‘Hey, Girl!’: Our decades-long friendships, and our shared histories, sustain us | Opinion

You can call me sentimental. I don’t care. I am a person who loves her friends. I mean, I really love my friends — like family.

I got to thinking about friendships and what true friendship means, as I was driving into my driveway this morning and realized I hadn’t called a couple of my friends who live alone and who are elderly — just like me. While they were hot on my mind, I shut off the car engine and dialed the number of one of them, Willie Mae Stephens Whitman.

“Hey, Girl,” I started. “Just checking on you… to see if you are OK.” She came back with her usual response: “Oh, hey, Girl. I’m here, just trying to get some work done in my house.”

We both laughed. We are always “trying to get some work done” in our house. Nearly a month after Christmas, we are yet trying to get the decorations put away.

After our short conversation, while still seated in my car, I called another elderly friend who lives alone — Ruth Davis-Beaman. After asking how she was doing, she shot back with her usual. “I’m on top and rising fast.”

Our conversations were short. We just needed to hear each other’s voice, then we could go on with our day. I thought back over the years of my friendship with these two women. Over 70 years with Mae (as she is known now), and nearly 50 with Ruth. While I love them like sisters, they are not the only friends who share a piece of my heart. I am in touch with them more because they live alone.

I am so thankful that my friendship list is long and goes back nearly 80 years ago, on the day we moved to Miami and met the Rogers/Dorsett family. That was in 1944. I am still very close friends with Nellie Dorsett Green, and her sister Virginia and brothers Floyd and Nathaniel.

Friends want to see you do well

A funny thing about true friends: They seem to come into your life in ways that you’d never expect.

For instance, I never expected to have such a wonderful circle of friends at The Miami Herald. Yet, some have proved their friendships throughout my journey as a journalist, and beyond. I could never name them all, for fear I’d leave out someone.

But I can say this: I love them all with a profound love.

Another funny thing about true friends: You can miss seeing them or speaking to them for months, but when you do get together, it’s like you just spoke to them yesterday. Friends love to see you succeed and will help you.

Like my friend the late Juanita Greene, who went to bat for me to become a reporter and was there encouraging me on my darkest days. Good friends like Juanita are your very own cheering section.

That’s the kind of friend my late friend Thelmarie Mitchell “Mitch” Robinson, was to me. She died when we were both 54. I don’t know who was prouder of me when I became a reporter for The Miami Herald, Mitch or Mom. Now, I get to cheer on Mitch’s children and grandchildren.

While friendship is beautiful, it isn’t always smooth sailing. The ride can get bumpy at times, especially when disagreements arise. True friendship can take the disagreements because they are not done with malice. A good friend is like looking in a mirror; she will be honest with you.

Friends for life?

How do you know if someone is going to be a friend for life? I don’t know. Friends can just pop up when you least expect them to. Something just happens the moment you meet.

Take my friendship with Mae, for instance.

We met in 1949, during recess when we were in the sixth grade at Liberty City Elementary School. We weren’t even in the same classroom, but for some reason, we were drawn to each other on the playground. Mae walked over to me as we were choosing players for our softball teams.

She sized me up and instead of choosing me for her team, she offered me an invitation:

“Would you like to go to Sunday school with me on Sunday?” she asked.

I was both surprised and delighted. I loved church, but since we moved to Liberty City, I had to take public transportation to our church in Overtown. I could walk to Mae’s church. It pleased me that she wanted me to attend Sunday school with her. At the time, our mom worked on Sundays. Mae’s church was closer to home, so attending church with Mae pleased my mom, too.

While inviting me to church might seem a little strange to some folk today, you need to know that the church was a big part of Black life back then. When I was growing up, the church was not only the place where a person could get a good dose of salvation. It was the center of our world. It was where we met for socials and attended Sunday school conventions and sang in the church’s junior choir. It was where the nice boys congregated and where we met for hayrides (yes, in Miami!), riding on straw-covered flatbed trucks.

It was where we had our rites of passage — first being Christened as infants, and later “joining” the church and getting baptized (hopefully before 12, when according to the old folks, our sins would be on us). Church was where Sunday night services were often given over to visiting gospel singers. It was a place where we would learn good morals. A place where we also learned about life. And death, too.

So, it was fitting that my new friend Mae would invite me to church. It was the nicest gesture she could have made.

A lot of life has happened in the years since we first met. We have witnessed changes in our society that we once only dreamed about. Now here we are, 73 years later, still friends. Still calling each other “Girl”

And that, my friends, is a good thing.

This story was originally published January 14, 2022 at 9:00 AM.