Friendship Must be Wooed

By Mrs. A.J. Wilder

Sometimes we are a great trial to our friends and put an entirely uncalled for strain upon our friendships by asking foolish questions.

The Man of the Place and I discovered, the other day, that we had for sometime been saying to our friends, "Why don't you come over?" Can you think of a more awkward question than that? Just imagine the result if that question should always be answered truthfully. Some would reply, "Because I do not care to visit you." Others might say, "Because it is too much trouble," while still others who might care to come, would be swamped in trying to enumerate the many little reasons why they had not done so. We decided that we would break ourselves of such a bad habit.

I once had a neighbor who, whenever we met, invariably asked me why I had not been to visit her. Even when I did go she met me with the query, "Why haven't you been over before?" It was not a very pleasant greeting and naturally one shuns unpleasantness when one may.

I have another neighbor who will call me on the phone and say: "It has been a long time since we have seen you and we do want a good visit. Can't you come over tomorrow?" And immediately I wish to go. It does make such a difference how things are said.

Friendship is like love. It cannot be demanded or driven or insisted upon. It must be wooed to be won. The habit of saying disagreeable things or of being careless about how what we say affects others grows on us so easily and so surely if we indulge.

"Mrs. Brown gave me an unhappy half hour a few days ago," said Mrs. Gray to me. "She said a great many unpleasant things and was generally disagreeable, but it is all right. The poor old thing is getting childish and we must overlook her oddities."

Mrs. Gray is a comparatively new comer in the neighborhood, but I have known Mrs. Brown for years and ever since I have known her, she has prided herself on her plain speaking, showing very little regard for others' feelings. Her unkindness appears to me not a reversion to the mentality of childhood, but simply an advance in the way she was going years ago. Her tongue has only become sharper with use and her dexterity in hurting the feelings of others grown with practice.

I know another woman of the same age whom no one speaks of as being childish. It is not necessary to make such an excuse for her, because she is still, as she has been for 20 years, helpful and sweet and kind. And this helpfulness and sweetness and kindness of hers has grown with the passing years. I think no one will ever say of her, "poor old thing, she is childish," as an excuse for her being disagreeable. I know she would hope to die before that time should come.

People do grow childish in extreme old age, of course, and should be treated with tenderness because of it, but I believe that even then the character which they have built during the years before will manifest itself. There is a great difference in children, you know, and I have come to the conclusion that if we live to reach a second childhood we shall not be bad-tempered, disagreeable children unless we have indulged those traits before.

Then there are the people who are "peculiar." Ever meet any of them?

The word seems to be less used than formerly, but there was a time when it was very common and I longed to shriek, every time I heard it.

"Oh! You must not do that, George will be so angry. He is so peculiar!"

"Of course she doesn't belong with the rest of the crowd, but I had to invite her. She is so peculiar, you know, and so easily offended."

"I wouldn't pay any attention to that. Of course she did treat you abominably but it is just her way. She is so peculiar."

And so on and on. I thought seriously of cultivating a reputation for being peculiar, for like charity such a reputation seemed to cover multitudes of sins, but I decided that it would be even more unpleasant for me than for the other fellow: that it would not pay to make myself an unlovely character for the sake of any little, mean advantage to be gained by it.

Mrs. A.J. Wilder. "The Farm Home." Missouri Ruralist (March 5, 1919): 44.  CLICK HERE to see this article as it originally appeared in the Missouri Ruralist.

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