too bad (too bad) that you're not as smart as you thought that you were in the first place

All the district Drama teachers met after school today to talk about local issues and stuff.  These meetings, hilarious as they may be, are also overwhelming to me.  I have a really hard time being with twenty raucous adults who all want to be the centre of attention at the same time.  It's exhausting, and unlike when I'm with the students, I can't tell them to cram it for a minute and let each other talk.  The meetings, though optional, are kind of important in terms of making connections and being part of what's happening with theatre education in the district.  At the same time I find them aggravating beyond belief.

*

When I think about being "little" for real, I mostly remember my grandfather, with whom I was truly little and wasn't supposed to try and act mature and set an example, with whom being little was a good thing and not something I was supposed to hurry up and try to grow out of.  My grandfather wanted to play - or at least, he made it seem as though he did - so I wasn't self-conscious about being little as though being little was a liability.  

He liked taking me for walks, and at the end of our walks there was always a candy store or a popsicle stand or some sort of treat.  I can remember walking with him through the neighbourhood to the Mac's store for candy and then realising, together, that we didn't know our way home.  I feared briefly that he might be angry with me for not knowing the way home since I was the one who lived there and he lived far away, but he wasn't angry.  Instead, he almost seemed to delight in being lost and asked a policeman for directions home.  It seemed like an old, innocent movie from the 50s where a friendly policeman is always leaning up against a building when you need him to supply directions or to help a little old lady across the street.  

My grandfather was the kind of adult who played in the pool with the kids instead of sitting on the deck reading a magazine.  He was the kind of man who sang made-up songs while pushing me on the swings and called me naughty in a way that meant he admired naughtiness.  Yes, with my grandfather, being little meant being fun and funny and special and treasured.  I adored him.

*