It was beautiful witnessing our children’s blossoming friendship when they were in Miss Penny’s first-grade class—and by extension, our friendship too. That said, seeing as next year your kid will be in Mrs. Lang’s Second Grade Class, and mine in Mr. Dodd’s, I’m afraid it’s time to say goodbye, because we will never see each other ever again.
I know, it’s hard. We grew so close. Together, we cut out hearts for the Valentine’s Day Party. Enjoyed each other’s cookies for the Christmas/ Hanukkah/ Diwali/ Kwanzaa Celebration. Trolled the Moms for Liberty at PTA meetings. Sang “So Long, Farewell” at the Parent/Teacher Talent Show. But from this moment on, whatever it was between you and me is over.
Now, you’re just somebody that I used to know.
I will miss the way we huddled in corners at birthday parties to gossip about the teacher. How Miss Penny did not respond to our emails the way we would have hoped. We get it, she works and has kids too, but damn. Next year, it will be far too complicated to keep up with your kid’s new teacher and the litany of complaints to come, while also supporting all the shit-talking (alongside teacher appreciation planning) I’ll be doing with the new parents.
We won’t get each other like we used to. It will be as if we’re from different worlds, dimensions, and places in time. Although I’m pretty sure Mrs. Lang’s class is right next to Mr. Dodd’s, the walk from his door to hers is a million miles when you really think about it.
It’s not you, it’s me. But mostly, it’s my kid’s fault. They will forget who your child is when they’re not in each other’s faces every day. And I will now have to befriend some other kid’s parents. You and I will be like characters from Severance. As soon as second grade starts, we will not be capable of holding both first-grade and second-grade friends in our divided and weary minds.
You once said, “We should have margaritas sometime.” But I knew you weren’t serious. I would love to, but when will this margarita fest take place? Somewhere between school, work, karate class, dinner, soccer practice, playdates with our new second-grade best friends, and bedtime? After bedtime, when my spouse and I are falling asleep to prestige dramas together on the couch? Who are we? Twenty-somethings with only day jobs?
Please do not get the impression this is easy for me. You and I became intimate. I’ve told you things my therapist doesn’t even know. That can happen when you spend eight long hours together monitoring children on field trips. But now that stuff will no longer be any of your concern. If you see me next year, do not talk to me, do not look at me, just walk away. Trying to recreate what we once had would be a foolish and tiresome masquerade.
Our kids, when together, did lots of pretending, but you and I are too old for illusions. Friendship is not, in fact, forever. It lasts approximately nine to ten months when you’re an adult with elementary school-aged children. And our bell has rung, and our time is up.
Look, you and I were acquaintances who, at times, felt like family. When my dad died, you came to the funeral. You even sang “Amazing Grace” during it. It brought tears to my eyes and healing to my heart, but like all things in life, our time together must come to an end.
Sure, some kids remain friends no matter what class they are in, and therefore, the parents do too. I’ve also heard that some people win the lottery twice, but I’m not going to waste my money on a ticket. Just as it is not possible to invite every kid in my son’s class to his birthday and someone not in his class. We both know The Fun Zone only allows twenty kids per room.
You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make new friends—ones that last approximately nine to ten amazing months.
Auf Wiedersehen, old friend.