I ignore her. After all, kids have the attention span of half a second, right? Wrong. Not this one at least.
She puts a confident hand on my forearm and clearly says. "It's better if you don't. It's not as good."
I look down at this 4th grader. She has a wide forehead, stubby legs, but a toothy smile that makes you ashamed of doing what you call smiling. But her eyes radiate pure determination. It takes me a while to realize she's more than half my age, and not a high schooler like me. Such mature eyes, and a mysterious personality; she likes to talk, and is eager to impress, but is not willing to compromise any values for any reasons.
And she is absolutely unpredictable. "You're so silly!" she says while giggling at something I hadn't known I had done. "..." is the silence she stabs into me when I actually try to make her laugh.
"Ann!" one of the other Teacher's Assistants call out. She quickly turns and runs towards the Teacher's Assistant, but gives me a last, nerve-quaking glance. Was I like this back then? I can't help but think. All my memories are too bright and happy to be true. So, in the end, I watch her skip off, excited for the afternoon.
It is computer day today. This means 15 computers are shared among 30 kids. Sometimes one kid gets a computer all to his or herself. But more commonly, groups of kids are hypnotized by a single monitor, while vagrants wander around the room.
Not more than five minutes into the room, kids start arguing and shouting. Among the cacophony, I hear a shrill voice cry out:
"Don't be so stupid! It's not your turn anymore!"
It's Ann. She's telling her sister off for trying to play the computer all by herself. At the word stupid, her sister was already leaking tears. By the time Ann was finished, her sister had already begun crying.
Hurriedly, I pulled Ann's sister over to the side, quickly telling her some meaningless, but comforting sounding words. Soon, she was only sniffling. Then I pulled Ann to side.
"Was that necessary?" I asked. To her it wasn't a rhetorical question. She nodded, annoyed, and got ready to take off again.
"Not so fast." I said, grabbing her arm. "Did you really have to call your sister 'stupid' in front of everyone? Did you really have to be so loud?"
She glared at me, but my grip was firm. Finally she sighed and said, "She doesn't care what I say. She'll still do it. She's doing it right now!" She pointed at the computer her sister was at. Sure enough, her sister was once again trying to take someone else's turn. I rolled my eyes. 1st graders. Such a handful.
But that didn't excuse Ann at all. Saying that her sister didn't take her seriously was an obvious lie, only she didn't know it yet. I opened my mouth to rebuke her, to say that it wasn't so much about her sister, or others, than about herself. Then I stopped.
If it wasn't how I was in the past, it most certainly was how I am today. I am exactly the same. It's not that others don't take me seriously; it's that I don't care what they think. And so, I'll do whatever I feel, whenever I want.
"Apologize to her." I ordered. Giving me a filthy look for a few seconds, she stalked off to her sister, glanced at me a few times, and then mumbled something. Before the minute was up, her sister was smiling with her, and they were both laughing and grinning and giggling, rocking on their chairs, while avidly clicking with the computer mouse. I sighed. All they needed was one apology and everything was fixed. They were so lucky.
Suddenly, I understood so much more of her than I had before. She didn't care what others thought of her because she was selfish. She wanted attention. She wanted someone to think of her no matter what. And when she found no available candidates, she stopped caring about others. She was lonely, that's all. Just a lonely girl.
And it makes me wonder; am I really any different from a 4th grader? Besides gender of course. But it's embarrassing to think that the darkest sections of your personality can be so easily reflected in the face of a young girl whose name you can hardly remember.
It is computer day today. This means 15 computers are shared among 30 kids. Sometimes one kid gets a computer all to his or herself. But more commonly, groups of kids are hypnotized by a single monitor, while vagrants wander around the room.
Not more than five minutes into the room, kids start arguing and shouting. Among the cacophony, I hear a shrill voice cry out:
"Don't be so stupid! It's not your turn anymore!"
It's Ann. She's telling her sister off for trying to play the computer all by herself. At the word stupid, her sister was already leaking tears. By the time Ann was finished, her sister had already begun crying.
Hurriedly, I pulled Ann's sister over to the side, quickly telling her some meaningless, but comforting sounding words. Soon, she was only sniffling. Then I pulled Ann to side.
"Was that necessary?" I asked. To her it wasn't a rhetorical question. She nodded, annoyed, and got ready to take off again.
"Not so fast." I said, grabbing her arm. "Did you really have to call your sister 'stupid' in front of everyone? Did you really have to be so loud?"
She glared at me, but my grip was firm. Finally she sighed and said, "She doesn't care what I say. She'll still do it. She's doing it right now!" She pointed at the computer her sister was at. Sure enough, her sister was once again trying to take someone else's turn. I rolled my eyes. 1st graders. Such a handful.
But that didn't excuse Ann at all. Saying that her sister didn't take her seriously was an obvious lie, only she didn't know it yet. I opened my mouth to rebuke her, to say that it wasn't so much about her sister, or others, than about herself. Then I stopped.
If it wasn't how I was in the past, it most certainly was how I am today. I am exactly the same. It's not that others don't take me seriously; it's that I don't care what they think. And so, I'll do whatever I feel, whenever I want.
"Apologize to her." I ordered. Giving me a filthy look for a few seconds, she stalked off to her sister, glanced at me a few times, and then mumbled something. Before the minute was up, her sister was smiling with her, and they were both laughing and grinning and giggling, rocking on their chairs, while avidly clicking with the computer mouse. I sighed. All they needed was one apology and everything was fixed. They were so lucky.
Suddenly, I understood so much more of her than I had before. She didn't care what others thought of her because she was selfish. She wanted attention. She wanted someone to think of her no matter what. And when she found no available candidates, she stopped caring about others. She was lonely, that's all. Just a lonely girl.
And it makes me wonder; am I really any different from a 4th grader? Besides gender of course. But it's embarrassing to think that the darkest sections of your personality can be so easily reflected in the face of a young girl whose name you can hardly remember.
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