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At a young age, I grew accustomed to short-term relationships, and friendships that weren't meant to last.

See, we lived on the Cherokee Indian Reservation, where my parents ran a campground. For a child, it could be a wonderful place to spend the summer. I woke up to the smell of bacon frying on propane stoves, and there were campfires most evenings.

But what I looked forward to most were the friends I'd make. I was an only child; so it was nice to have other kids to play with. Many of our regular customers returned every year, some of them for a week, others for a month. And some families left campers there all season, returning on the weekends. My friendships lasted a couple of weeks, or a few days.

Our campground faced a river that had sections of water deep enough to dive into, as well as shallow areas where I could wade across without getting my shorts wet. I rushed through chores so that I could spend the afternoon floating down that cold river, tubing with my friends. It felt so good to throw my wet, icy arms across a hot inner tube, its bloated black surface scorched by the afternoon sun.

As the sun sank behind the mountains, the grass grew cool and damp beneath our bare toes as we ran across it. I still have a faint, boot-shaped scar on my elbow, from when I was chased and slid into the gravel road one night.

Though I still think of some of them, I haven't kept in touch with anyone.

Siblings Susan and Mark visited from Georgia for a couple of weeks every summer with their grandparents. Afternoons merged into evenings, as we floated downstream or rode our bikes.

There was my friend Nikki, whose grandmother spent much of the summer at the campground. At 14, Nikki had the body of a swimsuit model. She had strawberry blond hair and wore bikinis. Boys liked her. Although she was a few years older, she was nice to me, and I admired her.

But I realized some relationships are just temporary. And that no matter how much you miss them when they leave you, you meet new people. I hardly shed a tear when it came time to say goodbye to anyone.

You learn to get over that feeling of loss. That hole in your heart that feels like something is missing, eventually closes. You forget what they smell like, or the quirky mannerisms unique to them. You meet someone new, and you learn that person's interests and quirks. And you realize that you share common interests with a lot of people.

Don't get me wrong. I do value lasting friendships. One of my best friends has been a constant in my life since we were little pig-tailed girls in second grade. Another close friend and I have been each other's sounding board since we were idealistic college freshmen. So I do have some long-term friendships.

But like those childhood friendships developed across a camp fire, I've lost contact with most of my high school friends. Relationships developed over whispered conversations about secret crushes on long bus rides home from field trips or track meets. And those college friendships established over 2 a.m. study sessions or all-nighters at the student newspaper office -- those haven't lasted either.

I've had a lot of jobs through the years. Restaurant, retail and corporate jobs, where you bond with co-workers over a cigarette break or drinks after work.

The glue that binds some people is complaining about work.

Over eggs at Jan's House, my friend Tony and I (we waited tables then) used to commiserate about always getting stuck with the tables farthest from the kitchen. We were convinced our boss hated us. I haven't spoken to Tony in years.

Shannon, Amy and I used to complain about a lot of things that I can't write about here. We're still friends, but they live in other cities now. We see each other just a few times a year.

I've made a lot of friends through work, forged through common interests or miseries. A lot of my work friends have left the paper, to pursue other interests or because of recent layoffs. I miss them.

The first week you can almost trick yourself into believing they are just sick or on vacation. Then their absence becomes unsettling. Like that feeling you get when you've forgotten your watch or cell phone at home. The worst part is walking past their empty desk. Or even worse, seeing someone else sitting there.

It takes a lot more effort to maintain relationships when your friend no longer sits across from you every day. You don't get to share the small details about each other's lives, like a kooky phone call or a disastrous date. Or problems with a story or source.

Sure, I learned at an early age most relationships are temporary. Some friendships, like summer vacations, end. But like the person who gets dumped, maybe I lie to myself when I say I'm over them.

Contact Tina Firesheets at 373-3498 or tina.firesheets@news-record.com