Under Grumpa's Hat

Making friends as a kid was remarkably easy. You liked the same hockey team, had a cool bike, shared a fascination with dinosaurs or discovered that the kid beside you also thought fart jokes were the pinnacle of comedy. Five minutes later, you were best friends. There was no background check, compatibility questionnaire or awkward six-month period wondering whether inviting someone for coffee would be considered too forward.

As adults, we’ve somehow turned friendship into dating without the fun bits. We meet someone we like, have a great conversation, say, “We should get together sometime,” and then both go home and wait for the other person to make the first move. Maybe we should go back to kindergarten. The games were simpler, although putting an adult spin on them could make things considerably more interesting.

Take sleepovers. Kids simply asked, “Want to sleep over?” Adults would have to word that invitation rather carefully. “Why don’t you come over Friday night, we’ll have a few drinks, order pizza, watch a movie and see what happens?” Suddenly it sounds less like making a friend and more like the opening scene of a documentary nobody wants their spouse to find.

Kids stayed awake until three in the morning eating chips and whispering about who they had a crush on. Adults might still stay awake until three, but there would probably be alcohol involved, questionable decisions and, if things went particularly well, a bra hanging from the ceiling fan the next morning. Nobody would be entirely sure how it got there. Everybody would have a theory.

Then there’s sharing toys. Children learn that sharing is caring. Adults have a slightly more complicated relationship with that philosophy. Remember Toy Story? Woody and Buzz were just innocent toys when Andy wasn’t looking. Well, Mom has a Woody and Buzz too, and hers probably aren’t sitting in a toy box waiting for the next Pixar sequel.

Imagine making a new friend and casually saying, “You want to see my Woody?“

“Your what?“

“My Woody. It’s in the bedroom.“

Suddenly Buzz Lightyear has a very different context, and nobody is asking where Andy is.

Show and Tell would be especially dangerous once the new friendship had progressed to the point where someone was invited over. A few drinks, some music, perhaps a game of cards. Eventually somebody suggests using clothing as poker chips because, apparently, regular poker chips have become too boring.

At first, everyone laughs. Then somebody loses a hand.

“Rules are rules.“

Five minutes later, the evening has somehow become a very adult version of Show and Tell, and the person who brought the deck of cards is looking far too pleased with themselves. Technically, everyone is still demonstrating their ability to communicate and share. Just not in the way our elementary school teachers intended.

Then there is dress-up. Kids can walk into a Halloween store and choose a firefighter, nurse, pirate or police officer costume. Adults would not necessarily be shopping in the same aisle. Let’s just say some of those costumes are designed less for trick-or-treating and more for making sure nobody answers the door when the neighbours knock.

Playing doctor and nurse suddenly becomes a game where everybody involved is old enough to know exactly why the stethoscope is probably the least interesting accessory in the room.

Twister would be another matter entirely. Children spin the wheel and innocently put their hands and feet wherever they’re told. Adults would do the same thing, except after a few drinks someone would notice that the person across the mat is in a remarkably revealing position.

Then someone would try to move their left foot to blue. Their hamstring would file for divorce.

The older we get, the more Twister becomes an exercise in discovering which parts of the human body still work, which ones make strange noises and which positions cause the mind to wander somewhere the spinner never intended.

Truth or Dare would probably be where things really start going off the rails. Kids ask, “Who’s your crush?” Adults ask questions like, “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done after drinking?” or “Have you ever been attracted to someone you absolutely shouldn’t have been?“

And then there’s the dare. Children might be told to kiss someone. Adults already know how kissing works, which makes the adult version considerably more dangerous. Especially when someone says, “I dare you,” with that little smile that suggests they have either had too much wine or just remembered exactly why they invited you over.

Finally, Spin the Bottle. For kids, the bottle decides who gets a first kiss. For adults, the bottle is simply deciding who gets a kiss when everybody already knows what one is. Add alcohol, old chemistry and a room full of people who have all agreed that this is “just for fun,” and suddenly nobody remembers whether they’re making friends or creating a problem they’ll have to explain over breakfast. And perhaps that’s where adulthood has gone wrong.

Children don’t need an excuse to make a friend. They don’t worry about whether they’re too old, too awkward, too different or whether the other person will think they’re being weird. They see someone they like and say, “Come play.”

Adults, meanwhile, can spend months wanting companionship while being terrified of making the first move. Maybe we should take a lesson from children.

Not necessarily the sleepovers, the questionable Show and Tell or the adult version of Twister. Some things are better left to imagination, particularly when the chiropractor is already booked until Thursday.

But perhaps we should stop being so damn careful about friendship. Ask someone to come over. Share a laugh. Play something stupid. Have a drink. Take a chance. Be a little ridiculous.

Because the truth is, making friends as an adult doesn’t require becoming childish. It requires becoming brave enough to be childish about the things that matter.

And if a bra happens to end up on the ceiling fan, well… I suppose that’s between you, your new friend and whoever has to explain it to the person who wasn’t invited.