I recently got a part-time gig teaching kids at an after school program close to my apartment. I’m working with kids. Kids. You know, the little people who haven’t yet mastered the art of driving or coloring within the lines.
Now I never had any desire to work with the kiddies. Back in college, I earned a secondary teaching certificate so that I could avoid the little ones. A primary teaching certificate was for those women who peppered their speech with words like “cute” and “adorable” and for men who were too creepy to comprehend. School-themed bowties my ass.
And now, half way around the world, I find myself reading “Clifford the Big Red Dog” at storytime. The kids are sprawled out around me focusing on my every word. I’m a celebrity. It’s intoxicating.
The Valentine’s Day cards I received in my homemade Valentine’s Day box had me laughing out loud when I read them in my kitchen. When my partner got home from work, I read them to him and said things like, “Isn’t that cute?” and “That kid is adorable.”
What next? A creepy school-themed bowtie? I’d rather jump in front of an oncoming train.