Farrideh

Farrideh is a neighbor. She lives in a green house two doors down with largest, most beautiful weeping cherry tree I've seen (you can glimpse it in this photo). She watches her two granddaughters everyday, they have pretty little Italian names because their mother is Italian. But Farrideh and her husband and her son are not, they're from somewhere else. Her accent sounds Greek, but it could just as easily be Turkish or Syrian or Armenian. She could be any number of nationalities really. I'm a bad judge. I thought for sure one of my good friends was Armenian when I met her, but it turns out she's half Mexican. I'm not sure why I always want people to be Armenian.  I'm also not sure why I'm always shy to ask people where they're from. 

Farrideh met and fell in love with my son on Halloween. She's older and kind of sticks to her own yard, so that was the first time they were introduced. She opened the door to her cozy home and the smell of some kind of wonderful meditteranean dish flooded out. Immediately she was down at Nicky's level, patting his head and cooing all over him. She let him dig through her candy dish for at least 5 minutes. We must have left with 20 treats.

Now when she sees him coming she says "There's the baby. I am in love with this baby!" They have a moment. Sometimes Nicky runs up and hugs her and says nonsensical things to her in a really loud voice. She loves this. She'll say, "Now this is just for you and me ... " and say something to him in her native language. Sometimes, like the other day, he'll see her and a big smile will spread across his face. Then he'll whip up his t-shirt, point at his bellybutton, yell "Bellybutton!", and run off in another direction for a ball or a truck. She'll laugh and watch him go. She's not the kind to chase him.

She doesn't expect much from me, doesn't need me to tell her about what he's eating or how he sleeps, whether he's said his first sentence or likes to play outside. She'll get all that from him soon enough. And when she beams and says "Such a happy, happy boy!" I know it's a compliment, even though she's not looking at me. This is their own, this little friendship.

These interactions with Farrideh always strike me. They make me think he's so lucky in life, this running into someone like this on the street, someone who loves him so much, someone who would pick him and kiss his boo-boo if he fell, give him water if he was thirsty. I see already that she will care about him as he grows, what he'll be for next Halloween, what he wants for Christmas, how he likes school.

It pulls at my heart strings, which are really getting worn out lately.