The thing about little kids is that they're really stupid. No child under 3 years old has ever uttered anything that made me re-evaluate my outlook on life or even give a sincerely interested response like, "That's quite interesting" or, "What a marvelously insightful argument you raise, my dear tot. Indeed, I now understand the merits of diversifying my portfolio. Thank you infinitely for your wisdom. Now let's go get you changed before your peers realize how precocious and abnormal you are." And someone should inform these tykes that throwing a temper tantrum does not count as a valid contribution to a discussion; if it did, I would be dominating my fourth hour classes.
My aversion to infantile idiocy, however, was overcome by my desire to further my community service endeavors, and I now find myself enrolled as a volunteer aid to supervisors at a local daycare center. For two hours a week for the past month, I have confronted the same group of "transition-aged" kids (roughly toddlers, i.e. kids transitioning from being totally helpless to being totally helpless with a dash of self-jeopardizing curiosity) whose every aim is to make me pray for the blessing of impotence.
At the daycare, there's always some commotion complicating things. One afternoon, as I was running after the kids indoors, hopping amidst their many playground toys which had been brought in out of the rain that morning, a woman in charge asked me in my frenzied state to wait five minutes and then take them outside. She then left, and I immediately realized I didn't know whether "them" referred to the children or the toys. I weighed my options: First, I considered splitting the difference by taking half of the kids and half of the toys outside; then I thought perhaps I could take all of the kids and all of the toys to the ambiguous region by the open door where outside and inside converge. Just as I was asking myself, "What would Barney do?" the woman returned and took over, noting that my tearful rendition of, "I love you, you love me" was uncalled for.
Perhaps these kids are smarter than I initially gave them credit for. I have noticed that they seem to have developed some sort of coded way of speaking amongst themselves, by which every noun is replaced with the word "puppy," and every other part of speech is dropped entirely. When shown a picture of an actual puppy, however, they become frustratingly silent and indifferent. This seems to indicate at least a counterintuitive level of comprehension and could be a means of deception or subversion. Nevertheless, I won't go so far as to say all babies are KGB spies, although red does appear to be a suspiciously popular color, especially when associated with Clifford the Big Red Dog, to whom they have assigned the code name "Puppy." Tricky.
One of my regular responsibilities at the daycare is to read to the kids as lunch is served to them. First of all, what on earth have these toddlers done to deserve such lavish treatment? Since when did babies get everything spoon-fed to them? For all these spoiled kids realize, they may as well still be in the womb. They're also incredibly aloof, and it's not like I'm asking them to take notes as I narrate the stories -- yes, stories, as in the plural of "story." Apparently I signed up to be a picture-book jukebox. The books themselves are awful, too. Don't talk about my five senses like you know me, Ms. Aliki. I have the sense that you are a horrible children's book author, too, but I guess that didn't make the cut. Just remember this: Your profession is one that Madonna treats as a hobby. Enough said.
And do I receive so much as a cow-shaped animal cracker as compensation for my dutiful reading? Not at all, although once I did get a manatee-goat, or whatever animal that deformed, bloated shape is supposed to be. Seriously, did I ask for a gargoyle cracker? Give me something I can work with, please.
Aside from the exaggerated frustrations, of course, my time at the daycare has been quite fulfilling. I've learned that sharing a hug with a 2-year-old is not only a good way to stretch out the lower back but also a heartwarming experience. And it lets me know that I'm making a difference, six to eight children at a time.
Dan Dooley's column runs bi-weekly on Fridays. He can be reached at dooley@cavalierdaily.com.
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