Today I spent some time with the infants, as I couldn't think of a decent excuse not to. The topic was "social skills - how to introduce yourself", so I began by telling them a bit about myself. When I'd finished, I asked them if there was anything they thought I'd left out, and that they really wanted to know. So we covered what colour my cat was, what pizza I liked best, and if I watched "SpongeBob". "How old are you?" someone piped up. Now, I'm intensely irritated by people who think that's a rude question. Children are only too happy to come and tell you, "Guess what? I'm seven," and I have a feeling the only reason some adults object to the question is that they're ashamed of being old. I like getting older - it's a great excuse for not doing things. No, I'm not going to run round the football pitch, I'm far too old - I'll watch you. Watching "Glee"? Oooh, no, I'm much too old for that...So I told the children my age. There was a long silence, broken by a stage whisper of, "That's really old," from a boy at the back. Now, a couple of years ago, I passed the age at which life begins, so I think that was rather unfair.
Relating the above incident to Ms Fab, she told me that an infant called her over at lunch time to say, in a dramatic voice, "Did you know, that when you get old, you die?" Ms Fab wasn't sure if this was just to be taken as general information, or whether she needs to book plastic surgery (Ms Fab is a great deal younger than me).
We've found that children are great at making you feel terrible. Over the past few years, I've been asked:
Did you ever meet Queen Victoria?
Did you fight in World War Two, or did you have to be a nurse because you're a girl?
What did you do before electricity?
And, my absolute favourite: What was life like in black and white?
I wish we could return the favour of being brutally honest without getting the sack. There are so many things I'm saving up for my last day at work...
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