I was miraculously asked to work a relief day on the last day of term yesterday. Teachers are rarely away on the last day of term.
The schools down here, all do a thing called Munch and Crunch.
Munch and Crunch is a mid-morning, ten minute break where the kids are allowed to bring a piece of fruit into the classroom and eat it in order to refresh their lagging brain cells.
Whist the concept has some merit; I find the fermenting stench of mandarin peel and apple cores festering in the bin for the remainder of the day to be appalling. The fruit-ingestion after effects involving heavy, silent farts don’t help improve the general classroom atmosphere much either.
I watched a little girl eating her banana as if she was eating corn on the cob. She took little nibbles around the circumference until there was just a long, greasy, brown banana core left. I can’t tell you if she eventually ate it or not because I had to turn away and gag in the corner.
We ran a show and tell session while they were munching and crunching.
Someone had brought their magician kit in.
I’ve always hated magicians ever since I was a kid and discovered they weren’t really magic AT ALL.
At the age of ten I was gifted a magician’s kit for Christmas, read the ‘magician’s manual’ and quickly realised that there was no authentic magic involved and it was all trickery. My faith and adoration of the world of magic was sullied in a most grubby and corrupt manner.
Since then, whenever a fraud in the guise of a magical person such as David Copperfield, appears on the screen, I spew out abuse at the telly, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the lounge room. I rant incessantly at the duplicitous and deceptive tricksters and how disappointing the entire magic bullshit thing is until someone finally changes the channel.
So when a seven year old wanted to deliver a magic show with his brand new magic kit yesterday, I was understandably contemptuous and cynical.
“I hope he pulls a rabbit out of a hat!” enthused one of the audience of seven year olds in the classroom.
“I hope he doesn’t,” I snarled. “There’s an $80000 fine for having a rabbit in Queensland.”
Harry Potter flaunted his magician’s hat around the class for inspection. There was much oohing and ahing.
There was nothing in the hat, I swear, but the next minute, after a wave of his plastic wand… out comes a bloody rabbit.
Don’t worry it was a stuffed rabbit. Nothing the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries would get their knickers in a twist about I can assure you.
It was a bit impressive for a seven year old though I must admit even though I knew it was indeed, chicanery.
Or was it?
Then little Harry put on his cape and did something deceptive behind his back for a few (uncomfortable) minutes and transformed a red and yellow scarf into a blue and orange scarf. WOWSER!
“Say, abracadabra,” he instructed a bug-eyed seven year old in the audience.
“Abracadabra zoo-la-moolooty-tooty-frooty-schmooty!” screamed the over-excited class member who was perhaps attempting to steal the limelight.
And guess what? The trick still worked. Even though the incantation was altered, the scarf STILL CHANGED COLOURS!
I was beginning to doubt my sceptical view. Perhaps this child really did possess some true magical powers.
But just as I began to succumb to the mysticism of the supernatural, Harry Potter began showing everyone in the class the false bottom in his magician’s hat and the spot where the squished, stuffed rabbit resided. This so called magician was flagrantly revealing to all and sundry how the scarves turned inside out and basically giving away all his bloody secrets.
Just as I thought.
Another faker. A very honest faker, but still a faker.
I still detest magicians.
And circuses. I hate circuses. Filthy things they are. They smell of cabbage.
I watched a little girl eating her banana as if she was eating corn on the cob. She took little nibbles around the circumference until there was just a long, greasy, brown banana core left. I can’t tell you if she eventually ate it or not because I had to turn away and gag in the corner.
We ran a show and tell session while they were munching and crunching.
Someone had brought their magician kit in.
I’ve always hated magicians ever since I was a kid and discovered they weren’t really magic AT ALL.
At the age of ten I was gifted a magician’s kit for Christmas, read the ‘magician’s manual’ and quickly realised that there was no authentic magic involved and it was all trickery. My faith and adoration of the world of magic was sullied in a most grubby and corrupt manner.
Since then, whenever a fraud in the guise of a magical person such as David Copperfield, appears on the screen, I spew out abuse at the telly, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the lounge room. I rant incessantly at the duplicitous and deceptive tricksters and how disappointing the entire magic bullshit thing is until someone finally changes the channel.
So when a seven year old wanted to deliver a magic show with his brand new magic kit yesterday, I was understandably contemptuous and cynical.
“I hope he pulls a rabbit out of a hat!” enthused one of the audience of seven year olds in the classroom.
“I hope he doesn’t,” I snarled. “There’s an $80000 fine for having a rabbit in Queensland.”
Harry Potter flaunted his magician’s hat around the class for inspection. There was much oohing and ahing.
There was nothing in the hat, I swear, but the next minute, after a wave of his plastic wand… out comes a bloody rabbit.
Don’t worry it was a stuffed rabbit. Nothing the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries would get their knickers in a twist about I can assure you.
It was a bit impressive for a seven year old though I must admit even though I knew it was indeed, chicanery.
Or was it?
Then little Harry put on his cape and did something deceptive behind his back for a few (uncomfortable) minutes and transformed a red and yellow scarf into a blue and orange scarf. WOWSER!
“Say, abracadabra,” he instructed a bug-eyed seven year old in the audience.
“Abracadabra zoo-la-moolooty-tooty-frooty-schmooty!” screamed the over-excited class member who was perhaps attempting to steal the limelight.
And guess what? The trick still worked. Even though the incantation was altered, the scarf STILL CHANGED COLOURS!
I was beginning to doubt my sceptical view. Perhaps this child really did possess some true magical powers.
But just as I began to succumb to the mysticism of the supernatural, Harry Potter began showing everyone in the class the false bottom in his magician’s hat and the spot where the squished, stuffed rabbit resided. This so called magician was flagrantly revealing to all and sundry how the scarves turned inside out and basically giving away all his bloody secrets.
Just as I thought.
Another faker. A very honest faker, but still a faker.
I still detest magicians.
And circuses. I hate circuses. Filthy things they are. They smell of cabbage.
