Welcome back to Minor Dilemmas, where a member of Defector's Parents Council will answer your questions on surviving family life. Have a question? Email us at minordilemmas@defector.com.
This week, Justin answers a question about helping your child find a best friend.
Dan:
My oldest is nine, starting fourth grade this fall, and he's arriving at the era of childhood that I remember being the most fun. He can read basically whatever book or comic book he wants, he's got the freedom to explore the neighborhood on his bike all day before dark, and we recently opened the floodgates of video games, so he can Minecraft or Mario for hours when we give the OK. The one thing that is missing, and which I remember loving when I was his age, is a true best friend. I made my best friend in third grade and we were on the same wavelength for about the next 10 years.
I want that for him so bad, but it's obviously not something I can force for him. In fact, it seems like there's basically nothing I can do to help, aside from the texting to set up play dates that we currently do. He's got a handful of good friends, and maybe one will evolve into a best friendship this year, but from what I've seen they are all topping out at the "good buddy" level.
I think I took it for granted that every kid had the kind of best friend experience that I did growing up, but I'm realizing now that it might have been a pretty rare and special thing that I had. Just looking to get some perspective on best friend expectations and maybe advice on how to talk to him about his lack of a really close friend if it ever comes up (he's a pretty sensitive guy, and I can see this conversation coming this year or next).
A few weeks back, I was at the playground around dusk with my oldest daughter. We had already run the gamut of all the equipment in the yard, and she had finally gotten me bouncing precariously on a see-saw. An older girl had been waiting us out, cautiously spying on my daughter to see if she had anyone else to play with other than this comically large adult on an apparatus made for the recess demographic.
"Do you want to be my friend?" the girl finally asked. I gave my daughter a gentle pat on the back, to see what she thought. She paused, then turned her face down for a moment before quietly saying she wasn't sure, and I told the little girl to ask again later. I could see in my daughter's face that she was concerned. She gets shy about meeting new people, but she's old enough now that she finds herself getting just as anxious about missing out on something new, the possibility of a new buddy or adventure not taken.
I'll admit that when this happens I feel sharp pangs dig into my chest, even as I gas up my daughter about the fun of meeting new people or reassure her there will always be a next time. My daughter is funny, has a wildly overactive imagination, and has somehow adopted her Baba's love of comic books. Frankly, I think anyone would be lucky to have her as a pal. But as an overtired adult in his 40s who falls squarely in the dreaded male "friendship recession" generation, am I worried that I too don't know how to make friends anymore? Or am I worried that my daughter's missing out on an important part of growing up?
There are a lot of small things we have to try to solve for on a daily basis with our children, that over time feel laden with impossible weight. As parents, we are constantly balancing our kids' developmental needs with the practicalities of surviving the day. Will saying "No" to jumping in puddles make my kid less adventurous? Will giving in to some emergency screen time at a restaurant make my kid turn their back on books? It's the same with making friends. Do we want our kid to be social and know how to interact with their peers? Do we want them to know how to work well with others? Or—and let's be honest here—do we want them to be able to entertain themselves and offer a brief window of peace and quiet?
In this case, it sounds like you want your son to have a day-one, ride-or-die, Rob Reiner classic–edition best buddy. What this solves, or at least what you believe it will solve, is to fulfill a version of a classic childhood experience that will accrue unseen and practical benefits for your son. Someone to toss the football with on Saturdays, a buddy who can stay up late during sleepovers, a pal to jump bikes over the creek and outrun old man Jorgensen, who is naturally predisposed to hating little kids but secretly has a heart of gold. There's nothing wrong with all of this, but the question to ask is whether this is for you or for your kid.
One of the hardest things we face with our children is crashing into a reconciliation with our own childhood as we fumble our way through parenthood. This would seem obvious, but it jumps on your back at the most unexpected times all the same, adding to the weight of all those micro-decisions. Are we reliving our childhood, are we trying to heal it, or are we running as fast as we can in the opposite direction? The trickiest part to this is that we have to do all of it in real time, with something like a biological commandment over our heads: Everything we do is supposed to be for the good of our children. We want to give them everything we had, if not more, or just better.
But that can also short-circuit the reality of our children and the world they inhabit. It sounds like you were fortunate to have a world-class best friend, the kind of companionship that became foundational to you growing up. That friendship was as much a result of your parents' choices and needs as it was the decisions tiny-you made back in the day. All of this was the book of your life, but not your child's. All of us parents have to confront the ways the story of our children will differ from our own.
When it comes to friendships, there's a multitude of reasons it can be a challenge: Some kids like to be a lone wolf, some take time to warm up, certain neurodivergent kids just have a different set of needs when it comes to making connections. And then, of course, there is the poisoned well that is the internet, which seems to infect too many of the interactions kids try to broker with each other.
You say your son is a sensitive sort, and hopefully there is some window there for you two to talk. If that time comes, you should absolutely share your tales of budding brohood, but be open to hearing why things may fall out differently for him, or what needs are important to him. As always, you should be prepared to be absolutely roasted in some form by your child for mentioning "the olden days," back when phones didn't have screens and TV only showed up at appointed hours.
The truth is it sounds like you are doing an outrageously good job at providing a great life for your son. He's a strong and maybe even voracious reader, and he's confident enough to navigate the neighborhood on his own on a bike. Maybe most importantly, it sounds like he has responsive and loving parents who want to do right by him.
