'll make time for you and I to do something fun.  We can ride bikes and you can call me slow.  We can play board games and play at the park.  We can hang out while I wash dishes or fold laundry or sit out on warm summer grass.

Because its a hard decade you're entering.  Middle school is just beginning, and friendships become tricky and fickle.  Boys will come and go (I know you think this one is forever, I saw it written on your arm).  There will be days when it seems like no one likes you, and you may even hate yourself a little.  That's why I'm here.  To remind you that you have worth and value, even if no one else seems to see it.  To give you a place to complain or escape.  To look out for you, even if your parents think you can fend for yourself.  Because someone did this for me.  Because someday I hope you'll be happy and independent and successful, and a lonely girl may come across your path, and I hope you'll do it for her.  Because we need each other, we need this protection.