Primary School

Brenna spent Saturday night at a sleepover for a friends birthday. Of course, they didn’t sleep at all. For one of them at least, that might be normal, when I picked up Brenna, Jackie told me how she had taken Brenna and friends to a café to get hot chocolates. After the girls had taken their cups away Jackie went to the counter to pay and discovered one of Brenna’s friends had ordered and was drinking a latte - at age eleven.

Not Brenna’s drink of choice yet. However, she did have written on her hand “I love Jack” in large flourescent letters. I asked her whether one of her friends had written it. She agreed and showed me where another girl had written the same thing in even larger letters on her leg. I dreaded to ask, but couldn’t stop myself, “So. Who is Jack?”

She was completely nonchalant, “He’s a guy in my class.” I would have stopped there, but Bruce rushed in where angels fear to tread. “And do you love him?” Brenna played coy, “I can’t really answer that question.” Bruce didn’t see the danger signs and plunged right in. “Why can’t you answer it?”

Brenna fixed him with her cool blue eyes, “Because I’m in frickin’ primary school.”

As true as I sit here typing. I’m scared for the future.