My son has a girlfriend.
They first crossed paths at a home-school gathering. I spotted them chatting and decided to ask him her name. “Lila,” he replied, which was a significant moment since he rarely remembers names. I suspect he has pals he’s known for ages but can only identify them by vague descriptors like “You know, the girl with the pink backpack who always brings cookies.”
After a bit of sleuthing, I connected with Lila’s mom, who turned out to be (surprise!) a pretty cool person.
“My kayak is just like Lila’s!” my son, Max, exclaimed as he dashed past me. That sparked a conversation between Lila’s mom and me about our shared love for paddling. As it turns out, they not only get along well but also share similar interests, including an affinity for quirky TV shows (the latest reboot of Scooby Doo, a spy series, and of course, Doctor Who). They’re both gluten-intolerant and even believe in the Loch Ness monster—talk about a match made in kid heaven!
Max even proposed to her while they were kayaking together. They haven’t set a wedding date yet (he’s pushing for next week, while she’s thinking more along the lines of when they’re in college), but Max is convinced that “she totally said yes, Mom.”
Now, let’s remember, my son is just six years old. So is Lila.
I’ve always had reservations about childhood relationships; they seem to contribute to the early sexualization of kids. After all, what follows being boyfriend and girlfriend? Don’t even try to convince me it’s not a slippery slope. I recall my cousin kissing a boy named Travis at the sink in kindergarten, and we were all envious. And while I never actually kissed my preschool crush, I sure wanted to. Sure, it’s innocent—nobody’s locking lips on the playground—but there’s still this underlying notion that kids in these roles should kiss. I certainly didn’t want my son thinking it was okay to kiss anyone other than family.
I also believed their imaginations could be better spent elsewhere—running around, pretending to be superheroes, rather than planning wedding details. I thought it was more beneficial for kids to let their creativity flow freely than to dwell on when they would tie the knot. (Max insists they’ll marry at eight, while Lila says college.)
To be honest, the whole concept of grade-schoolers calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend felt a bit unsettling. It seemed to send a message that girls should aspire to get married, wear a white dress, and have kids. I didn’t want my son to inadvertently reinforce that idea.
And then it happened.
Max and Lila spend their playtime having adventures. They pretend to solve mysteries, whip up meals in their toy kitchen, and run around like little tornadoes. The few “couple-y” moments I’ve witnessed are simply friendly: they’ve taken turns snapping pictures of each other and, during their recent kayaking trip, they paddled together while chatting and splashing one another. They’re not pretending to be parents or planning a wedding; they’re simply friends. They just borrowed the term “boyfriend and girlfriend” because that’s what they’ve seen grown-ups do.
If you ask Max, he’ll say Lila is his best friend, and she’s echoed the same sentiment. The whole marrying thing is just a playful thought. He’s not indoctrinating her into some patriarchal view of relationships. They don’t kiss, but they do hold hands (Max holds hands with everyone). I doubt they’ll be sneaking off for secret kisses behind the slides anytime soon.
And honestly, that’s the kind of elementary school relationship I can totally get behind.
For more insights into parenting and creative family planning, check out our other posts on home insemination options at Intracervical Insemination, and learn about the At Home Insemination Kit here. For those looking for comprehensive resources on pregnancy and home insemination, this site is absolutely fantastic.
In summary, it’s refreshing to see how children can form genuine connections without the heavy implications that often come with the labels of “boyfriend” and “girlfriend.” Max and Lila’s relationship is a delightful testament to childhood friendship, reminding us that love can be innocent and playful at any age.