How to Teach Your Kid About Friendship: Practical, Everyday Tips for Parents
Last Tuesday, I pulled up to the elementary school pickup line and spotted my 7-year-old Lila before she even saw me. She was leaning against the brick wall, shoulders hunched, one shoe untied, and I knew before she opened the car door that something was off. She climbed in, dropped her backpack between her feet, and started crying before we even turned out of the parking lot. Her best friend Mia had saved a spot for Ava at lunch that day, she told me, and said she couldn’t sit with Lila because Ava had new glitter gel pens that smelled like cherry. By the time we got home, Lila’s sneakers were tossed by the front door and she was curled up on the entryway step, saying she didn’t have any friends at all anymore.
I almost said the first thing that popped into my head: “Mia’s your friend, she’ll save you a spot tomorrow. Go play with someone else if she doesn’t.” But I stopped, because I still remember being 7 and sitting alone at the lunch table because my best friend decided she liked someone else that week. It didn’t feel like a small problem then, and it doesn’t feel like one now. So I sat down next to her on the step, the cold tile digging into my leg, and said “That hurts so much. It sucks when someone you really like would rather be with someone else. I’d be sad too.” She cried into my shoulder for ten minutes, and then got up to get a granola bar. That was it, no big speech, no fixing it right away.
A week later, Lila invited Zoe over. Zoe’s in her class, and she sits alone at art most days, Lila told me. I baked chocolate chip cookies, got out the board games, and an hour in, Lila pulled me into the kitchen, whispering, “She doesn’t like the same Barbie movies as me. Can I tell her to go home?”
I almost told her she was being rude, that she invited Zoe so she had to be nice the whole time. But I thought about the lunch table moment, and I didn’t. Instead I asked her, “What’s one thing you two both like? You told me yesterday she draws unicorns really good, right?” Lila frowned, thought for a second, and said “Yeah, I draw unicorns too.” She went back out, dragged her big sketchbook off the shelf, and they drew unicorns on the back of my old grocery list for the next hour, fighting over the pink marker.
I’ve realized over the past couple of years that most of what I thought I needed to teach Lila about friendship was wrong. I used to think it was about sharing your toys, being nice, and finding a group of people you stick with forever. But really, it’s all the small, messy stuff that no one talks about when they give you parenting tips.
The first small shift I made was stopping generic questions and starting specific ones. Instead of “Did you have fun at school today?” which usually gets a one-word answer, I ask “Who did you talk to today that you don’t usually talk to?” or “Did anyone do something small that made you happy today?” It gets her looking for small connections instead of just fixating on whether her “best friend” is being nice to her that day. It only takes 30 extra seconds in the car, and it’s made her notice people she might have otherwise walked past.
Second, I started letting her see the ordinary parts of my own friendships, not just the fun parts. I don’t only talk about my friends when we’re going out for dinner or a movie. I’ll say things like “Sarah canceled our walk today because her kid has a cold, that’s okay, we’ll go next week” when Lila’s in the room. Or we’ll drive to drop off soup for a friend who’s upset, and I’ll say “Megan’s been really sad since her cat died, so I’m bringing her this bread she likes to let her know I’m thinking of her.” Kids don’t learn what friendship is from rules. They learn it from watching us do the small, boring, kind stuff that no one posts about.
Third, I don’t force her to be someone she’s not for the sake of being nice. When Lila told me she didn’t want to play with Mia every day anymore after the lunch incident, I didn’t say “but she’s your best friend, you have to work it out.” I said “It’s okay to not want to play with someone every day. That doesn’t mean you or her did anything wrong. Friendships don’t have to be forever to be good.” And when she told me a week ago that she doesn’t want to hang out one-on-one with Zoe anymore because Zoe chews her erasers too loud and it drives her crazy, I didn’t make her feel guilty for it. I just sat down with her and helped her practice what to say that’s kind, instead of just running off mid-play. We practiced: “I had fun drawing with you today! I’m going to go play swings with the other girls now, okay?” It’s specific, it’s honest, and it doesn’t hurt anyone’s feelings just because Lila doesn’t want to do the same thing anymore.
Last week, Lila came home with a crumpled paper flower Zoe made her, taped to the front of her backpack. She said they played four square at recess together, and Zoe let her be king first. Some days, she still comes home crying because someone didn’t want to play with her. Some days, she hurts someone else’s feelings because she’s being stubborn or she only wants to play what she wants. We’re not done learning this, and I don’t think we ever will be. Friendship isn’t something you teach once, it’s something you practice a little bit every day, one lunch table, one unicorn drawing, one kind phrase at a time.
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