I Want To Be My Best Friend Essay

“Do you want to be my best friend?” Sofia asked.

“Wow, that’s a huge honor!”

“What does honor mean?”

Sofía was five (“and a half!”) and in kindergarten at P.J. Hill elementary school in Trenton, New Jersey, where I had been working for two years. I taught her how to spell honor, and she wrote it down in her word journal. She was shy, but had a quiet confidence, and was exceptionally studious.

I began working at P.J. Hill because I think kids are generally funnier and nicer than adults. When I started, I thought I had a good idea of what to expect. Inevitably, I spent the bulk of the day passing out granola bars, applying first-aid to scrapes, and curating a playlist for freeze dance. However, P.J. Hill also had its fair share of surprises. One day, Sofía came to school quieter than usual. She had trouble answering simple questions teachers asked her and refused to eat anything.

After school ended, Sofía revealed that her mom and her mom’s boyfriend had gotten into a fight the previous night. A lot of yelling, she recounted. Some violence. Her mom threw some things. Her mom cried, and then Sofía cried.

“I hate crying,” she confessed.

I was about Sofía’s age when I saw domestic violence take place for the first time in my own home. I had just learned how to

Given my personal experiences, I felt especially responsible for helping Sofia as best I could. I tried to spend extra time one on one with her, to help her open up without pushing her too far, and to be something like an older sister for her. But despite my best efforts, I felt incapable of truly helping her. Time spent coloring or playing freeze tag could not make up for the pain that vulnerability that she and her mom felt at home. At most, a “best friend” could distract Sofia from the obstacles she faced at home, but I knew that I could not remove the hurdles she would face for the rest of her