A Canadian writer teaches English and finds out what it's like to be a foreigner.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Gorging at the slop trough of crazy

My word of the day was not one that will ever be featured at Webster's online, or dictionary.com. In fact, it charts new linguistic waters in regards to labeling the human anatomy.

The word of the day, ladies and gents, is "pee house."

Paul used this word today to obsessively refer to his genitals, and the genitals of all those around. For a short time, the school and its inhabitants became a veritable pee housing project. How the young lunatic came upon this term is beyond me. He's sadly also discovered "bung" and "buttock" (only one, mind) to add to his repertoire of off point bawdy remarks.

While I attempted to teach him about pronouns with be, Paul absent-mindedly doodled a crude house over the answer blanks and filled it with stick men corpses and mugs.

"What is that Paul?" I asked hesitantly.

"Teacher! It is the pee house!"

"Oh..." I replied distastefully. "What's all that inside?"

"There are many cups of pee, and died people."

He pointed to a particular stick man who had four beards (one on each side of his head) and a grin on his face.

"Look, he die happy."

"Why is he so happy?"

"Because he love pee!"

Cackle, cackle, cackle. I couldn't bare to ask why the pee house was the site of such a gruesome slaying. At least now I understand that the fixation with bodily functions is not restricted to doung— it just lends itself more easily as a disturbing mascot.

Later, in the same class, Paul paused and pointed to his cheeks.

"Teacher, what is this?"

"Those are your cheeks Paul."

"Chicks!?" he squealed, and immediately burst into the most deranged impression of a baby chicken I've ever had the privilege of witnessing.

He sprung off his chair and clung to my pant leg.

"Cheep! Cheep! You are my mother. I hate you mother! I will kill you with my brain!"

At this point I couldn't keep the phony stern teacher front up any longer. Laughing is the worst thing I can do to curb this craziness— but whatever— the kid keeps things interesting.

"Paul, they don't have a word to describe the kind of crazy you are," I said to him.

"Yes!" he retorted, and flexed his 8-year-old arms like an American governor, "POWER CRAZY!"

The silence that followed was the sound of complete and utter agreement.

3 comments:

Jono said...

Sam this is my favorite articles to date, by a lot. I can so effortlessly picture you succumbing to laughter... "I will kill you with my brain." You see, it's in them from birth. We in the west have no hope.

Sam said...

It was an "Invader Zim" moment for sure.

Shane said...

I think some of my students had come from a violent ordeal at a 'pee house' before class. They wandered in with arm casts and slings all made from toilet paper. No joke.