We were new in the neighborhood, a child-centered enclave with welcoming front porches, scant traffic and friendly young families with kids, kids, kids. Best of all, right across the street there lived a five-year-old girl (Claire, birthday in January) to match our five-year-old girl (Libby, birthday in January). Nirvana.
And that's just how it seemed--for a while. The pair played fiercely on weekend days that spring, disappearing for hours at a time behind closed doors, scampering between each other's yards and houses, pausing only to demand sustenance and plead melodramatically for sleepovers.
But it wasn't long before this heaven-sent playmate began to act more like The Child from Hell. She often delighted in one-upmanship, boasting about her trips to amusement parks, fast-food joints and other pleasure palaces, flaunting the candy bar or soft drink of which, it often seemed, she had only one. When she didn't get her way, she'd pout, mope and throw shrieking tantrums. Or worse, she'd simply shut down, refusing to speak and clamping her hands over her ears as Libby tried in vain to argue her case. These incidents, which might have begun over something as trivial as which girl would get to drink her lemonade from the pink cup with red stars on it, would almost always end with Claire abruptly wheeling about and sprinting home, her hands still pressed firmly over her ears. And with Libby--frustrated, hurt, but most of all, utterly baffled by her friend's behavior--bitterly sobbing, "Why does she have to do that?"
My wife and I asked ourselves the same question. Was it insecurity? Low self-esteem? Trouble at home? Our conversations started to sound like a daytime talk show. And while we could assess Claire's behavior with adult detachment and even neighborly concern, Libby, who bore the brunt of the outbursts, was simply sent spinning. Unwilling to give up the joy of a buddy right next door, she kept going back for more--and winding up crushed when her neighbor imploded. She hated what her playmate was doing to her. But she hated not playing with her more.
So we stepped in, mounting an unobtrusive campaign to give them what they both seemed to need: some time apart from one another. When kindergarten started that fall, we discreetly asked the school to place the girls in different classes. We tailored Libby's after-school schedule to be largely Claire-free. We even began to spend more weekend time away from our block and its fatal attraction.
Although this "If you can't beat 'em, flee" strategy helped, it didn't really solve the problem. After all, a neighbor, like a close relative, is part of your life, whether you like it or not. Unless we were willing to pick up and move (a drastic measure that we sometimes joked about but never seriously considered), this was a matter that demanded conquering. And the conqueror, clearly, would have to be Libby herself.
So we spoke to her, gently and as often as we could, about what it means to be a friend. Claire hurts your feelings, we said, but there are some things you can do to feel better. You can tell her how her actions make you feel. You can remember that Claire probably isn't doing this because of you, but because she is unhappy about other things. And, if nothing else works, you can just walk away when she's mean to you and spend more time with other friends. It's one of those strange things about people, we said. The less you need her, the better she will behave.
We weren't sure how well she understood what we were trying to tell her. We still aren't. But when Libby began kindergarten, the situation slowly began to brighten. As she forged new, happier friendships with kids from outside our neighborhood, Libby became less dependent on Claire's companionship. And when she did play with Claire, Libby was more aware of and accepting of the relationship's limitations, and she seemed to have a better time. If she came home crying, it was only because she had skinned a knee.
On a recent morning, I asked Libby to reminisce about those rocky early days with Claire, now two years past. "Yeah, I remember," she said with a shrug. "But she doesn't act like that any more." Then she took a bite of cereal. "Well, sometimes she still just sits there and won't listen to me," she said, her tone more matter-of-fact than wounded. "It's so annoying."
Today, Libby probably wouldn't choose Claire for a close friend. Claire might not choose Libby, either. As neighbors, though, they do just fine. And in a world where there will always be Claires to deal with, that may be enough.
