This past weekend I visited my friend Sara. We figure we met online around age 12; we certainly met in person for the first time at age 16. Not only did she know me at my craziest, she introduces me to people by telling them about it.
“This is Amy. I didn’t like her when we met because she was super hyper.”
“This is my friend Amy. In high school I pulled her off picnic tables because when debate got really heated she would turn bright red and stand on them to make her point.”
“This is Amy! She went on her first plane ride with me and I kept having to forcibly drag her through the airport because she kept pausing to complain about the historical inaccuracy of the murals on the airport walls.”
And the worst part? I don’t have any horrible stories to tell back! Either I don’t remember them or she was just really mature at 16. Or, as probably more likely, I was the crazy one and anything she did paled compared to me standing on picnic tables.
Or irritating the tour guide at the White House with my steady stream of commentary.
Or staying up till 4 am watching the Disney Channel because by golly I was not going to let the cable TV in our hotel room go to waste.
In conclusion, it is good to have old friends. It keeps you humble.