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My contempt for kids started when I was, in strict chronological terms, a kid myself. There were some things about school life that I enjoyed -- for example, I loved the assemblies: the songs always filled me with patriotic fervour and I wanted them to go on forever -- but I resented all my so-called peers.
I hated the rich kids for their fancy watches. I stole a few, not because I needed them (I was always good at managing time even without time-pieces) but just so I could hide them and watch these kids snivel away!
I hated the poorer kids even more, for their pathetically thin shoes (possibly hand-me-downs from older siblings). I believe the poor should know their place in life and not dream of elevating themselves socially: they should spend their time learning how to polish the shoes of others!
I was not physically imposing, but the deep reservoir of contempt within me made me a tenacious fighter. I beat up quite a few kids (although I was careful to pick the smaller, poorer ones: less likely to make reports). Something would just snap inside me when I saw their sad little faces, which seemed to have 'Punch Me' signs the way hotels have Welcome carpets.
For the kids I couldn't get away with beating up, I chose more surreptitious methods. These ranged from emptying ink bottles into bags to ... others I shall not reveal, since even the police didn't manage to solve them.
OK, enough with the fun flashbacks! I must stop smiling and get back to work. I am on time (as usual) and standing very straight while receiving my usual greeting: "Selaaamat paaagi ciiiikguuu..."
I hated the rich kids for their fancy watches. I stole a few, not because I needed them (I was always good at managing time even without time-pieces) but just so I could hide them and watch these kids snivel away!
I hated the poorer kids even more, for their pathetically thin shoes (possibly hand-me-downs from older siblings). I believe the poor should know their place in life and not dream of elevating themselves socially: they should spend their time learning how to polish the shoes of others!
I was not physically imposing, but the deep reservoir of contempt within me made me a tenacious fighter. I beat up quite a few kids (although I was careful to pick the smaller, poorer ones: less likely to make reports). Something would just snap inside me when I saw their sad little faces, which seemed to have 'Punch Me' signs the way hotels have Welcome carpets.
For the kids I couldn't get away with beating up, I chose more surreptitious methods. These ranged from emptying ink bottles into bags to ... others I shall not reveal, since even the police didn't manage to solve them.
OK, enough with the fun flashbacks! I must stop smiling and get back to work. I am on time (as usual) and standing very straight while receiving my usual greeting: "Selaaamat paaagi ciiiikguuu..."
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