Two years working in a primary school has exposed me to many of the quirks that make up the children of this age. Some adorable, some entertaining, some eyebrow-raising, and some…..downright diabolical.
I’ve never known how to say this without making myself sound like I don’t possess a single nurturing and motherly bone in my body, but the fact is I don’t really have an inclination towards children. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I dislike children, because the fact is I do like some of them (mostly the good ones).
When I started working with kids, it was awkward because I hadn’t interacted with children on a regular basis pretty much ever since I outgrew the age group myself, so I wasn’t sure how to bring myself down to their level to effectively communicate with them. Babies and toddlers are different because, well, what’s so difficult about cooing?
But as with most things, it was only a matter that needed getting used to. At first I couldn’t gauge how low to bring myself down to across different levels. I’d talk to a 10-year old like I would to a 7-year old, I’d assume that an 11-year old wouldn’t need such detailed instructions and I’d grant the 12-year olds more space than they can handle to exercise initiative and independence. Bit by bit, I start to learn the systems upon which they work. I learn what interests them, what tickles their funny bone, what threatens them (this particular one, I like).
There are some children, though, whose systems (or lack thereof ) completely throw me off. Dig a little deeper and slowly but surely, you’ll discover cracks in the form of autism, ADD, ADHD, OCD, dyslexia, low IQ, selective mutism….or just a case of bad parenting or weak family dynamics. The kinds of children that stem from these situations are the most challenging to handle because they are often the most disruptive or the most withdrawn — and I am no child psychologist or counsellor. Doesn’t help that I’m not exactly the most patient person on earth, either.
Anyway the point of all of this is that seeing these kinds of children has planted a seed of fear in me to have children of my own. Supernanny was harrowing for me. But to label it paedophobia would be blowing things out of proportion, obviously. What it really is, I think, is a simple fear of the unknown — basically a fear of what kind of parent I will be, how my children will turn out to be, etcetera, etcetera. It seems like too much responsibility and pressure. What if things turn out horribly wrong? I know, I’ve already been told I’m too much of a worrywart.
On the other hand, if everything goes in the right direction, the experience can be one of a lifetime — that much, I know. So much so that it seems foolish not to at least try.
