Journal- Voice of a Child

At my daycare there is a boy I like. He likes me, too, he just doesn’t know it yet. But he has to be my boyfriend so I can be a grown-up. Grown-ups have boyfriends. I can’t remember his name, but that’s okay because boys like nicknames. I’ll call him Buster.
Buster says to leave him alone, but I know that’s code for “I like you”. He runs, and I chase him around the playground, through the tunnels and in between the swings.
“I’m going to catch you!” I yell. I can barely breathe because I’ve been running so much. My mom always wonders why I come home so dirty every day. She doesn’t understand how much work I have to do, and I only have half a day to do it! Kindergarten is rough. Last year in preschool, playtime was learning time. It’s not any fun when I know I have to try to keep some of the dirt on the ground. Plus, I’m the unlucky one who has afternoon school, which makes staying clean even tougher. It’s not fair. I’m lucky Buster is there to play with.
He won’t sit by my on the kindergarten bus, but that’s okay. I know he would if his friends wouldn’t tease him. Boys are weird like that. When we ride to school, I look at him, and sometimes I sing him songs I make up. I asked one of the teachers why Buster won’t be nicer to me, and she said I should maybe let him play by himself for a while. How is that supposed to make him realize he likes me? Obviously this teacher doesn’t know as much as me. You see what I put up with!
I’m so grown-up because I understand boys. None of my friends know half as much as I do, which makes sense since I’m five and they’re all still four. Sometimes it’s tough being the smartest, but somebody’s got to explain everything about life to them. We usually walk around the railroad ties along the playground fence when we’re all worn out from chasing. Whenever they question me, I always respond with, “Well, I should know, because I’m in kindergarten.” The teachers like me enough to let me sit by them. I told you I was a grown-up.