(I spent a year as a live-in nanny for a very nice Korean family. They’d had triplets after years of trying to get pregnant, and when the kids turn 4 years old the mom decides she wants to start training to pick her career back up when they reach school age. So, I move in to help out. It is a great deal; I receive weekly pay with free room and board, and Sundays off. One of my responsibilities is to take the kids to their dance and martial arts lessons. This happens after I’ve been nannying for them for about two months.)

Me: *taking the kids’ shoes off so they can run onto the training mat area* “Okay, have fun! I’ll be right over here where the chairs are. Bye!”

(I say small words like “hello,” “goodbye,” and “please” in Korean because their parents want them to be bilingual. The three kids, two girls and a boy, run off to join their martial arts class. This class is primarily karate based.)

Random Woman: *drops her kid off and comes over to me* “I just wanted to say that I think it’s great what you’re doing!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Random Woman: “You are so generous! Adopting those three babies from their impoverished country to give them a better life here! Bless you!”

Me: *I’m only twenty-one and it’s clear how young I am* “Um… I didn’t adopt—”

Random Woman: “And you’re even preserving their culture by bringing them here and using some of their native words!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, first of all this is a karate class, which is primarily from Japan. Those kids are Korean, and the traditional martial art of Korea is taekwondo. Second thing, I didn’t adopt them; I’m probably not even eligible to adopt anyone right now. I’m their nanny.”

Random Woman: “What?! An Asian family with a white nanny?!”

Me: “Yes… it’s a great job. ”

Random Woman: *starts turning red* “Well, I… humph!”

(She goes across the room to wait for her kid to finish class. My three kids come running over to me. They call me “Imo,” a Korean word for “Aunt”.)

Kids: “Imo! Imo! Did you see us?”

Me: “Yep, you all did great! Who wants to go home and have some frozen yogurt?”

Kids: “Me, me, me!”

(As we were leaving I heard the woman’s kid whining about getting frozen yogurt, and I had to smile a little bit.)

(I work at a daycare, taking care of babies. My one-year-old son is one of the babies in my room. One day, when a parent comes to pick up her own child, she sees me nursing my son.)

Parent: “Oh, do you do that for all the babies?”

(She actually thought I breastfed all of the babies in my room, not just my son.)

(I am 14, and volunteering at a daycare center. There are cabinets about seven feet tall in one of the hallways, and are (almost) never a danger to the children. I am on my way to the restroom when I see a little boy who is about 4 years old has somehow CLIMBED ON TOP of one of the cabinets!)

Me: “Oh, my goodness! How did you get up there? Don’t move, okay?”

Boy: “MY NAME IS DRAKE! I AM A DRAGON! I CAN FLY!”

Me: “No, no, it’s fun to pretend but you can’t really fly. Um, let me get a step stool, okay? You stay right there, okay?”

Boy: “I WANT TO FLY! WATCH ME! LOOK! I AM A DRAGON!”

(I realize I am not comfortable leaving him alone at this moment as I am afraid he will jump off and hurt himself.)

Me: *panicked* “No, don’t fly, that’s against the rules! No flying allowed. I’ll have to give you a time-out!”

Boy: *suddenly quiet* “But… I don’t want a time-out.”

Me: “Then no flying, okay? I’m going to get a step stool from that closet right there, and no flying allowed!”

(At this time I am pretty sure he won’t jump. I quickly run to get a stool, and come back no more than ten seconds later. The boy is standing on the ground next to the cabinet with a huge grin on his face.)

Boy: “MY NAME IS DRAKE! I AM A DRAGON! I TOLD YOU! I CAN FLY! NO TIME-OUT ALLOWED!”

Me: *is completely speechless*

Boy: *running away* “HAHA! NO TIME-OUT ALLOWED! NO TIME-OUT ALLOWED! HAHA! I AM A DRAGON!” *runs into the 4-5 year old room, where he is supposed to be*

(I wonder how he got down without hurting himself, and how he even got up there in the first place!)

(I work the gate at an indoor play-gym. While I do keep an eye on everyone, I am not there to watch people’s kids for them. A couple with two young kids come in, and they force the gate open.)

Customer #1: “Make sure my son doesn’t leave.”

(As I can’t leave the gate, I figure they’ll be back in a minute. Thirty seconds later, a small boy about four years old run over to the gate and tries getting through.)

Me: “Hey, why don’t you stay in here?”

Boy: “I want my mommy!”

Me: “You can’t be out there by yourself, okay?”

(The boy starts screaming and trying to hit me now. An older woman comes over to try and help.)

Customer #2: “Here, sweetie, why don’t you sit here and wait for your parents!”

Boy: “NO! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I don’t wanna wait!”

Customer #2: “What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?”

Boy: “I WANT MY MOMMY! I’LL KILL YOU!”

(At this point I’m scared he’ll hurt the woman, as he’s kicking madly at her. I call down a police officer to help.)

Boy: “I WANT OUT! I DON’T WANNA WAIT!”

Me: “You need to stay here for now, okay?”

(The boy gets up and tries pulling the gate open. I stop him, as I don’t want the gate to break or for him to get hurt. He turns at me and hits me. It wasn’t hard, but it did stun me.)

Boy: “LEAVE ME ALONE! I’LL KILL YOU!”

Customer #2: “Sweetie, just stay here for a minute! Just calm down!”

Boy: “NO! I DON’T WANNA WAIT! LET ME OUT!”

(The police officer comes over to the gate and looks down at the boy.)

Officer: “Here, I’ll help you find your parents.”

(I open the gate, and the boy takes off running. The officer goes after him. The play-gym was calmer after that. Later in the day, the officer comes down to check on me.)

Officer: “Everything okay down here?”

Me: “Yeah. Did you find that one kid’s parents?”

Officer: “Yeah. They were out on the go-karts; I had to yell at them to get them off. They didn’t understand why they were in trouble, or why their kid was crying.”

(I work aftercare at a school catering to children between two and six. I’m currently sitting with a three-year-old who is stringing beads.)

Three-Year-Old: “Are you going to be here on Wednesday?”

Me: “Next Wednesday?”

Three-Year-Old: “Yeah.”

Me: “Well, it’s my spring break, so I’m going to be in New Jersey.”

Three-Year-Old: *aghast* “Wait, why are you going to New Jersey?”

Me: “Because that’s where my home is.”

Three-Year-Old: “…Oh.”

(Pause.)

Three-Year-Old: “…Can you speak New Jersey?”