The Cruelty of Children

Children can be horrible little creatures; there is no use denying this fact.

Last night I talked to a first grader. We were talking about books- books from the library, bedtime stories, books in school- and suddenly, indescribabely, the conversation turned toward bullies.
"This kid in my class, he's a bully. He reads bully books." he randomly proclaimed.
"Bully books?" I questioned, "What are those?"
He responded promptly, "They teach you how to be mean, and push people around. There is this one book called Bullies are Made for Pushing People Around."
"Are you sure? Do you think anyone would write a book that teaches people how to be mean to each other?"
"Maybe," he replied, "the person who wrote it was a bully too."
The way this young boy rationalized the meanness of others set me to thinking. It was such a comforting thought! Why are bullies mean? Why do they push you sometimes, or call you names, or take your lunch money? It's nothing personal-- after all, they're just getting it from a book.
When I pulled into the driveway of this little boy's average South Jordan million dollar home earlier in the day, I felt anticipation and obvious fear, almost as though I was the one being faced with bully problems. Three squooshy faces were pressed against the living room window, eagerly anticipating my arrival. Why on Earth, I wondered, do these little ones like me so much? I'm not fun, I don't even know them... and what good are a couple of snot nosed kids to me anyway?
Last night, as I tended this first grader and his sisters however, I discovered something very important about children; they're worth it.
Babysitting jobs usually become a series of terrors and intense abuses, and last night was no exception. I was soaked with a hose, forced to give piggy back rides, and I very nearly had my finger bitten off. Despite all that, there were some moments of clarity that allowed me recognition as to why people all over the world sacrifice everything for their children.
As the weary night wore on, one fell asleep on the couch. I carried her to bed, tucked her under her pink blanket and bent down closer to look at her face, now devoid of the devilish mischief of the day. Her eyes opened and she placed her sticky little hand on my cheek. That was all, and that was enough. It was in that moment that I forgave her completely for the conniving tricks she'd pulled on me that day, and it seemed to me that as she slept angels had indeed landed on her eyelids.

Children are cruel. One minute you could be madder than anything at them, and the next they'll steal the heart right out of your chest. They know nothing, but, as with my conversation with the first grader about bullies, they seem to know so much more about the human psyche than any adult mind could ever hope to perceive. I heard once that children are designed with wide eyes and large foreheads because it appeals to the mothering instinct in adults. But last night, when I received a goonight kiss on each cheek, I was the one being cared for.

Maybe children aren't so horrid after all.