During break duty, I take my place on a bench. Arms folded. Sunglasses on. Looking strict and stern. The role that I have to play. Twice a week. I have to be the meanie. The one who imposes the rules. The one that punishes those who wouldn't follow them. Running children would slow down if they felt my obscured eyes following them. Trash would immediately go into the bin. Older kids would stop bullying the younger ones.
Yes. I had power. I had the power to control. I decided the fates of many. I could humor or humiliate. Praise or punish. The truth was, the children knew little of what was truly going inside my head. All they saw was a teacher. Sitting on the bench. Putting limitations on their every move. Forcing them to behave in a way that the adult world would accept. Teaching them how to follow the adult's world rules. How to understand their language. Stopping them from excess play, and excess noise, and excess chocolate.
What I saw in them were liberated souls. Running on infinite energy. Affected by the smallest of things. A tiny sticker shaped like a star would boost their esteem so that they felt like they conquered the whole world. A grasshopper would make them squeal in delight. Permission to let them help you with something made them feel like they were worthy. If you ask them to rub the board for you it would make their day. If you ask them to carry your books they would fight over who gets to carry the bigger pile. Red markings on their homework sheets determined their fates; A series of neat ticks on their sheets made them beam with delight. One tiny X, and their world would crumble.
The most amazing thing, is the fact that no matter how much you punish them, or yell at them, or enforce your rules on them, they still love you unconditionally. If they see you walking on the other side of the playground, they squeal your name, and come scrambling towards you. When they reach you they would fight over parts of you to hug. Three would wrap their arms around your waist, two others would hug an arm each, and a tiny one would grab a leg. There would be a lot of pushing and giggling. One kid might get hurt in the progress. When he starts crying, the girl who bumped him would apologize. Instantly they would go back to being buddies again, and they would start laughing again before his tears had a chance to dry up and were still resting on his cheeks.
They squeeze you making it difficult to move. They forgot that a lesson ago you let them stay in for P.E. They forgive you and hug you and carry your things for you. They write little "I love you" notes on bits of paper that they tore from their classwork notebooks.
These children, for some reason unknown, look up to me. I wish I could tell them that it is I who look up to them, but instead, I have to sit on my bench, with my stern face, making sure they follow the rules.
