"Her not my friend."

Cue the blubbering five year old girl wailing about how mean the rest of the kids in the Phoenix, Arizona church nursery that I volunteer at, were. Having volunteered there for nearly six Sundays, in order to wrack up volunteer hours for NHS, this was a rather common occurrence and always had to be tended to.
The girl continued wailing but her words were muffled by her snack, Goldfish crackers turning to an orange-yellowish goop in her open, ever moving mouth. I crouched down between her and the boy seated in a plastic, fire engine red chair, hoping  to be yet again a buffer to their recurring, infantile, dilemma. The boy sat with feigned indifference well written on his face as he dramatically turned away, crossing his arms in that quick pouty anger that children pull off well.

"Caleb. Everyone is everyone's friend in here," firmly chided the other volunteer and I in unison.
Destiny wailed even louder, thumping her chubby, baby fat riddled fists on the table which knocked over the feather light dixie cup now empty of Goldfish crackers.
"But he's not my friend. Caleb why are you so meeaaan!"

Her emphasis  on mean stretched the word into two syllables. Caleb turned and was encouraged to apologize with the raising of an eyebrow and a stern flash of my face.

"I am your friend Destiny" he managed.
"No you're not!" She cried.
It was annoying. Children are annoying. Having had this exact scenario happen over and over annoyed me to no end. Why did Destiny carry on so?  Every. Single. Week. Why couldn't she just accept his words like children normally do because they live in a world of black and white, full of forgiveness and childlike innocence. In the gray world I live in this was something so simple...

Until I thought it over, shutting out the clammer of crunching Goldfish cracker noises issuing from the other kid's mouths,combined with the crinkling apple juice straw wrappers that I bunched up walking to the waste paper basket and away from my source of annoyance. Leaning on the counter I thought whilst the other volunteer  helped the kids transition from snack time to coloring in printouts of Jesus with thick, oversized crayons.

I thought about my childhood or lack of one, having to grow up at the age of five to take care of my brother in a household full of drug addicts. I could not relate to this carefree child's woes. I had different more vital issues to attend to, like how to sneak over to grandma's house with my baby brother to catch a meal while mother lay passed out somewhere, not worrying about whether the kid next to me was my friend. I suddenly felt mad at myself for being annoyed at this girl. Who was I to judge her or anyone for that matter about what is ok to be upset over? If anything I should be happy this was what upset her not something worse. Here I was simply brushing off something that bothered this kid as a pestilence to be dealt with not fixed.

I headed toward the table now silent with the contented coloring children. Destiny hunched over an exuberantly colored purple and green Jesus, making finishing scribbles while Caleb lost interest and ran away to play with blocks. I was just about to open my mouth and ask if Destiny was okay when she looked up beaming and waved her picture in the air.

"I'm done miss Brittany can I put this in my cubby?"

I permitted this and watched as Caleb scrambled off the floor to snatch his drawing off the table and race Destiny out to the hall where their cubbies were. When they rushed back to their vibrant seats I overheard Destiny declare

"... I don't like you- I love you and I'm gonna marry you!" Here I was worrying.

Children possess a powerful strength, the power to forgive and forget. I think its too much of an understatement to say there is something to be learned from children. I've grown to love children, all of them, because they always teach me while I'm in the nursery volunteering.
Thank you Destiny.