Sometimes we think too hard about love. Finding it. Having it. Keeping it. But read this and ask yourself if you have a "Joey". Because sometimes that's really all you need.
"So it's summer and I am a wee girl who can’t go far from my house. I decide, as I often did, that Joey was the one I needed to play with before I got my porch-beckoning to come to dinner. I knocked on his door and asked his mother if he could come out to play with me.
He was shuffling around in the back of the house and once he heard it was me he beat a path to the door. I mean you could hear his too-big-tennis-shoes clomping madly down the hallway to come see me. The minute his mother said "Joey, Jammy is here to play" he was there at the screen jumping and begging his mom, "please mommy" he'd say. He was all over my invite. And what was so magical was I had the same fondness for him.
He often made me the first stop while he shopped for his pre-dinner or afternoon play dates and just like him, if my mother so much as uttered that he was at our door, I was there – willing and wanting. It didn’t matter what we would do, we'd just wanted to be together doing anything.
It was the ritual of the neighborhood to knock on the house of your friend to see if they could come out to play. You could tell if someone dug you by how fast they beat a path to their door after you were announced. Then you really knew how much they wanted to play with you if they begged their mother and wouldn't take "no" for an answer.
For Joey and I there was never any doubt. We wanted to play; we just had to be together. And it didn't matter what we'd do, pull legs off grasshoppers, eat dirt (yes we ate dirt together), or just lie in the grass and make out the shapes of the clouds. Joey was the one I need to play with before I got the porch-beckoning to come to dinner, and Joey is the one I need to play with now. And I think I found him again."