We step outside as Sofia goes out to run and play in the block with some of the other children of theborgata. I sit down on the steps in front of the building beside Gabriel. It’s a beautiful day, the air crisp but not bitterly so. Sofia runs around, her charismatic personality attracting all the other children to come and join in her playfighting game. It’s fun to watch them as they determine that the sticks will be “knives” and the bent coat hangers that a few of the boys have fashioned into smaller triangles will be “guns.” They divide up the weapons and then run around pretending to take hits. Sofia is one of only two girls in the mix, and the other girl seems shy and timid as she holds the stick in her hand and tries not to get spotted by one of the boys. Many of the other girls are off playing elsewhere, but this little girl tags along with Sofia as if she’s her sidekick.
Sofia has a stick in one hand a bent wire hanger in the other as she jumps out from behind trees and tries to take down the boys one at a time, picking them off like flies. “Come on,” she says as she tugs the other girl by the sleeve, trying to get her to come out from her hiding spot and join the fight. “You can’t hide.”
One of the boys laughs and taunts them—calling the other girl a “sissy” and telling Sofia to give up. “You two are outnumbered,” he laughs. “And besides, you’re girls.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sophia asks as she steps out in front of the other girl to face the boy head-on.
“It means this is just a game for you two,” he sneers. “But it’s practice for us boys. One day, one of us will lead this borgata. And you two will be our wives. You don’t need to know how to fight because you’ll be too busy cooking and making babies.”
My skin crawls when I hear him, and I fight against the urge to get up and go knock some sense into this kid. But I take a deep breath and stay exactly where I am. I won’t make the same mistake as my parents did and come running to defend my daughter. Instead, I’ll watch and let Sofia handle it on her own without my intervention.
“Want me to go pound him?” Gabriel laughs. He knows as well as I do that our daughter needs to handle it herself. But I reach over to hold his hand, because it feels good to know that we’re both here, watching her and hanging back in case she ever needs us. Which, of course, Sofia does not.
I watch in amusement as she lunges at the boy, pinning him to the ground and holding the pointy end of her stick dangerously close to his eye. “Say that again,” Sofia hisses at him.
“Should we at least make sure she doesn’t poke his eye out?” Gabriel asks. “I don’t think the boy’s parents will be pleased if he loses an eye.”
“She won’t,” I say with shaky confidence. I hope I’m right. “She knows when to stop. She has to make sure she’s taken seriously.”
“She’s only seven years old.”
“I know. But that’s where it starts.”
We continue to watch, ready to jump up if anyone draws blood. The other girl is standing by the tree still, although she’s now come out from behind it and is watching with one hand on the trunk. The other boys are all gathered around, stupefied that Sofia has been able to get the jump on the most outspoken of them. The boy pinned down keeps his mouth shut. “You’d better not ever say anything like that again,” Sofia snarls at him, her dark hair sprinkled with tree leaves and her eyes wild with indignance. “If you do, I’ll remember it whenI’mthe leader of thisborgatasomeday. And trust me, you won’t want me to remember that you’ve insulted me when I’m older and am holding a knife to your eye instead of a stick.”
The boy stares back up at her in silence, and after another moment or two, Sofia jumps off him and lets him up. As soon as he gets to his feet, he scrambles back to his little posse of friends and the boys run off to go play somewhere else.
“Come on,” Sofia says as she extends her hand toward the girl at the tree. “Now that they’re gone, I’m going to teach you how to fight.”
Gabriel stands up and goes inside to start on some work, giving me a kiss on the top of my head before he leaves and laughing under his breath about how ferocious Sofia is. And I sit there watching as she trains the other girl to defend herself.
“That’s my girl,” I smile.
