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There’s a certain camaraderie that exists between childhood neighbors. Everyone grows up with a set of rules. For me, they included: No sugar cereal on weekdays; no painting my nails without supervision; no watching Nickelodeon. I thought this was how the world worked for every kid. Until, that is, I got a new neighbor who had different rules: No candy at lunch; no Sharpies allowed; no Heelys indoors. But once we started to have playdates, all bets were off. I was watching Nickelodeon after school, a spoonful of Frosted Flakes in my hand. And the bartering was incredible: I would trade candy for Silly Bandz. A Sharpie for a rubber pencil grip. With each interaction, we dared to break the rules even more. We painted our nails on the white carpet in the upstairs bathroom. We played “hairdresser,” resulting in child bangs that haunt a person through adulthood. The friendship was one of collusion, but options for true discipline were limited, given the shared stone wall between our houses.

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