Childhood friendships don't always age well.

When I was a kid growing up in a small town in Texas, I had more than a few good male friends I did stuff with. We might walk the creeks that ran through town, barefoot, looking for crawdads, which are called crayfish in other places. We didn't eat them, though, as they do in New Orleans: we just liked to dangle a piece of something on the end of line and let them grab hold of it. Once we'd had a look at them -- miniature lobsters -- we let them go again. And did you get that part about "barefoot"? We didn't worry about people throwing empty beer bottles into the creek that would splinter and puncture our bare feet. The age of innoncence, no?

I also remember playing a version of baseball with some of my buddies when we were pre-teens. We actually sewed up balls stuffed with old socks or whatever. The reason? We were playing in our backyards and didn't want to smash baseballs into neighbors' windows. Of course, we all played Little League baseball, too, on regulation fields, but that wasn't as much fun since it involved adults. We made up our own rules.

When I think back to my childhood -- before the teen years brought out the hormones --I have fond memories of old friends who shared with me the discovery of the world: not just sports but bugs and the woods and learning to ride bikes and a hundred other things. It's hard to put myself back into that mindset except in memory. But since I wasn't abused -- poor, yes, but not abused by anyone -- the memories are mostly pleasant (and still vivid).

Fast forward a few decades. A high school reunion. Everyone a lot older, obviously, some looking pretty much the way they used to, a little more jowly (is that a word?), a little pudgier, but -- when you look close enough -- recognizable. Some not regnizable except by their name tags.

So here are two of my best friends from childhood (who will go un-named in case they read this someday), who both look pretty good -- but who have nothing to say to me.

I've had a few beers and am ready to re-visit old times -- like when we used to go to the bank and take from the teller rolls of coin and sit down and try to find rare ones (which we did) or when we started our own whiffle ball league -- but they're kind of awkward about it. What's up? I wouldn't say that either of them -- my separate friends from age 10 to 13 -- don't remember what we used to do together: They just aren't interested in talking about any of it.

And it's really the only things we have to talk about nowadays. We've all moved on and had different experiences -- marriage, college, jobs, maybe divorces and other traumas -- until we're just not those kids anymore. I can go back in time and re-live all those good (and bad) times, but they can't. I'm not sure why.

For some odd reason, this reunion, so many years later, is more awkward for them than for me. sure. I don't need to renew this connection -- and, in fact, haven't (and won't) -- but I am more ready to talk about the old days than they are. I mean, the class reunion is a time to do that, and I'm prepped for it. But here they are, two close buds from decades before, who are not at all comfortable with me. It's not like I've achieved great things that might intimidate them. It's just that we aren't the same people we were back then, and they, for whatever reason, can't go back in time and enjoy those bygone days together.

I guess the point is that early relationships don't always age well. We encounter certain people at certain ages and certain times, and we click with them. We get along. We do things together. We're of one mind. We think we'll be friends forever. We can't imagine it not being so.

Ah, but then the miraculous occurs! We change. We grow. We become someone else. Not someone else entirely but a different version of who we used to be: natural to ourselves, un-recognizable to others (especially our old friends). It's to our credit if and when we evolve, but it can be disconcerting to "old friends", who expect us to be exactly the same as when they knew us back then, just older. Or it may be that they are the ones who have changed and can't relate to us for that very reason.

I do have friends who have stayed in the old hometown and who have continued to grow up together and who remain close to each other. They are a tight-knit community of like-minded souls. It's not for me, but it works for them. They remember each other as teens and even as children, but also know each other as parents and even grandparents; they've watched each grow older, and they find comfort in that continuing story. For them, it's not stifling but re-assuring. God bless 'em.

I think we need to grow beyond our roots, to sprout blossoms, get pollinated, and move on. If we do come back to our roots and find a kindred soul from our earliest days, it's a blessing. How nice to think that there are people who remember us from when we almost don't rememver ourselves! I have a photo from a kindergarten class at a church in that small town, and I can identify several of the boys I knew when I was five years old! One I made contact with not so long ago, and we reminisced like crazy. It was great. Still, I doubt that I'll ever see him again.

For the most part, we make our true life friends when we're grown. Maybe because we're not still in that old town, but probably more because we meet people who share our interests as we grow, not those who just share our memories. It's the way life works, for better or worse.

Most memories are best left memories. Myself as a kid with these friends, for instance. We had fun, we made some discoveries, had some adventures. But at some point it's time to tuck them all away, like those old comic books under the bed. Treasured always, re-visited and enjoyed all over again from time to time, fondly remembered. But just memories nonetheless. Not necessarily the basis for renewing a friendship.

If you have an old friend from childhood who is still your friend, consider yourself lucky and know what a rare thing it is.

Just don't go to your high school reunion expecting to walk into a time-warp and become a kid again: All your old friends are grown-ups now, and we know how that changes things, right?

Oh my, don't we?