Age-Old Question

Filling in for the elementary-school teacher can be both ego boosting and ego deflating, sometimes simultaneously, as I learned from today’s second-graders.

The bad news, I told the class at the start of the day, was that their teacher, Mr. A, would not be in. The good news, as far as I was concerned, was that I was happily filling in for him and glad to be reunited with such respectful and hard-working children. (I believe in self-fulfilling pronouncements.)

“We know,” the class intoned in a world-weary tone unsuited to such young voices. “He told us. He said that you guys are basketball pals.”

That’s true, I said, but Mr. A is much younger (by about half my age, I reminded only myself).

“Really? You can’t tell,” said Ella in the innocent, matter-of-fact tone that I love most about the children. “Your voices are different, though.”

So is our hair, I said teasingly, knowing that their teacher shaves his head.

“Hard to say,” said one classmate, since he doesn’t have any.”

And just as that shot of self esteem began to lift me, I was immediately cut down.

“What’s that hole in your face?” Ella asked, pointing to a tiny dermatological scar on my cheek, the indisputable evidence of a face that has had to weather twice as many years as that of their young teacher.