I spent yesterday supervising a class of seven year olds. I made cubes out of straws and 'playdoh', and read 'James and the Giant Peach' to them. I spelt out words so they could write them in their diaries, I got chased around at playtime - very cute, but very demanding.
Although I knew this before, I am positive I could never be a teacher. Not to kids of this age, anyway. I feel like the smile on my face is painted on, and it's not allowed to fade for any part of the day. You have so many expectations, like you're supposed to have any answer to everything. You're supposed to play twenty different games, with forty different kids. You can't have and 'off' day, because these kids will demand to know why.
You either have to be a sunshine kid, or a damn good actress. Unfortunately, I'm neither.
I admire the naivety in these children, I hope they stay that way for as long as possible. I wanted to grow up fast, and I wish I could take that back. The only thing these kids worry about is who they're going to pair up with for library, or what they're going to play at breaktime. They cry over cut fingers, and everything is cured by a smile.
It all seems so easy.
When you're feeling like I am, there's nothing more desirable,
than pretending that you're seven years old again.
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