This has been the week of pre-teen boys gone menopausal.
I don’t know how people stay teaching for years and years and still have children. Everday another 10 year old starts crying, whining or fit throwing in class, all I can think about is how if they were my child I would probably kill them.
Thankfully I’m only their teacher in an after-school program at a local hogwan. I’ll patiently wait for the tempertantrum to pass. If it doesn’t, I’ll negotiate a deal. “Shut up or get out.” Usually they opt for sniffling through the rest of class.
I’m not sure what it is about these sixth grade boys and their need to whine, but it makes me crazy. It also makes me grateful for all my sane classes of children and teens who are unmotivated, lazy and disrespectful. At least I understand their lackadaisical attitude.
The whine, I just don’t get. It makes my teeth itch and my hair stand on end. Even my babies, who are just five years old, know I don’t like them to cry. In fact if one student starts to well up even just a little another will say, “Sem says no cry.” That’s right, I do.
Babies are so sweet.
Anyone over the age of eight is pretty much an asshole. (I include myself in that.) It’s tough hanging out with children who are going through so many awkward changes and insist on being so negative about everything. Life is so hard, boo-hoo! Hormones are so abusive in their aggressive change on the human body at that age. They all seemed convince they have the worst life and no one can possibly understand their troubles. Nearly every day I find myself fighting the urge to shout at the pre-teens that life gets worse so they should cheer up and enjoy the time they have to play, learn and grow.
Now I’m off to hang out with a few adults and not feel like a babysitter for whiners. I’m learning to enjoy the time I have to play, learn and grow.