FondueBoy
mishak's entry about his escapades with his Little Brother remind me that it's been a while since I posted updates on GrommetReading Adventures. Suffice to say that the TotRodder graduated from the program, advancing into fourth grade where, presumably, he would be able to fend for himself in navigating the school library and making teachers squirm with innocent but awkward questions on geopolitics.
The following year, I was assigned Little Mr RaisedByWolves. RaisedByWolves was a first grader, older than his peers because he was held back a year due to poor grades. Failing first grade seems like a rough start, then you hear about how he's being raised by a single mom juggling two jobs and how the only male influence in his life was his uncle, who's been bouncing in and out of juvie since he was a sophomore in high school. RaisedByWolves was gifted with a cherubic face and sweet smile that instantly wins you over to his side. Then ask what he wants to do when he grows up, he'll say "I want to steal cars with my uncle," and you realize that he's not kidding.
RaisedByWolves was tough. Painfully shy, he didn't like answering questions, so it was hard to figure out if he was genuinely interested in a story or passively playing along just to please the grown up. He packed a lunch of soda and jelly crackers, and spent many of our sessions so twitchy with sugar and distracted by the kids around him. Yet, after four months, he started coming around and picking out the stories, asking questions, feeling comfortable. When we started in the fall, I was dreading my Wednesdays, pulling teeth with this kid and his lack of reading habits. After we parted company in the summer, I looked forward to seeing him again in the fall.
Then fall came around, and I was told that, because his mom did not sign his permission slip to rejoin the program, RaisedByWolves would be dropping out of the program. I was never told if it was because his mom flaked out on getting the slip in on time, or if she had some objection to her son's participation, just that it was out of my hand and I was being assigned a new kid -- FondueBoy.
Son of two Pakistani immigrants, FondueBoy was a portly and boisterous kid, the exact opposite of RaisedByWolves,I asked him what his favorite sports were and he said,
"Cricket! My dad took me around with him this summer, and taught me how to bowl! It was awesome! ... oh, and WWE wrestling."
"Oh, so your dad lets you watch wrestling on pay-per-view?"
"Yeah! He likes it, too. Sometimes he even practices moves on me. He likes to pick me up and do suplexes on me and my sister like John Cena."
"So, when your dad isn't teaching you how to knock out wickets, he's flinging you around the house and practicing signature moves?"
"Yeah, want me to show you Cena's STFU move?"
"No, that's ok, kid. Do you want to grow up to be a pro wrestler?"
"Totally, yeah, that'd be wicked!"
"Do you have a name picked out?"
"Triple H! The Holy Hammer of Hegira! My dad picked it out."
Ah, kid, I see great things in your future.
Last week, while reading a book on prehistoric sharks, I noticed FondueBoy's gaze wandering out to the spring day just outside. Getting him to pay attention to the book was a losing fight, so I shifted tactics and asked him, "so, FondueBoy, why do you think they're finding all of these shark fossils in the middle of deserts?"
"Maybe they crawled there and died, like those amphibibans."
"50 foot long shark's a little heavy to crawl anywhere, though. Have you ever heard of continental drift?"
That's how we spent the next ten minutes with a globe, where I showed him how South America and Africa fit together like jigsaw puzzles, and I described how the Himalayas were created when India broke off from Africa and ploughed into the underbelly of the Asian continental plate.
"So, India used to be a moving island? I wished I lived there then. It'd be like surfing on a really big surfboard."
"That was a long time ago, when it was all dinosaurs and stuff, and it moved really slowly."
"Oh, hey, where's Saudi Arabia?"
(... spin .. )"here."
"My parents went there during the winter."
"They went for Hajj?"
"Yeah, my dad said that it was boring. He said that you have to throw a bunch of stones all the time and he kept on thinking about bowling."
The following year, I was assigned Little Mr RaisedByWolves. RaisedByWolves was a first grader, older than his peers because he was held back a year due to poor grades. Failing first grade seems like a rough start, then you hear about how he's being raised by a single mom juggling two jobs and how the only male influence in his life was his uncle, who's been bouncing in and out of juvie since he was a sophomore in high school. RaisedByWolves was gifted with a cherubic face and sweet smile that instantly wins you over to his side. Then ask what he wants to do when he grows up, he'll say "I want to steal cars with my uncle," and you realize that he's not kidding.
RaisedByWolves was tough. Painfully shy, he didn't like answering questions, so it was hard to figure out if he was genuinely interested in a story or passively playing along just to please the grown up. He packed a lunch of soda and jelly crackers, and spent many of our sessions so twitchy with sugar and distracted by the kids around him. Yet, after four months, he started coming around and picking out the stories, asking questions, feeling comfortable. When we started in the fall, I was dreading my Wednesdays, pulling teeth with this kid and his lack of reading habits. After we parted company in the summer, I looked forward to seeing him again in the fall.
Then fall came around, and I was told that, because his mom did not sign his permission slip to rejoin the program, RaisedByWolves would be dropping out of the program. I was never told if it was because his mom flaked out on getting the slip in on time, or if she had some objection to her son's participation, just that it was out of my hand and I was being assigned a new kid -- FondueBoy.
Son of two Pakistani immigrants, FondueBoy was a portly and boisterous kid, the exact opposite of RaisedByWolves,I asked him what his favorite sports were and he said,
"Cricket! My dad took me around with him this summer, and taught me how to bowl! It was awesome! ... oh, and WWE wrestling."
"Oh, so your dad lets you watch wrestling on pay-per-view?"
"Yeah! He likes it, too. Sometimes he even practices moves on me. He likes to pick me up and do suplexes on me and my sister like John Cena."
"So, when your dad isn't teaching you how to knock out wickets, he's flinging you around the house and practicing signature moves?"
"Yeah, want me to show you Cena's STFU move?"
"No, that's ok, kid. Do you want to grow up to be a pro wrestler?"
"Totally, yeah, that'd be wicked!"
"Do you have a name picked out?"
"Triple H! The Holy Hammer of Hegira! My dad picked it out."
Ah, kid, I see great things in your future.
Last week, while reading a book on prehistoric sharks, I noticed FondueBoy's gaze wandering out to the spring day just outside. Getting him to pay attention to the book was a losing fight, so I shifted tactics and asked him, "so, FondueBoy, why do you think they're finding all of these shark fossils in the middle of deserts?"
"Maybe they crawled there and died, like those amphibibans."
"50 foot long shark's a little heavy to crawl anywhere, though. Have you ever heard of continental drift?"
That's how we spent the next ten minutes with a globe, where I showed him how South America and Africa fit together like jigsaw puzzles, and I described how the Himalayas were created when India broke off from Africa and ploughed into the underbelly of the Asian continental plate.
"So, India used to be a moving island? I wished I lived there then. It'd be like surfing on a really big surfboard."
"That was a long time ago, when it was all dinosaurs and stuff, and it moved really slowly."
"Oh, hey, where's Saudi Arabia?"
(... spin .. )"here."
"My parents went there during the winter."
"They went for Hajj?"
"Yeah, my dad said that it was boring. He said that you have to throw a bunch of stones all the time and he kept on thinking about bowling."