Can I talk about the first handshake I remember?

How I met my first friend.

I was seven, we had moved often, I had lost count how many times.

I knew this time we were staying for a while. My dad had built the house. It was stable. And I sat in our kitchen staring across the street at a kid my age playing in his yard. My mom asked “are you going to go ask him to play?” I didn’t know what to do. She insisted, “go across the street, tell him your name and ask if you could be his friend.” 

I did. His name was Matt Jackson. And he was my first friend. 

We eventually did move again, and again, and then again. My father was chasing the American dream. And I saw America from the backseat of our family Oldsmobile.