There’s always been something about pinky promises. Something about the literal physical commitment that enlists itself as a reminder; something about the way that entwined fingers become an unbreakable pact. It all started early,right? With the “I’ll give you my last cookie at lunch if you let me play with your car.” “You pinky promise?” Those crucial adolescent words. The three words listed right up there in importance with “I love you” and “Good Job (Insert example of over-used child’s name ending in ‘-y’: i.e. Bobby, Sally, Suzy, Billy… here)!”. This small act serves as an example of the little things we’re taught as children, when we are potently naive and innocent, unaware of the possibility of broken promises; this ne plus ultra situation seems indestructibly sealed with twisted digits and a kiss of a thumb. Yet, we graduated through the grades and crossed paths with bullies or children who’d beat the system, who realized it’d be more beneficial to them if they in fact, did not give out their last cookie at lunch. Some of us learned earlier than others, and some of us still haven’t learned. Some of us gave the pinky promise a few more shots, even though we knew they were no longer completely fool-proof. In the end, we seem to learn that trust is not always to be trusted. Promises now hardly deal with cookies and dispensable playtime; Promises are made as we give someone our fear, or our love, or our secret, and expect them to keep it safe. What if we remembered second grade; what if we intended to keep the promises we made?