Kids don't think they're kids anymore. Eight-year-olds start stories with, "When I was a kid...", and I have to turn my face to hide my snicker. They may not always act as old as they build themselves up to be, but they want to. They dress up in their parent's clothes and tell stories about when they were kids and don't appreciate being treated like kids, or being babied. There is something about adulthood they like, from afar, and they yearn for.
One day, not too long ago, I was in charge of a group of kids. A few of them were playing Store, as nearly all kids have at one time, and one seven-year-old in particular kept trying to move too fast.The poor kid wasn't watching where he was going, and tripped over chairs and toys.Finally, I stopped him. I said his name in that warning tone I've begun to master, and informed him that he wouldn't trip so much if he moved slower.
"Mrs. DeVries," he said (the kids have married me off-- I've stopped correcting them because saying, "Miss DeVries" to them makes them think about what they call me and then they forget what their questions were), so "Mrs. DeVries," he assured me with a huge smile on his face, "don't worry about me. I'm a man. I'll be okay."
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