Wednesday 13 January 2010

Children. Annoying.

I once taught a child - child protection issues constrain from saying who, when or where - who consistently had his own agenda. He really didn't see why he should have to do ANYTHING, anything at all, which he didn't agree with.

He had an answer for everything. Even when he wasn't being asked a question.

One particular scenario comes to mind.

He had a desk. A lovely, old-fashioned wooden desk with lift up lid and plenty of space in which to keep his belongings. He used it, but not enough. He also liked to keep folders, snack boxes and pencil cases covering his desk or on the floor beside him.

Everyday, I would ask him to put his snack box in the designated area and his folders in his desk.
Everyday, he would argue about it. (His parents thought he was very special, so they thought all that was quite reasonable. He should be allowed to make his own decisions, follow his own star and ignore his teachers.)

Until one day. I'd had enough.

I told him that the authorities would be very unhappy if they had to pay out a lot of money because I had broken my arm tripping over his belongings.

"But you haven't broken your arm," he replied, looking puzzled. He always took everything literally.

"But I might do," I retorted, with a singular disregard for correct grammar, "if you keep on leaving your belongings where I can fall over them."

He scowled, threw me a doubtful glance and his folders where they belonged.

Ha. Victory.

Little things keep me happy.

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