My oldest cousin is eighteen years older than me, and her children are within ten years of my age.
I’m babysitting them one day when the youngest, about six years old at the time, pulls out his little collection of Lego he brought to play with.
Me: “Oh! Super cool! You’ve got Lego with you!”
He looks up at me like I’ve grown an extra head.
Cousin: “You know what Legos are?! But you’re old!”
Ouch, kid.
I was a substitute teacher during the school year, but in the summer, I didn’t have a regular job. I did do online tutoring, though, to make ends meet. I would work at my computer, which was at a built-in desk in my apartment near the front door.
One summer day, a group of bored pre-teens decided to play ding-dong-ditch — a game/prank where you ring someone’s doorbell and then run away. Since I was one of the few adults at home, my apartment was a target. The first couple of times were slightly amusing, but after that, I was just getting annoyed. They were ringing my doorbell about every five minutes, so after the fourth time, I made sure to stand next to the door.
When they rang, I almost immediately opened the door. I just saw scurrying feet running into the apartment diagonal from mine. I also heard the clattering of one boy’s cell phone, as it had dropped out of one of his pockets. (It turned out to belong to the boy who lived in the diagonal apartment.) I picked it up and went back into my apartment.
This occurred before phones typically had lock codes, so I could pull up the contacts. I called the one labeled “Dad” and told him the circumstances of why I had his son’s cell phone. He agreed to pick it up after he got home.
A couple of minutes later, I heard a polite knock on the door. I didn’t open it but talked through the door.
Me: “Hello?”
Kid: “Sir, did you find a cell phone on the floor out here?”
Me: “Yes. I contacted ‘Dad’, and he’ll be getting it this evening.”
Kid: *Sigh*
I am a Robot Design judge during a First Lego League (now called FLL Challenge) competition. This is a robotics competition for older elementary-schoolers and middle-schoolers. The teams of kids build and program Lego robots to run various challenges on a board for points. While the majority of robots struggle to semi-reliably do one to three of the easiest missions, every year I see a few really amazing robots doing truly impressive feats on the board.
While each team gets two or more adults to aid them, the actual building and programming of the robot are supposed to be done entirely by the kids. Adults are there to give general guidance and keep the kids on task. They can help the kids figure out the missions and how they’re scored, help kids learn how to program, help them figure out why things didn’t work, and maybe provide the occasion small suggestion, but the robots are supposed to be the kids’ work.
Me: “I’d like to talk to someone about the code. Which kids feel like they know the programs best to explain them to me?
Kid #2: “[Kid #1] and his dad did most of it.”
Me: “Okay, [Kid #1], I see you used a My Block. Can you explain how it works?”
“My Blocks” are what they call functions, basically small self-contained bits of code that can be called over and over again by other parts of the code.
Kid #1: “What’s that?”
Me: “This paper here. Can you explain this program?”
Kid #1: “Oh, is that the thing for following lines? Dad wouldn’t let me do that one.”
He turns to one of the coaches who are sitting in the room but have been asked to be quiet while we judge the kids.
Kid #1: “Dad, how does it work?”
Sadly, we had to give the team a failing score on programming due to adults clearly doing the work. “Luckily”, their robot still didn’t follow lines well and ultimately was nothing special — a bit better than the worst robots but not by much. That meant we could still allow them to compete; we knew they would score poorly enough that we wouldn’t need to worry about how to handle a potentially unfair advantage of an adult helping. We try not to punish the kids for the adults misbehaving if we can avoid it; the competition is supposed to be about celebrating their work first and foremost, regardless of how their robot does, not making them feel bad about it.
The extra irony is that very well-written, fully functional line-following programs are easily available online, and so long as you credit your source, you’re allowed to use a program like this. After all, we would hardly be preparing kids for a real programming job if we discouraged code reuse. If the dad had just suggested they look online, they could have legally gotten more reliable code than whatever he wrote.
Still, this is what I love about judging middle-schoolers, they are so shockingly honest. On the occasion that I judge Core Values, which is mostly focused on teamwork, I’ll always ask if the kids worked well as a team, and I’ll always have at least two teams flat-out tell me they didn’t, despite knowing this is the one thing we’re judging them on in that room. Got to love the forthrightness of kids.
I was out doing my fortnightly grocery shopping. In this shop, they had small tills for less than ten items and main ones with belts. Both types had cashiers. Usually, I go to the small ones, but they were unusually busy today, so I went to a normal one.
There was a father and his two young children — probably around four to six years old — ahead of me, chatting away with the cashier about holiday plans. It was honestly pretty cute; a lot of the retail employees seemed to be in good cheer today.
As the cashier started to scan my stuff, the dad was busy packing his groceries and the kids were still talking with the cashier.
The daughter cheerfully piped up:
Daughter: “Our mum is gone!”
The cashier and I shared a startled look.
With an exhausted sigh that only a tired dad could muster, the kids’ father helpfully clarified:
Dad: “She is at work.”
The trio left, leaving the cashier and me. We shared another look and then burst into laughter. I couldn’t help but giggle about it for the rest of the transaction. Kids are so funny sometimes.
This happened in the early 2000s. My town has a small “farm” petting zoo to educate kids about cows, sheep, pigs, and the like. It’s really not big and they get little city funding, making them dependent on donations. The petting zoo wants to organise a spring festival, but money is an issue. Long story short, I volunteer to do face painting, using my own materials, for free. Parents can pay what they want and all the money will go to the petting zoo. Everyone is nice, and most kids want to be a bunny, a cow, or a princess… and one kid wants to be Spider-Man.
After three hours of non-stop painting, we notice a frantic woman.
Woman: “Has anyone seen a little boy? My son is missing!”
One organisation employee asks for details. This petting zoo has no electronic communication devices, so someone needs to get information and then spread the word.
The woman tells us her son is four and describes his hair and his clothes.
Woman: “…and his face is painted like Spider-Man!”
Me: “I only painted one child as Spider-Man, so there should be no doubt about it.”
Time passes, and I continue my work (there are about twenty people already looking), trying not to worry the other kids in the line. I paint everyone until the line is cleared.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see something small with a red face casually strolling around! I jump from my chair.
Me: “Hey, little buddy! Your mom is looking for you!”
Boy: *Very calm* “Do you know where my mommy is? I lost her somewhere.”
He spreads and waves his arms as if it’s just a regular day at the office.
I flag down a petting zoo volunteer.
Me: “I’ll keep him here; go get his mom.” *To the boy* “All right, your mommy will come here to get you, so stay with me, okay?”
Boy: “But my face is already painted.”
Me: “Well, do you want some paint on your hands or arms?”
Boy: “Can you make the web sprayers?”
Me: “Sure, I can!”
I paint very slowly, just to keep the boy occupied. It takes quite a while for the mother to come. She pretends to walk calmly, but I can see she has just been crying and is far from calm but also very relieved when she sees him.
Boy: “Hi, Mom! Look, I got web sprayers!”
Woman: “Oh, how lovely. But sweetie, I told you to stay with Mommy. I was very worried.”
She hugs him, getting the fresh paint on her jacket. She then picks him up and leaves. I’m a bit surprised she doesn’t say, “Thank you,” or anything like that. She even seems to ignore me as a whole. However, I am quickly informed.
Volunteer: “When I told her he was found and safe, her legs couldn’t support her anymore and she collapsed. We got her a chair and let her calm down first. We almost called an ambulance, but she calmed down on her own eventually. She said she just wanted to pick up her son and go home.”
Yeah, I can understand that.
