Return of the Old God
The K3 class got a new kid. Apparently, this three year old has some really ambitious parents. Her English trumps that of some children twice her age. So The Australian's getting to know her. They're parked on the windowsill, and they're bullshitting.
Bullshitting with people three times your age is pretty intense. I can remember it pretty well. I remember talking to my uncle, and Grandpa Hudson when I a wee white-hair. Parts of what they said would jump out, and my brain would get *lifted,* back in those days comprehension was a bit of a shock. After all, you'd hear these big people go on and on and, admit it, you had no idea what they were talking about. . . not really. And then they'd address you, and somehow their meaning came through to you. And you were overjoyed.
So this beaming child is yacking away with her teacher and the subject of a ripped book comes up. The book had a page that was nearly ripped in half. She wanted to know why it was like that.
The Australian told her, all in good fun, that I did it.
All of this is pure conjecture, but what it lead up to is pretty much what when down. I'm walking by the classroom and The Australian says to me, still parked on the windowsill, "Mr. Hudson, Angela wants to know why you ripped this book."
"Why, I ripped that book because I hate children. Especially Taiwanese children."
The Beautiful Widow, who had her hair down (making her The Even-Moreso-Beautiful Widow), laughed.
A few minutes later, I'm back in my classroom, he approaches me from the hallway. Angela is hiding behind him, grasping his leg, occasionally peeping out from behind it. He says to me "Mr. Hudson, Angela wants to know why you hate Taiwanese children."
I knelt down.
"Angela, when I was your age, I saw many Taiwanese children kill my mom and my dad."