Why I Should Be A Good Adult

It is then I wonder how I even ended up in a job that requires one to be compassionate and charismatic all the time. Those days when you can’t seem to pull yourself out of a funk I remember. I remember the little blonde head of a stubborn, talkative child. She never seems older than five and she is always, always clutching a tiny Snow White doll. She has incandescently blue eyes and she smiles regardless of what has happened. The kind of kid who can’t seem to shut up and is friends with everyone. However, she flips the sounds of her letters. She doesn’t mind and it’s kind of cute. It makes her name turn from “Kelsey” to “Telsee.” I remember the day she was more scared than she had ever been in her entire life. I remember the long hallway that seemed to lead to nowhere deep within the recesses of a high school in a now long forgotten building. How her tiny hands clutched to the doll as if it would save her from whatever creature was on the other side of the door. I remember the panic she felt at being alone with an adult she had never met. She dreamt up villains and monsters each more unlikely than the last, all of whom had horns, and fangs, and terrified children everywhere. Without even the solace of her mother, the girl marched on and her stubborn smile faded into a grimace as neared the door. Yet, I