Devil Child

I write this to you hunched over a computer, warning you an impending threat. Evil is here, but it's moving to America. I've seen it in the flesh. It wraps itself in the guise of youth and innocence. Do not be fooled.

This evil has a name. It is Sally J. (not to be confused with her classmate, Sally A., who is the only kindergartner currently taking horse tranquilizers). She is smart, wiley, attention-hungry, and demands you celebrate her birthday...when it's not even her birthday.

For the first month of my time here, I was impressed by young Sally. At 6 years old, she demonstrated a fluency beyond many of my adult Korean friends. She was outgoing and eager to participate. She was the ideal student. This is the kind of student most teachers start teaching for. A student who is receptive to learning, who raises her hand not to spout some silly nonsense about poopoo, but to to say the correct answer. Sally J. could do no wrong. While Sally A. was busy doped out on tranquilizers, Sally J. was learning the ins and outs of advanced English grammar. She was my golden child and I loved her as if she were my own.

As the summer months faded to fall, the city around me changed. The summer typhoons ceased and the sky turned clear and blue. The humid air turned cool and pleasant as the leaves changed to beautiful reds, yellows, and golds. This great physical metamorphosis wasn't confined to the weather. There was a troubling change brewing in the heart of Sally J.--poisoning her young heart, pulsing with life and love and twisting it into a tar black mass pumping evil through her veins.

She became a mini-terrorist, taking out her targets with the over-the-top destructive tactics of someone schooled by Rambo. I would see Sally J. pick a fight with the student next to her, get hit, and then cry for justice from me. Eventually, I would tell Sally J. "Don't even think about it" as soon as soon as the first tear fell. It would stop immediately.

I raised my game and so did Sally J. She stopped raising her hand and began shouting out answers. If other students said something incorrect, she would make fun of them. If I wanted Sally J. as my own before, the only thing I crave now is to give her up for adoption. Every month we have a big birthday party for all the kids who have a birthday that month. Sally J's birthday is in March, but she demanded we celebrate it in December. She's moving to America (watch out!) at the end of the month and cried for an early party. Management caved and decided, what harm could it do? If only they knew.

At the birthday party, as I watched Sally J. and the other December birthday kids blow out their candles, I confided my feelings in "John", another teacher. I felt I made an incredibly strong case. John told me, in a not too nice way, that I needed to relax. He said, "Why do you let her get under your skin like that? She's just a kid, for God's sake." John left me alone with my thoughts. I was overwhelmed with guilt. I had failed as a teacher. I had stooped so incredibly low--hating a child for wanting attention. What had I become? I wasn't a man, but a silly little boy whose dream was to get revenge on a 6-year old.

At that point, I did what every sensible, emotionally stable person would do. My hatred would no longer be directed at Sally J, but at John AND Sally J. It was a kindergarten teacher just like John who let Mussolini get away with beating others and brush it off by saying, "He's just a kid, let it slide." I have a duty to this world and as long as I'm alive, Sally J. will never find safe haven. You can run to America, Sally J, but you can't hide. I'm coming...and I'm bringing Rambo.