His name is Jackson.

My daughter was flirting today.
Full-out
hair tossing
shoulder shrugging
whirling and twirling
flirting.
I couldn't believe it. When I went to pick her up from school one of her teacher's said "Luna's got a new boyfriend. His name is Jackson. She's been running after him all day." Really? I asked, secretly annoyed at the subcontext of heterosexism that her remarks implied. Then she pointed toward the playground corner.
There was my daughter, mouth agape drooling over two roughhousing boys. I walked over,said hello and introduced myself as Luna's mother. THat's Jackson, Luna pointed batting her eyelashes. She looked at me for less than half a second, eyes locked on Romeo's. Where was the Mommy Mommy gleeful run with open arms that greeted me daily? Not today. Clearly he was far more deserving. Ok Luna we have to go, I said. Nice to meet you Jackson. Bye Jackson Luna blurted as she laid a fat wet one on his lips. JAckson, two years older at the ripe old age of five, smiled sheepishly, clearly delighted with Goldilocks' affection. I reached for her preschool palm. It was still little and snot sticky.