Wednesday, October 03, 2007
I guess I haven't really talked about my Sunday School kids yet have I?
Haven't really been helping out since the start of the post-common test2 fiasco, but essentially, since last year, I've been helping out at Sunday school. And as with any situation which is equable to managing a stampeding herd of bicorns, there are funny times, hair-pulling times, and times where bith descriptions fit the bill. In the marginal possibility that this blog is still around by the time the persons named in this entry are old enough to stumble across it while surfing the Internet, only initials and numbers will be used to identify them. Let's start off with a short intro. I help out with a class of 20-30 3 year olds who are going on 4. As individual persons, they are bright, funny, sweet, mischievious, lovable and really, really cute. As a group... well, you get the aforementioned stampeding bicorns. Here are some scenarios that I face during the sessions I've had with the class:
On the 20th time I've had to push little inquisitive hands away from a kind of hanging nailed to a side of a cupboard where I sit during sunday school class
Me : What did Aunty Irene say? Don't touch!
Hands are withdrawn. 5 minutes (or maybe seconds) later, the same (or a possibly a different) pair of hands inch towards said cloth.
Me: I. (or C1 or C2 or F), remember what Aunty Irene said? Don't touch!
Once again hands shrink back, possibly due to a slightly 'angrier' tone. Then they inch slowly back again.
Me: No more sweets for you!
Hands are snatched back, and are never seen disturbing wall hanging for the rest of lesson
Scene: Arts and Crafts session. We are making barbells, an activity distantly related to the story of Samson and Delilah. My task: to hand out cardboard tubes that once held either kitchen towels, aluminium foil or toilet paper. Due to a shortage in the longer cardbaord tubes, I've started handing out toilet paper tubes (which are naturally shorter)
W: can I have the long cardboard?
Me: You can't. I don't have anymore. Sorry. See, this one's just as nice
W: But I want the long one! (begins to pout)
Me: But there isn't any more! Never mind. See, you can still make a barbell with the short one
W: But I want the long one! (lips quivering, voice getting whiny)
Me: I'm really sorry, but don't worry. Let me help you wrap your tube. See? It looks so pretty!
W: I WANT THE LONG ONE! (naturally, he starts crying)
Me (to my consience): I want to shake him!
My Consience: You can't!!!
Me: Can I just slap him?
My Consience: He's just a kid!!!
Me: But he's driving me nuts!!!
My consience: But he's just a Kid!!!
Am finally saved by another helper carrying him off to a corner where he is finally consoled and given a long toilet roll tube magicked out of somewhere.
Sunday School is often tiring. In fact, i've been rather amazed at myself and my ability of maitaining a happy, cheery disposition both during and after class. But somehow, I manage to do it. Between crying kids and kids wanting to go to the bathrooms and kids wanting their mums and dads (who are probably relishing that 1.5 kid-free hours) everty Sunday, I still love them all. Maybe it's because they're little people who just need to be hugged and cuddled and shown the ways of the world, and I know they don't know any better. More than that, I've learnt to see their point of view (which, I admit is extremely self-centric and naive). It's made me sorry that a) I've lost their naivete and faith that everything will be taken care of, and b) They'll one daybe like me. It also fills me with a sense of wonder too, that I'm helping to raise these children as members of God's kingdom, and I've realised how huge a resposibility that is. More than that, I've come to love these children, and what they do sometimes just makes the frustration all so worthwhile. When J. comes to sunday school for the first time in his life without having to cry because his mother is abandoning him for the sanctuary, or when F. just suddenly hugs me without any reason, it justmakes me feel glad and happy and touched. I think that's why some teachers just teach for years and years, because they've felt this same way all the time when they see these children grow and blossom.
Nonetheless, never ask me to babysit kids. I will NEVER be available :P
Haven't really been helping out since the start of the post-common test2 fiasco, but essentially, since last year, I've been helping out at Sunday school. And as with any situation which is equable to managing a stampeding herd of bicorns, there are funny times, hair-pulling times, and times where bith descriptions fit the bill. In the marginal possibility that this blog is still around by the time the persons named in this entry are old enough to stumble across it while surfing the Internet, only initials and numbers will be used to identify them. Let's start off with a short intro. I help out with a class of 20-30 3 year olds who are going on 4. As individual persons, they are bright, funny, sweet, mischievious, lovable and really, really cute. As a group... well, you get the aforementioned stampeding bicorns. Here are some scenarios that I face during the sessions I've had with the class:
On the 20th time I've had to push little inquisitive hands away from a kind of hanging nailed to a side of a cupboard where I sit during sunday school class
Me : What did Aunty Irene say? Don't touch!
Hands are withdrawn. 5 minutes (or maybe seconds) later, the same (or a possibly a different) pair of hands inch towards said cloth.
Me: I. (or C1 or C2 or F), remember what Aunty Irene said? Don't touch!
Once again hands shrink back, possibly due to a slightly 'angrier' tone. Then they inch slowly back again.
Me: No more sweets for you!
Hands are snatched back, and are never seen disturbing wall hanging for the rest of lesson
Scene: Arts and Crafts session. We are making barbells, an activity distantly related to the story of Samson and Delilah. My task: to hand out cardboard tubes that once held either kitchen towels, aluminium foil or toilet paper. Due to a shortage in the longer cardbaord tubes, I've started handing out toilet paper tubes (which are naturally shorter)
W: can I have the long cardboard?
Me: You can't. I don't have anymore. Sorry. See, this one's just as nice
W: But I want the long one! (begins to pout)
Me: But there isn't any more! Never mind. See, you can still make a barbell with the short one
W: But I want the long one! (lips quivering, voice getting whiny)
Me: I'm really sorry, but don't worry. Let me help you wrap your tube. See? It looks so pretty!
W: I WANT THE LONG ONE! (naturally, he starts crying)
Me (to my consience): I want to shake him!
My Consience: You can't!!!
Me: Can I just slap him?
My Consience: He's just a kid!!!
Me: But he's driving me nuts!!!
My consience: But he's just a Kid!!!
Am finally saved by another helper carrying him off to a corner where he is finally consoled and given a long toilet roll tube magicked out of somewhere.
Sunday School is often tiring. In fact, i've been rather amazed at myself and my ability of maitaining a happy, cheery disposition both during and after class. But somehow, I manage to do it. Between crying kids and kids wanting to go to the bathrooms and kids wanting their mums and dads (who are probably relishing that 1.5 kid-free hours) everty Sunday, I still love them all. Maybe it's because they're little people who just need to be hugged and cuddled and shown the ways of the world, and I know they don't know any better. More than that, I've learnt to see their point of view (which, I admit is extremely self-centric and naive). It's made me sorry that a) I've lost their naivete and faith that everything will be taken care of, and b) They'll one daybe like me. It also fills me with a sense of wonder too, that I'm helping to raise these children as members of God's kingdom, and I've realised how huge a resposibility that is. More than that, I've come to love these children, and what they do sometimes just makes the frustration all so worthwhile. When J. comes to sunday school for the first time in his life without having to cry because his mother is abandoning him for the sanctuary, or when F. just suddenly hugs me without any reason, it justmakes me feel glad and happy and touched. I think that's why some teachers just teach for years and years, because they've felt this same way all the time when they see these children grow and blossom.
Nonetheless, never ask me to babysit kids. I will NEVER be available :P
