Show and Tell

For Show and Tell this week, Hunter shared that he saw a man dressed like a lady walking down the street.

"And what did you think of that?" I said, and Hunter said,

"It's a mystery."

I think anyone who names their kid Hunter should be taken out and shot.

I must confess the above-named Hunter -- let's call him Joey -- is possibly my favorite student. Don't get me wrong, I still think most male members of the species are one point above plant life. Make that below. Except this particular boy has gotten under my skin, not an easy feat.

In fact, it's a mystery.

Joey is a spoiled brat, a motor mouth, an energized bunny, as Caucasian as it's possible to be and cute as a bug's ass to boot, if you're into that blue-eyed blond-haired sort of thing. All the ingredients. By rights I should despise this kid and the pony he rode in on. Instead, he's won my jaded heart by the sheer incongruity of his charm. Against all odds I've fallen, slowly and inevitably, like some ancient old growth deep in the forest keeling over in slow-mo with no one to hear.

It's that word "mystery" that did it. And the time he drew a "contraption" for Early Project. And when he rhymes the ends of my sentences with made-up words (Come on over it's Circle Time...kurkle shime...flurkle jime). And when he says "Oh my goodness!" whenever Brooklyn talks. Brooklyn hasn't said a word to anyone since school began in September, but she'll occasionally respond to Joey's constant stream of chattery commentary with an unintelligible whisper and a slight nod of her likewise blonde-haired blue-eyed head.

Anyone who names their kid Brooklyn should be made to live there. And not the one in New York, pal, the one up on Da Rainch.

Whatever happened to regular names like Sally? Or Billy? Or Gail? I haven't run into a Kathy since I started this gig. And there weren't any Kathies when I was teaching high school, either, that was the Heather/Jessica/Ryan era. Used to be 90% of the people I knew were named Kathy. If you thought you were a Kathy and woke up one morning to discover you were actually a Brooklyn, you'd be struck dumb, too.

And here's another thing, Joey calls his mother "Mother." Like a little English schoolboy. This bothers his mother, she told me. She feels like she's done something wrong, that she doesn't deserve to be called Mother. My tongue hurt for two days after biting down on that one.

Then there's Randall's mother (not his real name), who's pregnant again and not happy about it. Randall's been in day care since he was six weeks old. He dresses in camo and often pretends he's a puppy and brings hunting gear for Show and Tell. He'll be able to lock and load by the time he's ten, if our State Legislature has its way. When we play Dress Up Randall likes to wear the blue plastic Barbie shoes.

Joey wouldn't be caught dead in heels. Though he isn't averse to trying on the feather boa. He calls it the "fancy cape," for when Spiderman goes to parties and stuff. I told him he should bring it for Show and Tell. He's considering it.