Deibido-sensei, daijoubu?
asks the heart-broken eyes of 3 year olds this past Monday as I walked into class with my sling. ("are you okay?")
The kids' reactions to my injury has been pretty interesting.
For a vast majority of them, I am this invincible being. I am bigger and stronger than most anyone they know. I pick them up with ease, toss them around like rag-dolls, and take their strongest punches, high-fives (well, actually, low-low-fives) and headbutts with a smile. As I am always smiling, and constantly entertaining, their worlds came crashing down as they realized that, yes, even Superman can be harmed. Their emotions were a mix of heartbreak, fear, and wariness as we explained they were not to touch my injured arm.
Others - who have viewed me with fear since Day 1, and have never strayed from that vantage point, have suddenly reconsidered. Hey, maybe he isn't so scary after all. He can be hurt! They are suddenly a lot more open to me.
As many of the students ask me what happened, I answer them in almost-correct Japanese (this is the longest string of Japanese I have ever uttered). As most American 5-year olds don't know "dislocation" at their age, their Japanese counterparts don't know the Japanese word for it ("dakkyu"). I definitely get a small kick out of teaching them a word Japanese. My explanation of the term, however, has brought many an adult to laughter. Roughly translated, it's, "My shoulder bones came apart, then were put back together, but now they really hurt."
But I can't let the myth of Supa-Deibido die. Instead of telling the kids it was my first day ever on a board, they all believe I was doing a 360 jump with a backflip and just missed the landing. "Coooooolll!!!" they exclaim. After explaining this to one girl, she couldn't wait to answer another student's question to me asking me what happened. Super-David lives on.
The kids' reactions to my injury has been pretty interesting.
For a vast majority of them, I am this invincible being. I am bigger and stronger than most anyone they know. I pick them up with ease, toss them around like rag-dolls, and take their strongest punches, high-fives (well, actually, low-low-fives) and headbutts with a smile. As I am always smiling, and constantly entertaining, their worlds came crashing down as they realized that, yes, even Superman can be harmed. Their emotions were a mix of heartbreak, fear, and wariness as we explained they were not to touch my injured arm.
Others - who have viewed me with fear since Day 1, and have never strayed from that vantage point, have suddenly reconsidered. Hey, maybe he isn't so scary after all. He can be hurt! They are suddenly a lot more open to me.
As many of the students ask me what happened, I answer them in almost-correct Japanese (this is the longest string of Japanese I have ever uttered). As most American 5-year olds don't know "dislocation" at their age, their Japanese counterparts don't know the Japanese word for it ("dakkyu"). I definitely get a small kick out of teaching them a word Japanese. My explanation of the term, however, has brought many an adult to laughter. Roughly translated, it's, "My shoulder bones came apart, then were put back together, but now they really hurt."
But I can't let the myth of Supa-Deibido die. Instead of telling the kids it was my first day ever on a board, they all believe I was doing a 360 jump with a backflip and just missed the landing. "Coooooolll!!!" they exclaim. After explaining this to one girl, she couldn't wait to answer another student's question to me asking me what happened. Super-David lives on.
posted by David at 9:04 AM
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