My Best Friend

Originally written on 04/19/11.
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When I was a little girl, I had a best friend who would go everywhere with me.  We were inseparable.  We did everything together from doing our hair to traveling cross country in her camper van. 

"Tammy, let's to go to the Grand Canyon."

"OK," I said.

We packed our bags, loaded the camper van with plenty of food, and headed off down the road.  We would stop and see all the sites along the way or just drive without worrying about a map.  We traveled to Cheyenne to see the rodeo,  to Colorado to experience skiing in the Rockies, then on to Vegas were we didn't stay long.  There wasn't much to do in the 70's for little girls in Vegas.  Our favorite places to go were Disneyland in California and Disney World in Florida.  The camper van went there most often.

Later, my friend got a plane.  This opened up the world to us.

"Tammy, let's go to Paris."

"Paris, I've always wanted to go to Paris," I said

We would fly into Paris, where I could finally see the Eiffel Tower and stand on the very same steps my father did in the '50s.  I had a picture of him there, and always wanted to take the same picture of myself.

"Let's go to Germany and England," I said.

Off we went.  These were also places that my father had been to while he was in the army.  I wanted to see everything he had.  Maybe it would give us something to talk about.

When at home, my friend had a great townhouse.  It had three levels and an elevator.  We would play for hours without end -- running through each room. 

Every four years, we would watch the Olympics together.  Then, we would work on our routines for when we were in the Olympics.  For the Summer Games, we practiced gymnastics and swimming.  For the Winter Games, we practiced ice skating and down hill skiing.   She was always very good at everything, but very supportive of my efforts.  She always encouraged me to do my best no matter what.

My friend could do anything.  One day she was a vet, another day a lawyer.  When we flew in her plane, she was the pilot.  When we drove across country, she was the driver.  There was no a career path she couldn't do. 

Her townhouse and camper van were a safe place for me.  No one yelled at me there to be quiet because they were hung over, or  to clean up my toys because they tripped when they were drunk.  No one told me I would be pretty if I only had pretty hair.  My friend loved me, encouraged me, and helped me dream of the big, wonderful world that I would soon be able to explore. 

Thank you my best friend, Barbie.