When we are young, we tend to overlook truly significant events in our lives. We pass our days taking for granted what we consider the “usual,” and continually search for newness and excitement. We forget and we move on. As we grow, if we are silent and pensive for a time, those “usual” things become our basic substance; in recognizing them, we can be appreciative, and if that happens, how lucky we are.

Many years ago, when I was a young girl, I was passing the warm pre-autumn afternoon in my front lawn fighting with the inner workings of my prized two-wheeler, trying to fix my bike for the hundredth time. As my lack of success continually became apparent and my 12-year-old patience waned, I threw the bike down in frustration — my way of dealing with pretty much anything at that point in my young life. I am not now nor ever have been a particularly patient person; my ADHD persona was evident daily!

As I was considering how to solve my world-shattering, prepubescence problem, I heard a voice say, “Susan, is that you?” I looked up and there in front of my house stood Joyce, a new student in my sixth-grade class. I recognized her but did not remember ever talking to her. Because I knew she lived on the other side of my neighborhood, I guessed Joyce had been walking for quite a while. I wondered why she was here. She asked again, “Susan, do you know me?” I said, “Of course I do — you are the new girl in Mrs. Atkinson’s class. You had your ‘What I did over the summer’ essay posted on the bulletin board.” In my academically competitive persona, I knew who she was. My essay had not made it onto the prized place of honor, but hers had! I tentatively asked, “Why are you here?”

Joyce explained that her mother had encouraged her to take a walk around the neighborhood and meet some new friends. Because she had just moved that June, the summer had been decidedly long and lonely. Now that school had begun, Joyce was more confident and was trying to fit in. Somehow her journey had led her to my street, and she had recognized me.

Even in my agitated state, I liked her right away and was happy she had stopped to talk. Shortly after, my father came out to see what was going on, reached into his pocket and gave us each a quarter to walk to the nearby ice-cream shop and enjoy a cool treat on such a hot day. Two new friends spent the afternoon chatting, licking our deliciously unexpected delights and beginning a life-long bond.

That first meeting happened over 70 years ago, and here’s the thing: We are still devoted friends. We were close chums all the way through Towson High School, and even though we attended different colleges, we never lost touch. Through the years, we have celebrated birthdays, weddings, the births of our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren (!), work promotions, Christmases and high school reunions. We have also grieved job losses, divorces, the illnesses and deaths of our parents, husbands and the passing of close friends. Now, when we meet for lunch from time to time, we reminisce about that fortuitous ice cream and bike afternoon. I remind her of my jealousy over the posting of her “what I did over the summer” essay, and we giggle and laugh. We share current stories, laugh, cry and hug … and tell each other “I love you” before we part. Neither of us remembers when that deep affection began, but it is present now; because we are silent and pensive, we know the significance of “us.”

On my front lawn that fall, we somehow knew. A simple walk led to a lifelong journey. How lucky are we!!

Susan Cunningham Euker is a retired teacher who taught at Hereford High School in Parkton.