I have a little boy in my class who, though I’ll never admit it to anyone but you, is my favorite. He’s slightly crazy, which is 90% of his appeal.
He is an ENORMOUS Star Wars fan. He lives and breathes it. Though I don’t allow fighting, or even play fighting, in my room, we enjoy talking about the show (“Real Life”) – minus the battles.
He has brought Star Wars books and has spent weeks just sitting and pouring over the books all day long. It’s great that he loves them and loves reading – but it’s my job to get him to branch out. The compromise was: He could look at the books all he wanted before breakfast and after naptime, but during the morning he needed to choose from what I have planned.
Earlier this week – I angered him.
I angered him mightily.
He had brought a new book. Not one with just Lego Star Wars people – this book had stories. Breakfast ended, and he headed for the book. I asked him to wait until after nap.
He did not want to, and he said so. Many times. In many ways.
Crazed Star Wars Boy: “I really want it now!”
Me: “I know you do, and you can look at it – after nap. Why don’t you come paint? You could paint Yoda.”
Crazed Star Wars Boy: “No. I’m just gonna sit here.”
Me: “Ok. You could play the Star Wars song on the keyboard.” (I taught him that.)
Crazed Star Wars Boy: “No. You’re the meanest teacher ever.” He didn’t really say that last part, but I heard it anyway.
He sat in various places around the room, fixing his angry, yet wobegone eyes on me. I encouraged him to do other things – build a Millinium Falcon out of Legos, draw Darth Vader in his journal (I taught him that), write a Star Wars story – but he would have none of it. Only pouting for him.
After a good long time, I looked up at him. He was across the room, standing by the wall, trying to choke me with the Force.
My only regret is that I didn’t clasp futilely at my throat. It would have made his year.