Oh! A Story! I Have a Story!

Oh, I do miss the little ones. They just exude stories...along with a truly astonishing amount of disgusting bodily fluids, but that--thank heavens--is not what I'm here to talk about. Middle schoolers are not so full of stories, at least not the kind that don't end with you calling social services. (Shudder...you have no idea.)

BACK ON TOPIC, then. As I was saying, there are no stories to be had with middle schoolers. At least none that don't end with a fantasy of me wielding a big ol' whackin' stick. There. That's better.

(On a side note, I would just like to say that there is nothing that makes you feel more like a middle schooler again than being a hormonal, 44-year-old woman working in a middle school.)

So today I went to the elementary school to evaluate the heck out of a first grader. He had been described to me as "quirky" and "odd," so I liked him right away. In the interest of protecting his identify, and just in case any of you shop at the Smith's grocery store in Edgewood where no doubt he is right now putting together a pirate's shopping list for staging a mutiny, I shall call him...Tad. Tad Pole.

Tad Pole and I had a lovely introduction. He had absolutely no qualms or reservations or concerns or even a snippet of thought about going anywhere with someone he had never seen before in his life. I had barely gotten out my usual introduction--"Hi there, Tad, I'm Miss Wicked and I've got some pictures to show you" (OMG, I had no idea how creepy that sounded until just now)--before he jumped up and started giving orders. "Okay, where's my favorite pencil it's purple with little stars and I have to take it and you carry my jacket except I don't want to take my jacket and hey, put my jacket back, Billy, you come with us we're going to look at pictures--" and so on and on and on until my head was spinning and I was totally confused. This was followed by him charging into the hallway and yelling, "HI! WHAT'S YOUR NAME?!" to sixth grade girls looked at him like he was a glob of spit.

Wow.

After Tad ran full force down the hallway, leaving both me and Billy with confused looks on our faces, I did a quick trot after him and caught up just before he went outside with the fourth graders. As you can probably imagine, with this sort of high energy, Tad's feet lived in a continuous state of hotness. They are practically on fire all the time, I'm sure. So once we got settled into my office, naturally his first question was, "Can I take my shoes off?" And naturally, my first response was, "No," because boy's feet are stinky, no matter what their age, and also very gross. So Tad proceeded to take his shoes off. And here is a transcript of our ensuing conversation:

Me: "Tad, put your shoes back on. I told you to leave them on."

Tad: "But my feet are so hooooooooot."

Me: "Bummer, dude. Leave that to someone who cares. Put your shoes back on."

Tad: "Can I keep them off for just for a few minutes, pleeeeeeease?" (blink blink)

Me: "No. Put your shoes back on."

Tad: sticks out his lower lip and gives me a glum look. Then, in a strange turnabout of emotion, he suddenly smiles and says, "Okay!" This is followed by a magical shuffle of his feet, and he again announces, "Okay!" I look under the table at his feet.

Me: Sigh. "Tad Pole, put your shoes back on."

Tad: "I did!"

Me: "No, you didn't. Put your shoes on."

Tad: "Okay!" Shuffle, shuffle.

Me: "Tad, I'm about to look at your feet. Is there anything you want to do before then?"

Tad: "Nope." Smiles sweetly at me.

Me: I look under the table. Deep sigh. "Tad. Put. Your. Shoes. On. Now."

Tad: "Okay!"

This went on for some time before I finally got my big ol' whacking stick out and gave the boy the business end of it. Ha, ha, not really, I don't hit kids, that's illegal! Ha, ha! No, let's just say that Tad and I came to a sort of agreement, which he immediately broke, and then I pitched a fit and cried and threatened to take away every reward I had ever offered if he did not PUT THOSE SHOES BACK ON IMMEDIATELY!! WAAAAAA!!

Somewhere along the line during my little rant he took on a really bored look and put his shoes back on. It really took the fun out of everything. Still, I can't wait to see him again. I've got a whackin' stick with his name on it. And I am ready for some more stories.