How old are you when you play Candyland? Because that was the main event of my first playdate with Ellen. She says I cheated. I don’t remember, but I don’t doubt her either. With three older brothers, it was hard for me to turn off Survival Mode and feel I was no longer in the enemy camp. I had to learn how to play with girls. Especially since Ellen came with, among 7 other siblings, a younger sister.
And so began the fearsome threesome of Cathy, Ellen and Karen. Agewise, I was sandwiched between like an Oreo. When we reunited last month, we learned we’re still, whether together or apart, a perfect blend.
How can we ever really grow apart from girls with whom we, on a daily basis, nurtured our Barbies’ so they bonded like sisters — sharing hurt feelings, prom disasters and tumultuous campouts with Ken? When we listened to the same 45 records on the portable turntable in the basement? (If I ever hear “S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night” again I will hurl.) When we named a bike, “Bessie” and road it to Tommy’s Pizza for take out when the adults weren’t paying attention?
They say you can’t go home again, but this trip just proved whoever “they” are, wrong. I could walk through that house blindfolded and still find every doorway, every room. And it wasn’t even my childhood house. Mine was seven houses down the street. Eight, if you listen to Ellen. But what does she know? She said I cheated at Candyland, remember?
I walked back down into the basement — “Oh my gosh… oh my GOSH!” I got louder with each step until a new set of kids looked up from their Playstation and stared. “She’s okay guys, we just grew up in this basement,” Ellen explained. Even through the renovations — even though an air hockey table and TV replaced the card table, puzzles and record player — it was the same. It was still the summer and weekend soul of my childhood.
Karen Rinehart was temporarily gone. I made the mistake of introducing myself as her, just once, then realized, she didn’t exist in that house… in their photo albums… on that tree lined street. Karen Buffer did — and for the first time in 25 years, she was truly home.
Growing up in that house, in that yard, on that bench in the driveway nook by the chimney, Cathy, Ellen and I dreamed of what we’d be when we grew up. Our weddings, jobs, houses… the fame, the fortune — Everything Barbie taught us. Who knew our greatest moments would come in the most ordinary of times?
Like going home for a funeral. Though we reunited to say goodbye to Cathy and Ellen’s (and my “other”) dad… we also said hello to all the memories and embraced the ordinary things you do when you grow up. I dressed Ellen’s daughter instead of her Barbie. Cathy and I drank coffee and Chardonnay instead of Tab and Fresca. We used hankies instead of tissues, drove cars instead of bikes, but we were once again, family — right where we belonged. We were home.
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
