Dear striped shirt boy,

As the years go by, your name has escaped my mind but your kindness is something that I will never forget. 

There I was, crying because I’d been abandoned (not really, later my parents told me that they had their eyes on me the entire time) in the middle of the park. All I saw were strangers around me and I was terrified. Then you, the only one brave enough to walk up to a crying seven year old and ask the question, “Are you okay?” You, with your burnt blond hair and your green and blue striped shirt. 

“ I’m fine,” I replied, pulling what confidence I had left together.

“You don’t look fine,” you pronounced, and I glared at you. “Here, let’s go play,” you said as you offered your hand to me. As we walked to the swing set, I looked at the hand you guided me with, thinking how nice it was of you to walk over to a crying girl and ask her to play with you. As we played together, time seemed to fly but you still played with me, no matter how bossy I was; just two seven year olds slithering through the play structure. 

I knew that when I was “found” our fun would stop. Still, when it happened and I had to go, I was heartbroken. You had done so much for me, and now I was leaving you. But I had no choice. I said goodbye, and left you swinging on a swing.

Though I never saw you again, you influence me everyday. I try to be as caring and generous as you were. You gave me so much: a hand, a smile, a friend, and all I gave you was a goodbye. I look back now and wish I’d told you, “Thank you, this means a lot.” Or something along those lines. Even though I never got to say it, I want to thank you. What you did for me that day is forever in my thoughts. 

Thanks.
T, age 14