June 11, 2007

Mr. Rohit's Neighborhood

Despite my well-deserved reputation as an incorrigible cynic, my online popularity as both a suicidal nihilist and worthless yuppie asshole, and my recently epitomizing post-adolescent existential angst, as most of you have likely understood, I am often guilty of shameful hypocrisy that threatens to destroy the very pillars upon which I have created my (awesome) online persona. One particularly egregious instance of said insincerity is with respect to my position on small children; specifically, all the while publishing derisive articles condemning children (and especially, babies) as fundamentally inhuman, and questioning the validity of associating with such troglodytes, I have volunteered as a teacher at San Francisco elementary schools with the Junior Achievement program. For shame!

I understand that this revelation will hurt many of my supporters who have come to expect me to stand against all the idiotic, mushy behavior that these young philistines inspire in otherwise logical, intelligent adults (Seriously, what the hell does goo goo, ga ga mean, and why does everyone feel the need to say that to babies? It's neither intelligible to us nor them, and serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever.), but I thought it best to address these allegations head-on following the publishing of some scandalous photos last week. Though I tried to bury them in the miscellaneous album for the quarter, insidious forces hell-bent on destroying my credibility have already rooted them out and widely publicized them amongst my friends.

This leads me to my confession: for the past two years, I have volunteered as a teacher at Junior Achievement, and have taught classes of students in grades K-2 at local elementary schools in the city of San Francisco. And though the idea of me teaching a classroom of bumbling, hardly-literate elementary school children might strike most people as a particularly noxious practical joke (and seem like a horrible nightmare to educators near and far), in fact, it is I who has been bamboozled, not the kids I set out to instill with my philosophy on life.

Kindergarten

I initially signed on as a volunteer nearly two years ago amused by the prospects of teaching small children about business and economics, all the while injecting my snarky comments about the ultimate futility of life. Much to my chagrin, however, I found that nearly all my hilarious witticisms went completely unacknowledged by my class of kindergartners. Rather, they chose to focus on my status as a so-called adult, insisting upon calling me Mr. Rohit, and then, somehow interpreted my description of my job as being the Batman of the Internet. Well, I guess I cannot really blame them; the hip-mounted BlackBerry I carried at the time did look like a tool-belt—one for corporate tools, that is (how could they not laugh at that joke?).

Having failed miserably at my initial, stated goal of passing along my philosophy on life, my credibility was further eroded when, while reading a story to the class, a student randomly stood up, body-slammed another kid, and sat back down, nonchalantly as if though nothing had happened. Rather than chastizing the vagabond for his completely irrational and unacceptable behavior as I should have, I was unable to say anything at all; to my horror, I couldn't bring myself to yell at 5-year-olds. They were too cute. What was happening to me?!

First Grade

My first grade class the next semester was no better. Though more socialized than the barely functional kindergartners, they still presented themselves as completely incapable of understanding my cynical, self-deprecating remarks about bourgeoisie life. Instead of introducing my pupils to the inevitable realities that awaited them, I found myself growing less cynical with each visit. The class was so excited all the time about everything. I would ask for volunteers to pass out the paper (i.e., tedious manual labor), and every hand in the class would be up in an instant, without fail, every time. Such excitement, though idiotic and patently misguided, was nevertheless endearing. When was the last time you found an adult that excited about anything?

Second Grade

Having failed twice, I decided to teach second grade this spring, hoping that 7-year-olds were better equipped to begin learning about existentialism than their younger peers. Arriving on campus during recess, I was mobbed by my class from last year; for inexplicable reasons, they all remembered me. One girl even remembered that we shared the same birthday (though 16 years apart), and nearly all of them remembered the mnemonic I had presented to remember how to pronounce my name. I was officially an elementary school celebrity (which, despite what anyone says, has never been an ambition of mine). Eager to succeed with my new class of 2nd-graders where I had failed with my past classes, I opened with a standard introduction:

Rohit: Good afternoon, class. My name is Rohit—Ro as in row a boat, hit as in hit a baseball.
All: (yelling) Good afternoon, Mister Rohit.
Rohit: I'm very excited to be here. Before we begin our lesson, however, I wanted to tell you a little bit about myself. I work at [inject name of big firm here] as a consultant. Now, does anyone know what consultants do?
All: (blank stares)
Rohit: That's OK, most adults don't know what consultants do either.
All: (blank stares)
Silence. The sound of crickets and chirping birds pervades the room.
Rohit: Um, OK. Nevermind.

Dénouement

It was over. I had failed entirely. I had spent two years teaching elementary school classrooms, and yet, I had not passed the wisdom I had accumulated through years of unmet expectations and hope-crushing disappointments to nary a single student; their collective optimism was too strong for me. I had been defeated. Worse, I had even begun to sort of enjoy interacting with the little rascals. They actually amused me in their ignorance.

And so, it is with a heavy heart and my head hung in shame, that I must come clean publicly of my newfound tolerance for small children. Most of you are probably wondering if I will go so far as to retract statements I presented in my description of the awful truth. The answer is: no, not entirely. Though I do now tolerate kids in small (very small!) doses, I still cannot imagine speaking to my kids before age 10. And, I'm still not ready to make peace with babies; I mean, no amount of reasoning can change the fact that they are vile little creatures that shit their pants. Unacceptable.

All these recent events, however, have led me to conclude that I would probably make a pretty awesome uncle (once the kids are 4-5). I could spend a few hours with them at a time, spoil them with expensive electronic gifts, and try to teach them about the ultimate futility of life, without having to commit to primary caregiver status. There are only two problems with this plan: (1) I am the oldest in my family, and thus, unlikely to have nieces or nephews before I have my own kids; and (2) There are no tax deductions for nieces/nephews, which sort of defeats (at least most of) the purpose of interacting with children in the first place. Anyone have any ideas?