Standing Side-by-Side… but Never Together

A Childhood Story from my Upcoming Book

Today’s newsletter shares a story from my manuscript, a story about what happened to me, as a young child, in our modern culture…

This was a typical Saturday afternoon. Typical Saturday afternoons meant my mother, my younger sister and I could be found wandering the halls of our town’s one and only large shopping mall. The mall was called Carrefour de L’Estrie, which literally translated means Crossroads of the Eastern Townships, but to my family and I, it was more accurately translated as That Big Giant Shopping Mall  — The One You Can’t Miss — Smack Dab in the Middle of Our Town.

My father was with us that day, but, as so often happened, he had wandered off on this own, more than likely taking himself to Classics, the small bookstore near the center of the mall, a center decorated by a large, colorful water wheel and the wishing well that lay just beneath it.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Danny,  a classmate from my second grade class, appeared. I never saw him coming. It was as if a magician had supernaturally conjured him up right there in front of me. Poof… And here he was.

Now, at this time, things were not going well at school, not going well at all, as you might recall from my earlier description of my second grade year. When I’d arrived at my new school, enduring the horrors of my bus trips there, I didn’t know the schoolyard games. Truth be told, even if I had known them, and even when I did eventually learn them, I didn’t seem to have much of the natural talent my classmates possessed. So, most of the time, I sat on the sideline, not invited to join in. During those times, I tried to stay out of sight, hoping to avoid the kids who, had they found me, would have found me to be easy prey. On those rare occasions when I was invited to join in on a game of dodgeball, I, like Charlie Brown in the daily comic strips, was the last person picked.

But, on this particular day, maybe because it was a Saturday, maybe because there weren’t any other school kids around, maybe because we were both freed from the playground and its unspoken rules about who could be seen with whom, Danny seemed unexpectedly excited to see me. He greeted me with a warm smile — it felt like a warm embrace — and with a big “hello”, the kind that said, without having to say it, “of course we’re the best of friends”.

My mood took a sudden turn. It veered from anxious trepidation and headed toward anticipatory excitement.

Then, Danny did something that surprised me even more. He said, and I believe this to be a direct quote, “There’s this great place in the mall. It’s where all the kids go to play. Do you want to go with me? It’s very close to where we are.”

What?

A place in the mall where all the kids go to play?

How in the world had I missed this secret, magical place?

It didn’t matter now. I’d been invited in. I’d been invited to join in by my new best friend.

I could feel the joy welling up from deep inside me. It was the joy of finally, finally,  believing, really, truly believing, I’d be welcomed and included.

I was certain I was about to be warmly received by our mall’s secret society of children, a community of loving, open-hearted kids just like the ones in the village of Dani.

I imagined a large room filled with children who’d been been gathering there for weeks, maybe months, gathering each and every Saturday, playing board games and ball games, jumping together in ball pits, running and chasing after one another, screaming with delight and excitement.

I looked up at my mom with big eyes, eyes showing the sort of longing only a child can conjure up, eyes lit up by the promise of hope. My mother looked down at me, smiled, happy to see my happiness, and with this, her non-verbal acknowledgement, I ran off with my friend Danny.

You can more than likely guess what happened next. There was no secret, hidden room in our mall, no room where a secret society of kids came together the way kids did in the village of Dani. There was no Saturday miracle to rescue me from my loneliness.

There was, instead, only an arcade, a tiny arcade tucked between a small pharmacy and an even smaller, non descript corner store. Inside, lining its walls, sat six, or maybe it was eight, colorful pinball machines.

Danny ran over to one of them. He put his quarter in the coin slot. He pulled back then released the plunger, and shot the shiny steel ball up the ramp. Then, he lost himself in a world of bumpers and targets.

Danny glanced over at me. He looked past the dismay and disbelief painting my face. He told me to go find my own pinball machine to play.

“Maybe this is what childhood really is all about,” I wondered. “Standing side by side but never together: next to Danny but apart from Danny; in the classroom but apart from my classmates; at home but apart from my family.”

[This story is part of a larger chapter in my manuscript, a chapter speaking to the separation we can’t help but experience in our modern consumer culture.]