It’s an interesting thing – that labeling of a girl, classifying her distinctly in one class (a girl’s girl) or another (a guy’s girl). I’ve long known I’m considered the latter and have gradually accepted it, although it’s alternately a curse and a blessing depending on life’s circumstances.

I see it generally as something that can’t be changed. Like your natural eye color. And it probably happens as part of any girl’s personality development long before she knows what it will mean for her to be one versus the other. I know I stood no chance of being anything but a guy’s girl. Herewith I present exhibit one, my preschool picture, with me being that delightful petite fille in the front row.

There were other markers, of course, that led to my enchantment with the less fair gender. Coming from a small town, playmates were limited to my neighbors – Andy, the boy next door, his atrocious little brother, and Stewart (whom I affectionately called Sturdy until that one tweenage day when he insisted I no longer call him that). Sturdy (because the boy I’m recalling now was about the age of 5) had blond California curls, a raspy little voice, and an infectious giggle I couldn’t resist – I feel certain I still have a crush on him even though he’s long been absent from my life. Then of course there was my brother, my constant playmate, because he was just two years younger and our older sister was already in cork wedges and bell bottoms going to her first dances. So there you have it – my posse was made almost exclusively from snips and snails and puppy dog tails.

Unfortunately, this rambunctious, rowdy, toughskin start to my social life did little to prepare me for the onslaught of girls when I started elementary school. The world I had known, while wild, was actually quite peaceful at the heart of those relationships. There was an easiness to it that I assumed was the case regardless of gender. Imagine my shock to see the first mean girls in action. I couldn’t figure out what those girls were doing. Emotionally to each other. Bizarre! So, I continued to trust only what I’d always known. Until puberty happened. Then it got a little weird. It took me a while to sort that out but like every other awkward teenager, I did. I started to learn the cues between guy friend and something more, and through those heartaches, I began to appreciate my girl friends and how they’d become loyal like no guy could ever be.

If you Google “guy’s girl” you’ll find very polarized opinions about who these girls are. The worst, it seems, are the guy’s girls who just hate girls (or girl relationships, never trusting anyone). Then there are the guy’s girls who really aren’t. It isn’t about having a guy’s back, these girls are just colossal flirts. Or worse. For me, the real guy’s girl is one who honestly appreciates her male friendships for only that, and equally invests time in building sincere friendships with whoever he chooses to love.