Babysit

There's a young boy and once or twice a week I play games and speak English with him.  The child is already learning 2 languages, Polish and German, but his mother is keen that he learn some English.

There's a lot of monologue in these sessions.  There's a lot of monologue in these sessions, I find myself drifting back to my younger days.  What did I play?  What schemes, stories, character expositions and conflicts did I dream up between actions figures, dinosaurs, lego and soft toys.  Stories expanded throughout the house, with various exotic and exciting locations including on top of the tumble dryer.

We have such wonderful conversations he and I.  Everything is communicated n a beautiful acute economy of speech; English words and German words buffered with the occasional groan, grunt or sigh.  Epic battles between good and evil where characters change sides multiple times, stab each other in the back and even redeem themselves at the eleventh hour.

The games children play; tales of morality, crisis and triumph, friendship, love and loss.  At least when they're not wrestling with a banana or savagely beating a tiger or whipping the air with a sock filled with marbles.

Sometimes we even speak English.

He's a clever boy who rebels against all kinds of learning and structured authority.  He has to be 'tricked' into learning.  This requires a complex and delicate ploy, an elaborate deception where the boy is taught unbeknownst to him.

Anything that involves toys is fun, even learning.  I often teach one of his teddies.  Sometimes I whisper songs under my breath becoming progressively louder until I have nurtured the embers of his curiosity.  He has a keen ear for sounds and I am often impressed when he repeats with perfect inflection.

I sometimes laugh to myself when I think of the little Austrian kids that will speak with an Irish accent.  Despite my best efforts at neutrality it often bleeds through, 'boots' and 'her' being repeat offenders.  Although I have been keeping tabs on my persistent 'th' problem.

It's not all fun and games but a battle of wits when it comes to speaking English and adhering to house rules.
Just the other day he had me making him toast because he was hungry.  We searched the house for bread and nutella.  I made four pieces of toast and he ate each one with relish.  However, no sooner had his mother returned and I described the events of that evening in question I saw the look of sheer horror on her face.
'That's not okay.'
I was frozen with shock, the first thought that popped into my head was 'This boy is a  celiac and I've probably just killed him!'
As it happened he was being cheeky and was supposed to eat the dinner his mother had prepared for him.
Oh, that sigh of relief.  It reinvigorated my body.
Kids are crafty little schemers-they keep you on your toes.  And the little boy, how is he?
Despite getting him into trouble the little boy has asked his mother if I can move in!