Yesterday, I met a little Warrior Queen.
She was only four, but I know what I know.
Her mother, a fairly new co-worker brought her around to me.
We are both brown with big, freestyle hair, so maybe she thought we’d clique.
I said Hello, nice to meet you.
She studied me briefly, then the sandals on her feet, unsmiling and quiet.
Her mom encouragingly insisted: “Nailah is our friend.”
The Little Warrior Queen’s furrowed brows said: “I don’t know her and furthermore, I have nothing to say.’
I smiled and extended my fist hopefully for a bump.
Her grumpy eyes flickered up and away.
Seriously, she looked like this:
Trying not to laugh, I felt her indignation, not necessarily towards me, but towards the situation.
Intense emotions continued to radiate from this tiny chick.
Here was the point her mom could have told her not to be rude, bribed her with sweets for better behavior.
I wasn’t offended (much).
Forced, phony greetings bore me and, besides, it is a huge leap to expect a four-year to work a room, although these were also the hopes I temporarily had for my own daughter at that age.
I admired The Little Warrior Queen’s point of view and firm boundaries.
This is a child who will not be lured off by candy-offering strangers.
This is a child who will scream her little head off if someone touches her inappropriately.
She has been taught to do this, but also, I think this is her natural wiring.
It was the third time I’d seen her in the office. She is cautious with everyone, suspicious, openly furious about being pranced around against her will.
Her older brother is smiley and approachable. If I had to choose a career path for him, it would be mayor or entertainer. He wants to know everyone, do everything, has grown-up impressions of things, and is open as a seven-year old can be.
His sister picks and chooses and she did not choose me.
I respected that and told her mother so.
“She’s a little girl with big feelings and she’s not that into me,” I shared. “But it didn’t dent me. Can I just say that I am beyond letting a four-year old ruin my day?”
Her mom shared a relieved, but weary, smile. The kind, I’ve come to recognize as part of the uniform for a little warrior queen’s mother.