Kid Sick

So sometimes, just every once in a while, I find myself missing the children. It goes without saying that each Friday morning I indulge a private whimper when I think of some other teacher playing with my exquisite 3 year olds, but every so often I even miss the older, not-as-cute ones. To wit, the loud ones. The ridiculous ones. The lazy ones. The rude ones. Heck, sometimes I even miss the molestation – it made me feel appreciated, even wanted.

Kids like this:

And this:

Let me be clear about one thing: I do not miss teaching. Though I will be eternally grateful for the lessons I learned while playing the role of an ESL teacher, teaching was not a good fit for my skill set or my temperament. I don’t miss the teaching, the lesson planning, the discipline doling or trying to command attention, nor do I miss the frustration of turning up for work each day and wearing a hat that didn’t belong to me. What I miss is the children themselves – their energy, their silliness, their grins, their pert little outfits. Had I not been paid to constantly force them do something they hated, I know we would have gotten along wonderfully. I wouldn’t have left the classroom with my veins throbbing out of my neck and my mascara smeared across my cheeks. I wouldn’t have horrified myself by screaming in my mother’s voice. When you’re not in charge, an “active” kid like Daisuke who screeches “うんち!!!” at the top of his lungs every five seconds isn’t asking for a sound lashing; he’s asking for a high five.

I used to think about how much fun we could have if their parents didn’t expect them to come out of the classroom parroting “I like hot dogs.” It would be like my time at the summer camp – pure play, and teaching by example.

(Perhaps my one contribution to Japanese culture)

They’d ask if I know who Mario and Luigi are and scream, “ええええ！” when I said, “Of course.” They’d share their candy with me. They’d ask where I was going after class. They’d criticize my hair or my clothes and I wouldn’t care because it’d somehow seem less disrespectful when I wasn’t in a position of authority. I could get away with teasing them back. They’d sit in my lap. They’d teach me new Japanese words in exchange for English ones. We’d be delighted when we’d realize we could sing some of the same songs.

So, obviously, I’m looking at pictures and videos of my ex-kids. I’m feeling Japan and Kid Sick all at once. I’m spooning Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby ice cream into my mouth. Oh my god. I could seriously eat the whole thing.

It’s that kind of day.