I don't know if there is anything more amazing than reaching out and reconnecting with a childhood friend.
I have really vivid and joyful memories from my childhood. I lived in a tiny subdivision north of Houston in a town that was known for its tall, tall pines and not much else. Our little neighborhood was super close-knit, and it was a great place to grow up. There is even a facebook group for people who share adoration of our little slice of nostalgia.
But my memories of my home in that small, quiet neighborhood didn't begin util I met my first-ever friend: Brannon.
Our mothers were friends from the neighborhood's garden club, and they met one day at the pavilion in our neighborhood. Brannon and I met that day for the first time, drawing chalk figures on the cool concrete on that warm day. I remember that we talked a lot, but I have no recollection about what we talked. All I really remember is that I really loved hanging out with him. He was such great fun.
From then on I was always at Brannon's house. Yes, I had other friends, but Brannon was my first friend. My first best friend. We raced our bikes around the neighborhood, and I pedaled my pink Schwinn with the banana seat as fast as it would go. We jumped on their trampoline until our legs tired. We hung out in his family's large foyer playing Barbies and games we invented from our imagination.
And then Brannon changed schools. He didn't move just yet, but we weren't close anymore. We drifted apart like childhood friends often do, and we hadn't talked since we went to a mutual friend's birthday party. Brannon wore a Batman costume and played dress-up with us.
I love that he's followed his passion to New York City, and is still flexing his imagination. From what I can tell he's still the same creative, open and fun person he was when we were just children.
It's a beautiful thing to discover him all over again and see that the frienship we had never died.