My first friend… Memory fragments

She takes my little red coat and hangs it on the hook in the hallway. I am three and she is my first friend. She always meets me outside the classroom door and takes me by the hand into the classroom. I am shy and timid by nature, and although I love school, I am often afraid to walk through the door. When Nanny walks me to preschool, she always smiles to see her. She is happy that this little girl will not let me hang back in the corner. I am young, and although I am hesitant, I possess an open lovingness of everyone. She cheats at Candy Land, and I stare wide-eyed and shocked. She isn’t like me, and right away I sense our differences: She doesn’t yearn to please in the same way that I do. She intrigues me.


Every summer, we play at the park. I live in the little brown house with the pink fence that is right next to the soccer field, and she lives across from the swings. We pump our legs and imagine that we can fly. She is better at it than I am; Even then, I am uncoordinated and don’t possess much physical strength. One day I bring stamps to the park, and we pretend we are pirates and bury the treasure. As we get older, we become more adventurous: We run up the slide, and I watch breathless as she climbs on top of the bar that holds the tire swing.


Over the years, we learn about the world from one another. I love reading and writing, and share the treasures I glean from within the pages. She is bold, but more sheltered and innocent. I am old for my age and feel as though I must always act as an adult. Sometimes it is hard for me to relate to other children, and I cling to her because I feel different. She normalizes me, and I challenge her to grow. We complement one another, and she makes me feel safe.


1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Stephanie said,

    waiting for the rest of this story! 🙂

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