When I picked Kathleen up from school today she had to give Sara (her best friend) a hug before leaving. So far as I have known up to this point Kathleen and Sara have been the only members of what Kathleen calls the “BFFs,” a mutual admiration society. (No, I have no idea how Kathleen is learning text speak).
However, on the walk out of the school, a little girl I have never met yelled Kathleen’s name, and Kathleen ran over to give her a hug. “Who was that?” I asked. “Juliet,” Kathleen responded, “She is in a different class, but has recess at the same time as us. She is in the BFFs.” Then Kathleen thought for a bit, and said: “Well, really I am her boss. I am the boss of the BFFs.” “Kathleen,” I replied, “friends are friends with each other, not bosses. You don’t want to be bossy.” This time Kathleen didn’t need to think about her response: “The BFFs are a gang. Gangs have bosses, and I am the boss.”
My daughter might be the Michael Corleone of the kindergarten playground. I knew her Italian DNA was going to be a problem.