The day I stopped calling her Dippy

[beadingmom17]

Growing up, we had a huge number of kids all the same ages on our street.  We were affectionately referred to by neighbors as the "Charlevoix gang" even though we included some kids from neighboring streets, too.  We all got along for the most part.  We had the token troubled kid that no one liked very much, but we accepted him, stood up to him, and ignored his bullying til he stopped. 

Then there was Dippy.  *sigh* 

This girl wasn't much smarter than a box of rocks...infact, Dippy was her official nickname amongst "the gang" because she was a "dip". She was extremely nice...almost too nice.  Her parents didn't really parent her and she really had no friends.  Dippy was sort of the loser and she was the last picked for anything if we even let her in on the fact that we were playing anyway.  She was born to her parents later in life and she was an only child.  By todays' standards, she would probably be considered to have something like Autism or classified at the very least as developmentally delayed.  But, damn, did she try!

Then there came that defining day.  Perhaps it was that I was more compassionate towards her than some.  Perhaps it was just a stroke of bad luck.  But nevertheless, it was the day that my brother came laughing into my room and announced quietly, through laughter, that Dippy was there for me.  It was probably the longest walk from my room to the door that day.  Sure enough, there she was.  She invited me to come down to play with her at her house.  Just us.  One on one time with Dippy?  Was there any more torture in this world?!

I saw the look my mom gave me from the couch.  It was the kind of look that said "If you don't say yes right now, you're toast".  I reluctantly said "Yeah, sure...let me find my shoes" and I watched her eyes light up as she sat down on my porch to wait for me.  She followed me like a puppy as I went to get my bike from the garage and she giggled I waited for her to get on hers as we started our 10 house bike from my house to hers.  At least she had a cool playhouse, right?

We got to her house and dumped our bikes near the back door.  I followed her begrudgingly into the house to meet her mom.  Her mom greeted us with a huge smile and some cookies.  Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all!  Dippy's mom sent her outside to unlock the playhouse while I sort of stood there, uncomfortably.  

      "You know, Rachel, you're one of the only kids she ever talks about.  She's very lucky to have a friend like you!  She doesn't make friends all that easily."

My heart felt like it had been crushed.  She didn't know about the nickname.  She didn't know that I participated in calling her daughter Dippy, granted we never did it to her face but it was probably meaner that way.  Yet, this woman had just created a hole in my soul.  Unknowingly, she had just rocked me to my very core.

Dippy came bounding back into the house with the key, grabbed my hand, and led me out to the playhouse her dad had built for her.  To this day, I'm pretty sure that I'm one of the only kids of Charlevoix street to have ever been in there.  We had a good time and as I got ready to head home for dinner, she stopped me cold with her words.

      "Thank you for coming to play with me.  I don't have many friends, but I'm lucky to have you.  Will you come over, again?"

I nodded and said yes...not out of sympathy, but because I truly meant it.  I hopped on my bike and started home.

      "I'll call you later....Mary"  I yelled back.  And I did.

Not too many years after, her family moved.  I have no idea what happened to her or where she moved to, but every once in a while, when I drive down my old street and I see her house, I wonder about Mary.  For years after, and still today, whenever the Charlevoix gang reminisces, if someone brings up "Dippy", I quickly correct them and say "Her name is Mary and she was probably the nicest kid on this block".

So, Mary, if you're out there...thank you for the life lesson...and I'm sorry for being so blind for so many years.

[rebabeach2]

Aug. 11, 2009 at 7:42 PM

That was sweet, and very well-written. I'm sure we all had a Mary we grew up with who needs to hear your words. Thanks for the post!

[beadingmom17]

Aug. 12, 2009 at 11:56 AM

Thanks, Reba :) 

(Original Poster)