Kids

Kids have cooties. Boys AND girls.

This is the number one reason I avoid dealing with them as much as I possibly can. They're little people who have no control over their emotions; all of their emotions are insanely heightened. When they're happy, they're HAPPY. When they're angry, they're ANGRY. When they're hungry, oh they're HUNGRY. When they're sad, you get the gist. 

They know no social, political or socio-economic boundaries.

They have no control over the range of their voices. Decibels to them is a name given to a mystical community of mermaids and mermen. 

They say things they're not supposed to, and then they don't say things they're supposed to.

They have very limited vocabulary.

They don't have a sense of limitations, they don't know when to stop. Repetition is funny to them. How crass. 

Their characters are underdeveloped. Like Sylar. No, like Mohinder Suresh. No, like Parkman. 

They don't have finesse, no appreciation for art, or the senses. 

They think the manifestation of power lie solely in physical outbursts. How asinine. How utterly crass.

Kids. Unimpressive.

I don't know why people have them.

Maybe they remind me too much of myself, or of the things I want to be now, me, a non-kid. 

I'm *fortunate* enough to have the *magnificent* opportunity to always be surrounded by kids. Yes, I started teaching kids again after a whole year. Well, it was a fun first day. My class consisted of a bunch of 10-11 year old children who were so bursting with fruit flavor that all I wanted to do was take a stick and bang it on the board twice to shock them into silence. I did the next best thing: stare at them quietly for a few minutes. It worked. Once I got their attention, I took their attendance, had them introduce themselves, and start on their classwork. It was fun. I referred to them as ladies and gentlemen. It was almost a business 101 class. I'm quite proud of them. At the end of the class, they pushed their chairs in, cued up quietly and left. 

I like kids who understand my power. *snicker*

***

The best kids class I ever taught was 2 years ago, a level 4 English class, a smart funny artsy ridiculously insane group of kids. I miss them now. I came across a piece of paper they all wrote on and handed to me on the very last day of class. It's filled with inside jokes, the kind of stuff I cherish.

(sic)

to my favorite teacher ms nesreen, I wish for you a happy future. good by mr cris*. 

Raba'a

dear mr. cris, Hi and bye and I wish you will be lean again ;-) and I wish your next B-4* are worse than yours now. good by. miss nissreen i wish you will become mrs.!!! don't forget us.

Aliah

Thank you for teaching me and you are a good teacher and good luck in you life and don't eat a lot! and if I saw Adnan Fallatah* I will tell him my teacher says hello.

Yazeed

Thank you for study me mr cris and I wish you have good life.

Ibrahim

Hi Hi to my teacher thanks for you to be my teacher & for helping me. I wish to see you another time.

from Shams (Maha!)

* Inside the classroom, we each had alter-egos. Mine was Mr. Cris, the know-it-all 50-year-old English teacher with a horrible British accent.

* B-4 is the name they gave to their class.

* Adnan Fallatah of the Ittihad football club was a favorite classroom meme. All the students were hard-core Ittihad fans.

I ran into a couple of these students early this year. They've all grown up, shed the cooties, moved on to teenage drama. Me? I'm still racing around the teacher's room in a swivel chair.