In my early years our family did a lot of moving. I distinctly remember at one point thinking that everyone moves every other year. I recall the move from Seaford, Delaware to Cliftmont Avenue in Baltimore. It was sad to say goodbye to all that seemed just fine. The tree house in the back yard, the playground nearby and the little girl across the street. As we drove down the long layered streets of row houses I asked my mother, “Why does that house have so many doors on it?” It was like moving to a foreign country in my young eyes and perhaps even produced a bit of culture shock.

There were not many children in my new neighborhood. So I mainly played with my sisters which could be great or not so great (as with most siblings). They always wanted me to play the witch and I didn’t want to be the witch. And when I tried to be a typical big sister doling out a bit of correction and direction they would say, “OK …MOM!” real nasty like. I didn’t want to be a mom either. They just had this chemistry with each other that apparently was not included in my DNA.

Being a shy girl who was sixteen months older than twin sisters which often drew a lot of attention, I suppose I chose to stay out of the way and let everyone bask in their magnificent cuteness. Oh yes, I was jealous. They had all sorts of adorable nicknames. Often, people would approach me and ask, “How are your sisters?” before they would even bother to ask, “How are you?” Even though today we are very close and communicate often, at the time my sisters just could not fill that spot in my heart that could only be filled with a friend.

For a while I thought my struggle with friend making had something to do with being ugly. I was lanky and awkward. Always chosen last for teams at school. Not very quick or witty. Buck teeth erupted from my face. By my preteen years it appeared that you might be able to harvest that stuff on top of my head and produce a garment of clothing. And arriving to school early where I had to figure out what to say to people who did not like me felt like inhuman torture.

Eventually, I concluded that being the pastor’s daughter did not work in my favor either. We had so many “I’m not allowed to” rules imposed on us that many peers could not relate to our lifestyle and, without realizing it, I think our family alienated ourselves from the very community we wanted to reach out to. I have more recently come to observe that this phenomenon may exist with other children whose parents’ position in the community creates a hierarchy which renders them unapproachable.

So what generated this trip down memory lane? NOW I am attempting to be am ambassador of friendship on my sons’ behalf. Two of my boys are diagnosed with autistic spectrum disorders which can make the whole friend making journey exceedingly complicated. What if my son is trying to be friends with someone who does not seem to reciprocate that sentiment? What do I do if someone tries to be my son’s friend and I am leery of the potential for negative influence? What do I do if my son doesn’t want to be friends with anybody and nobody wants to be friends with him either? And if somebody finally seems to want to be friends with him, how can I be sure he will be okay? How do I gradually cut the apron strings and allow my son to go places where I am not and have peace that he is safe? What if he wants to walk down “that street”? Is it foolish for me to let him go there? Should I place more trust in the creator of the universe to be with my boys no matter where they walk? Will my boys be the influencers or the influenced? Should I play it safe and try to steer them towards peers which appear to have “good” families? Is my family “good” enough for the “good” families? Will those “good” families feel threatened by us? How can I live out my conviction to raise a family that is in this world but not of it? I do not want to choose only the safety of the fish bowl but I am honestly afraid of the ocean!