Permed Kindergarteners and Benevolent Apathy

His eyes are really big for a Korean kindergartener, which should make him cute, but they are annoying me. They are staring at my eyes, and I don't know how to make them stop. The rest of his head is obnoxious too. Seven year olds with perms make me uneasy. Males with perms cause the same reaction. I don't like it when the two subgroups are combined. His nose is runny and a hand is moving up to wipe away the snot. Now that same hand grabs my leg. This is gross, but I don't have the energy to object too strongly.

We are sitting in a large room at our school, and the Song Contest is almost over. Two more classes to go. He's pulling on my pant-leg pretty urgently now; maybe he has to go to the bathroom. This kid has already had one bladder-control malfunction on my watch, and I'd prefer that he not piss himself in front of the lady who signs my checks. I really wish he'd just sit still and shut up though, so I'm going to ignore him and hope he loses interest.

A Korean co-teacher leans over and says, "He really likes you." I like it when she speaks in short, information-rich sentences, because I often have trouble understanding her. So in most cases brief declarative statements like this are a relief because I don't have to spend five interminable seconds trying to analyze what she said, guess what she actually meant, and respond somewhat appropriately. She's really nice so I don't want to make her uncomfortable by letting her know how utterly confused I am after 75% of our conversations.

 I'm not sure what she means here, though, because how do you know if a kid actually likes you or is simply incredibly starved for adult attention?* I've worked at two schools so far, with a total of probably forty co-workers. Some of them have been really warm, nurturing, pleasantly outgoing people. A sizable number have been pretty beige, and a few have been downright frosty. All of us get hugs in the hallway, though. And, like arrogant old housecats, children will climb into your lap whether they are wanted or not, so long as your lap is more comfortable than the floor.

*When did I become an adult, and how did this happen without me noticing?

So I'm skeptical that this kid actually likes me. His dad has been "away on business" since I started six months ago, which could mean one of four things: 1) Dad actually is working overseas, 2) Mom and Dad are divorced, 3) Dad is doing that we're-not-gonna-live-together-or-have-any-real-relationship-but-I'll-keep-paying-your-bills-as-long-as-you-don't-cause-me-public-embarrassment-thing that happens in countries like Korea sometimes, or 4) bear attack. The kid probably just wants a male authority figure to acknowledge his existence. Isn't that what Freud or Jung or Nietzsche or some other creepy old Germanic fellow would say?  In any case, a good chunk of my brain thinks the kid has no more emotional connection to me than I do to toilet paper. Sometimes I need it, and if it's not there then life sucks, but no single roll has any special importance. Any soft, pliable tissue will do fine.

Still, I'm holding his hand and dragging him back to the classroom. I think he's trying to skip, but his legs are really short and he's kind of chubby and for someone with such a low center of gravity he has terrible balance. I guess he's sort of bouncing now. So it's more like escorting a large, whiny basketball with arms down the hallway. I'm looking down at the kid and feeling kind of annoyed; I feel this way about him maybe ten or fifteen times a day. Sometimes he'll redeem himself by conjugating a verb correctly or remembering what month comes after February. Also, when he can tell I'm annoyed, he likes to plop himself down on the floor, wrap both arms around my shin, and gurgle, "I love Nick Teacher." Once in a while this is endearing but usually it just makes me stumble and get more irritated.

I'm still trying to figure out if this kid really likes Me as I cram a pile of notebooks into his cheap, school-issued green backpack. I'm wondering if he will remember Me after I get out of this soul crushing dump in a few months. I spend a few thoughtful moments contemplating how the replacement teacher will be compared to Me, while simultaneously helping this uncoordinated mini-lout pull on his mittens and hat and tragically girlish jacket. Then he's ready to go. 

"Bye-bye Teacher!"

"Peace dude - catch you tomorrow! Don't let the snow leopards eat you on the way home!"*

We're smiling a lot and laughing - I'm not sure if my own laughter is forced or genuine. Compelling arguments can be made for either side. But I'm showing the right signs, at least. He'll be back tomorrow, and we'll have pretty much the same set of interactions, and once again I'll be thankful that sometimes our thoughts have no impact on how we actually live our lives. 

*This is the way I actually speak to my kids. I'm not sure why I haven't been fired yet.