Tuesday, October 7, 2014


When you're a kid,
you go to your friends' houses
to play.

And their parents are there.

Then when you're in high school
and taking the bus home
seems like too much to handle,
you go to your friends' houses
(I'm looking at you, Emma.)
to hang out
and "work on homework."

And their parents are there.

But then you go to college
and then you grow up.

And it's just you
and your friends.

And there's something missing.

Of course,
you're not mature enough to realize
until it's too late
how worthwhile it is
to know the one or two people
that made your friends
who they are.

Who took them to the doctor
Who pushed their stroller
up a steep hill
when they were dead tired.
Who sat on the edge of a bed
and told a story
or sang a song
or said a word or two.
Who made cookies
and went to soccer games.

Whose DNA made them.
Whose home made them.
Whose love made them.
Whose life made them.

All I want to do
is meet all my friends' parents
and say,
"I love your child.
And so I think
you must be
pretty great.
You did a good job.

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