Toward the end of my last Kindergarten year. A small kid with a buzz cut, and a whisp of hair under his nose – despite being no more than 6 - sat crying in a corner. Bill, that was his name. I remember people laughing at him. I don’t remember why. I remember walking up to him and putting an arm around his shoulder. I remember talking to him, but I don’t remember what I said. He smiled through his tear-stained cheeks, “You see these people around? They are so fake. You are my true friend, and you are my best friend. You know that right?” As a young child, his words hit me. I didn’t understand what he meant, but I knew I did something noble. I mumbled back to him, “You are my best friend as well.”  
 
 9 years later. I sat with a group of friends, making fun of other people. I made a comment. They didn’t laugh with me, they laughed at me.  
 
Upon returning to the room, my roommate dragged me aside. He sat me down on his bed. He stared deep into my eyes. “Hey man, I feel like you are not yourself recently. You have been so fake, and not the same person as I used to call my best friend.” I looked at him, puzzled, he continued, “Don’t try to mould yourself into the patterns of other people, make your own pattern so unique that people fall into your footsteps. People do not love you for how loud you laugh, or how stupid of a thing you say. Present your own personality, you like history, you like reading and you love gaming. If there is no other person who loves the things you like, make people love you through your kindness and charisma.” As a 15-year-old boy, I understood what he meant. I mumbled back to him, “I’ll try, and we’ll see.” He gave me a wink and smile, classic Adam. “I want to see you strive. I want to see you come alive. You’ll always be my best friend. You know that right?”