The word "friend" has some of the most wide-ranging usage of any word in the English language. Some folks use it to mean just about everyone they've ever met--or merely seen. John McCain, for example, can't seem to go five seconds without beginning a sentence with "My friends..."

Other folks are picker in their use of the word. My wife tends to break down relationships into the categories of "friends" and "acquaintances." I've known her for almost 20 years, and I'm still not sure how she chooses which is which. But then, it's her distinction, not mine. I'm just glad that I usually fall on the "friend" side of the divide.

Then there are the people who use the word "friend" liberally, but with a modifer. "Good friend," "social friend," "close friend" and the always-amusing "friend with benefits" are just a few of these.

Me? I'm more liberal in my usage, but I always type the word as "firend." I'm sure that flaw in my fingers provides some deep insight into my psyche.

Kids tend to discover the idea of friends when they're two or three. My older son Max had a couple of friends when he was two, and he's got plenty more now. Like most kids, Max uses the word to its broadest extent, though he does refer to his "best" friend and uses other modifiers now and again. He's six, and he's just discovering the downside of the friend concept: sometimes people don't want to be your friend. That, however, is another story for another day.

My younger son Sam has just discovered the all the possibilities that friends offer. In his preschool class last year, he sang a song called "Friends 1-2-3." This song incorporated the names of all the students and teachers and parents co-oping on a given day. He learned the song quickly (even if he sang it only at home) and never asked us what the word "friends" actually meant. He also didn't get that involved with the other kids in his class.

But over the summer, Sam learned about friends first-hand. He started listing his friends and asking to play with specific friends. And then he met Caleb.

Their first encounter was tense. Sam was a bit cranky and didn't want to share his toys. But a week or so later, we went over to Caleb's house and the love affair began.

Caleb's older brother is a good friend of Max's. Caleb's parents are good friends of ours. This is, of course, an ideal arrangement. The kids like to play amongst themselves and the parents can enjoy most of an evening without juvenile entanglements.

But the most interesting thing is how close Sam and Caleb have become. They are much tighter than Max and his classmate. The mere mention of Caleb brings a sly smile to Sam as he contemplates time with Caleb. Then Sam's entire face lights up and he starts bounding around the room. We've learned to not mention Caleb in Sam's presence unless an encounter is, in fact, forthcoming.

When the two little boys spot each other, they burst into headlong runs that appear more appropriate for the climax of a period romance. Until, of course, they get within a couple feet of each other, when both boys stop short and begin talking to each other animatedly. Sam, in particular, flails his arms and bounces almost incessantly when talking to Caleb. Caleb is a bit more chilled out.

A child's discovery of friends is, of course, the beginning of the end of parenthood. Max, at six, is already demanding to play with his friends every day after school. He'd be perfectly happy to wake up, eat breakfast and then stay away from home until bedtime. Six is a bit young for such emancipation on a daily basis, and that fact chafes him a bit. But soon enough--sooner than we'd like to admit--that sort of schedule will be more and more the norm. Kids have to grow up, and a fair chunk of that is spending more and more time away from parental guidance.

Sam is just beginning that journey. He's still closer to us, his parents, than he is his friends. But that will change. As sad as it may seem to the parents, that's exactly what has to happen. Kids push away even as parents try to pull them back. Arguments and fights ensue. Feelings are hurt. Relationships are rent and then repaired.

Such is the lot of parents. If we do our jobs right, the repairing leads to a stronger relationship than the one ripped apart. Out of the angst should arise something more permanent.

Aw, hell. My little boy just found his first best friend. No need to get maudlin about that.

Right?

Jon Worley isn't much for tallying friends, but he figures he does okay.