Earlier today, I was a little irritated. As I have written before, Cyndi and I live about a mile from our respective childhood homes. Our community--Elk Grove Village--is the kind of place where people stay. Or a place where people come back. We know several families that lived here as children, left for college or life or whatnot, got married, had children, and came back. I can think of eight families off the top of my head. As a kid, the cool thing about growing up in Elk Grove was that there were always kids around. I lived in a court with five homes. We had three boys (ages 7, 10, and 13 at the time we moved in), our first next door neighbor--the Lemkes--had three kids (two girls and a boy) all around the same age as us, when the Lemkes moved away, the Browns moved in (actually, the mom and dad were not named Brown, but I cannot remember their name. Their daughter, Lisa, was from the mom's first marriage. Her last name was Brown) and they had Lisa and adult children, the neighbor after that--the Harmons--had two kids (a boy and a girl), the neighbor after that--the Maddens--had two (girls), and the neighbor after that--their name I cannot remember)--didn't have kids at first, but eventually did as time went on. So in total, there were at least eight-11 kids at given time, just on our small street. Of course, we lived in a subdivision, so there were kids up and down virtually every street.
We've lived in our house for almost nine years. We live in a court with about 30 houses on the street. However, there are not many kids. The houses in our subdivision are older, built in the early 70's. Built without basements. Built with small rooms. Many people I went to junior high and high school with lived in these homes. And the thing is, it's their parents that remain. They have raised their children, but continue to remain in their homes. We also have renters, divorced single men with older children who only live with them part of the time, and older adults.
Several months ago, I wrote about Frederic's first sleepover. His friend, Kevin, who was living in a three generation home on our street, spent the night. The kids had a blast, stayed up late, snuck out of their rooms, were exhausted in the morning. The thing that is supposed to happen at a sleepover. I made the kids blueberry pancakes in the morning. It was a success. Kevin was Frederic's best friend. Was. Last month, they had a bit of a falling out; something that still sits wrong with me now. The kids were playing Freeze Tag with Kevin, his sister Katie, and our neighbor's daughter, Brianna (she's one of the kids I referenced who is older and lives her part of the time). During the game, Kevin, Katie, and Brianna ran into the street to keep away from whoever was "it." Our kids cannot go in the street. So they called foul. They stopped the game to plead their case that since they cannot go in the street, no one should be able to go in the street because that would be an unfair advantage. Kevin, Katie, and Brianna laughed at the rule, drew a line in the sand, and basically joined forces in being against our kids. Ciaos ensued and no one could come to a conclusion. The game ended, and in reality, so did the friendship. Frederic felt that since Kevin disrespected a rule put upon him by his parents, he was disrespecting his family. I was away at the time, and heard all of this second hand.
Parents on either side did not get involved in the dispute. Frederic made the decision on his own to end the relationship. He concluded that he had other friends who he could play with; friends who respected his boundaries. While I think his decision was ultimately the right one, carried out with the best intentions, it bothered me. I didn't want Frederic to force our rules upon his friends. I didn't want him to end a friendship over our parenting decisions. Once a week or so, I'd check-in with him and make sure he was okay with the decision. And he is; he was.
Frederic has been friends with Kevin for a few years. He was really the only kid on our street his age. It was the silver lining to living on a street filled mostly with adults.
Was. That's the thing that irritated me today. As we left our house, we saw Kevin's parents loading their van with clothes. It was obviously not a "trip to the thrift shop to drop off donations" kind of loading. We pulled up, rolled down the windows and asked the question that was on every one's mind. "Are you moving?"
Are you moving. Kevin and Frederic have been friends for three years. We've been casual friends with his parents just as long. We've had them to the house for BBQ's. We've gone to football practice together. Out for pizza and ice cream after a game. Celebrated New Year's Eve together. Gone to Great America together. And we had to ask a question to learn about their fate as our neighbor.
I miss the fun we used to have on Racine Circle. I miss the games of kick ball, the snowball fights, the block parties, the 4th of July celebrations, the songs we used to sing, the conversations we used to have. The kids were always occupied, and the parents never had to worry. We were all friends. When it came time for someone to move--and we all eventually did--the message was delivered personally. Our clear relationships dictated that fact.
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