Spending the weekend with some old friends brought some good laughs and late-night conversation. And it was remarkably relaxing (apart from the fact that Chicago never fails to chew me up and spit me out). Three young kids running around an apartment does not usually equate relaxing. But G and his two new buddies got along splendidly. So splendidly that they required little to no adult intervention supervision. They seldom quarreled, resolved their disputes internally and happily played games together. The friendship pact was sealed when each partook of the smuggled Andes mints stolen from the pantry. Dare I say, they behaved better together than when apart? Oh, content little friends they were. If an outsider saw them playing, I doubt they would guess that this was their first meeting. By all appearances, it was as if these three kids were old friends just as their parents were. Only (thankfully) the kid’s friendship began without the habit of exploding random items in microwaves, throwing flaming bowling balls down hills or other random acts of destruction that accompanied their fathers’ friendship throughout high school.
