"I'm your Guardian Angel..."
My six year old daughter was telling me about her day at school and she mentioned that they have a new girl, named Chelsea. I asked my daughter if she made her welcome and talked to her and she said that she hadn't yet because "she didn't know if Chelsea wanted new friends." Of course, that made me tell her about my first encounter with my friend Angie, whom I met when I was the exact same age as my daughter. The story went a little like this:
I was in first grade in Catholic School in Crete, Nebraska. At the time, I was being taught by a nun who I believe was just a few minutes older than God Himself. There were very few kids in my class. Maybe seven or so. Nothing exciting ever happened in Catholic School. Ever. (The coolest thing, for me, was Jimmy Barber's impression of the nuns, which at the time I thought was absolutely hilarious. Kind of took away the mystery and cloak of fear surrounding them, I think. He did a great impression of Sister XXX drooling, which she always did, considering she was nearing 3,477 years old.)
I can remember Sister telling us that we were going to get a new student. Talk about perking up! Who would it be? Would it be a girl? A boy (gross!)? Would they be nice? Would we like them? We did find out that it was a girl, and her name was Angie, just like mine. Of course, being in a Catholic school, Sister had to use religion to introduce Angie, saying that since our names were the same, I could be her "guardian angel". Funny how 27 years later, I can still remember Sister using that term. Wow!! I felt important! I felt worthy! I felt like a Saint! I would be RUNNING that school in a few days!
In walked Angie...I wish I could say that I don't remember much about her, but I remember every detail like she just walked into my cubicle this morning. She had hair down to below her butt. That impressed me so much. She had a little pencil pouch that had a little bag of cheetos in it. (How the hell do I remember that???) And, she looked scared. Not pee-your-pants scared, but "I'm gonna face these kids and be brave about it" scared. Right away I put her on a level with a movie star. (Insert "Halleluja" music here.)
It was time for recess and I can remember flitting through the hall, arms out like a dork, singing "I'm your guardian angel. I'm your guardian angel!" What a geek I was. Yet, something in my debonair ways must have impressed her because 27 years later, we're still in contact with each other. Twenty Seven Years. Say it with me, now. Follow the bouncing ball. Think of me as Glen Miller and you'll do great. Twenty Seven Years.
So, needless to say, my six year old was enthralled. "Twenty Seven years!" She screeched. "That's practically your whole life!" Practically. My daughter is familar with Angie. I talk about her a lot. I talk about how much fun we used to have playing Barbies and how we about lived at each other's houses. (I'm not ready to tell her how we pretend smoked cigarettes or the elaborate relationships Barbie had with Ken.) But I do tell her that we spent every waking moment together from first grade until about sixth grade when Angie left Catholic School to go to public school. How we only had like, one argument that whole time. And how we'd go trick or treating for around four hours on Halloween. How we invented nicknames for each other. And, the most important moral? Even after all these years, we still talk.
I can't stress enough the importance of my daughter befriending New Chelsea. It may be hard for her to understand now, but hopefully, in 27 years, she can blog about it.
I was in first grade in Catholic School in Crete, Nebraska. At the time, I was being taught by a nun who I believe was just a few minutes older than God Himself. There were very few kids in my class. Maybe seven or so. Nothing exciting ever happened in Catholic School. Ever. (The coolest thing, for me, was Jimmy Barber's impression of the nuns, which at the time I thought was absolutely hilarious. Kind of took away the mystery and cloak of fear surrounding them, I think. He did a great impression of Sister XXX drooling, which she always did, considering she was nearing 3,477 years old.)
I can remember Sister telling us that we were going to get a new student. Talk about perking up! Who would it be? Would it be a girl? A boy (gross!)? Would they be nice? Would we like them? We did find out that it was a girl, and her name was Angie, just like mine. Of course, being in a Catholic school, Sister had to use religion to introduce Angie, saying that since our names were the same, I could be her "guardian angel". Funny how 27 years later, I can still remember Sister using that term. Wow!! I felt important! I felt worthy! I felt like a Saint! I would be RUNNING that school in a few days!
In walked Angie...I wish I could say that I don't remember much about her, but I remember every detail like she just walked into my cubicle this morning. She had hair down to below her butt. That impressed me so much. She had a little pencil pouch that had a little bag of cheetos in it. (How the hell do I remember that???) And, she looked scared. Not pee-your-pants scared, but "I'm gonna face these kids and be brave about it" scared. Right away I put her on a level with a movie star. (Insert "Halleluja" music here.)
It was time for recess and I can remember flitting through the hall, arms out like a dork, singing "I'm your guardian angel. I'm your guardian angel!" What a geek I was. Yet, something in my debonair ways must have impressed her because 27 years later, we're still in contact with each other. Twenty Seven Years. Say it with me, now. Follow the bouncing ball. Think of me as Glen Miller and you'll do great. Twenty Seven Years.
So, needless to say, my six year old was enthralled. "Twenty Seven years!" She screeched. "That's practically your whole life!" Practically. My daughter is familar with Angie. I talk about her a lot. I talk about how much fun we used to have playing Barbies and how we about lived at each other's houses. (I'm not ready to tell her how we pretend smoked cigarettes or the elaborate relationships Barbie had with Ken.) But I do tell her that we spent every waking moment together from first grade until about sixth grade when Angie left Catholic School to go to public school. How we only had like, one argument that whole time. And how we'd go trick or treating for around four hours on Halloween. How we invented nicknames for each other. And, the most important moral? Even after all these years, we still talk.
I can't stress enough the importance of my daughter befriending New Chelsea. It may be hard for her to understand now, but hopefully, in 27 years, she can blog about it.
posted by Nebraska Angie @ 7:04 PM
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