Why do I work with children?

Before I begin my foray into this week's adventure, I'd like to take this opportunity to point out a very clever, yet very subtle, tracking device that I've employed. Just to the right of this phenomenal blog is a poll. It's completely irrelevant to what you actually think about whatever made up issue I threw in there. The real point is that I'm desperate to found out how many people are actually reading this bad boy. Commenting clearly requires way too much of a commitment. I understand that now. So perhaps, maybe, if you'd be so kind as to click one of those buttons, I can get some idea. My ego will thank you for it.

Moving on.

So as you may or may not know, I work with children. Yes, children. Those wonderful little...um...blessings from heaven. Yeah, that's the b-word I wanted to use in this context. I mean, I certainly didn't want to say something like...oh...I don't know...bastards. That's just, you know, the first word off of the top of my head. It has no actual bearing on the issue here. Suffice it to say, I do work with them.

I teach after-school programs for an elementary school in the Bronx. The students range from 3rd to 5th graders. I teach five ecstatic days a week for an all too brief hour and a half Monday through Thursday, and for two hours on Fridays. (They get out early on Fridays. Whoopeeee) Two days out of the week, I teach a Drama Club and the other three I teach a Young Men's Club. Plus I spend about a half hour or so in daily preparation time.

Now, I don't know if you've had the pleasure of working with the young ones, but let me tell you that, although my time with them is somewhat brief, it is not what I would classify as easy work. In fact, some days, when maybe I'm not feeling my most energetic, I might consider the option of running a steel spike into my ear canal.

I'm just saying that they tend to wear you down. Particularly when they are at that age. They've all joined forces to create this incredibly illogical and bizarre universe. A world where a tap on the shoulder suddenly turns into, "He hit me!" Where spinning in a circle by yourself is considered a high form of entertainment. Where losing any form of any game will produce an immediate deluge of tears. (Although I must admit that I'm guilty of that one myself once in a while)

It's also a disturbing world where they just toss around the word gay as an insult. I mean the times have really changed since I was a kid. I mean I hadn't even heard of the word gay when I was nine years old. In fact, I remember an episode of the great TV series, "Sanford and Son." In it, Fred (Redd Foxx) was concerned that his son, Lamont (Demond Wilson) might be gay. However, they didn't actually use the word gay. Fred made a sort of pivoting motion with his hand and thus insinuated something about which I had absolutely no idea. Now that I think about it, I didn't really figure it out until I was about 16. ("Oh, that's why there was a bar in that episode called the Gay Blade")

Once again, I digress. On top of all that, the most bizarre aspect of this lunacy is that I am the voice of reason in it. Me?! The guy who just quits jobs because one person's a little obnoxious. I am the gatekeeper and ringmaster of this adolescent circus.

So now that I've painted a fairly detailed picture of my feelings about the job, I'll now address the question of why I do it. Well, for one thing, it sure beats the hell out of waiting tables. As much as I enjoy interacting with people who are old enough to drink, I can say that I don't miss running around on my feet for 10 hours straight, carrying hot plates of food, and pretending that I give a damn. Not to mention the fact that the whole myth about how being a waiter is the perfect job for an actor is complete and total bullshit. In fact, it's the worst job for an actor. It's physically and mentally exhausting and it's not easy to get out of shifts. (I may have said this before but it's worth repeating. Future generations of actors must be saved)

But there's got to be more noble reasons for doing the job other than the fact that you hated the old one...Isn't there? Well it just so happens that there is. A young girl in my Drama Club is very shy. In fact, she barely speaks above a whisper. When we play certain theatre games, she doesn't want to participate because of her shyness. And yet, there are moments, when she's relaxed, that she speaks very distinctly and confidently. She recites lines from Hamlet's, "To be or not to be," speech effortlessly. Now, she's actually a little disappointed because I have yet to give her a line in the play that they will be performing. (Don't worry. Everybody's getting a line. Have you no faith in me?)

In the Young Men's Club, the saucy lads seem to have taken a liking to drumming. I procured some drumsticks and buckets and arranged a rather challenging piece for them to play together. Some of them picked it up rather quickly. Others were having some trouble. Still others were have a lot of trouble. And still even others were just being borderline...what's the word...retarded. But after many, many attempts, (and many moments of me corralling the herd) they were finally able to play the piece together. And when I jubilantly shouted the victorious phrase, "That's what I'm talking about!" They all cheered and hugged and high-fived each other into a frenzy. (Thankfully, no one was hurt)

During the school year, I work about 2 hours a day for 5 days a week. Of course, you subtract holidays and snow days. I don't have to leave for work until about 1:30 in the afternoon. I am free to go to auditions in the morning without having to feel that I'm making a life and death choice every single time.

But despite the flexible nature of my work schedule, I've got to admit that there is that other tiny little factor that I'm reminded of every once in a while. (When the brats aren't screaming) I am reminded that I am, maybe, on some level, making a difference in the lives of these kids. They get the opportunity to see a young, intelligent, black man expose them to ideas about the world that they don't necessarily get anywhere else. Who knows, maybe they'll forget all about me. Or maybe one day they'll take up drumming...maybe they'll take up acting...maybe they'll think twice before they start a fight with someone who might be dangerous...maybe they'll think twice before using hateful language. Or maybe they won't. I can say this though: It's a little more rewarding than helping a wealthy couple from the Upper East Side decide between the chocolate tart and the cheesecake sundae.

PS

Don't get me wrong. Once my career takes off I am so out of there.