I think the boys in my class are a little disappointed. For the past year or so, they had turned a tiny little room in our classroom into the “Boys’ Club.” This small room is actually directly behind the church baptistry. And it was built so that someone could have access if there were any repairs needed. So the boys met in this little room almost every day at lunch time and free time. They voted on who should be the club president and collected small fees that enabled them to buy things for their club. One year they even had a popcorn stand in there—carting bags of buttery popcorn and selling them throughout the school. They made a nice profit, though they argued incessantly about who would sell, who would pour the butter, and who got to wear the “popcorn for sale” sign, which would (to quote in the pig-Latin my students are fond of using) drive me “azycray” by the end of each lunch day. By-and-by, the boys decided they would sell things in their fort, which turned it from a cute little boys’ club to what looked to me like a side alley at Attias Flea Market. And so, I had had enough. It was, I announced at the beginning of the school year, the girls’ turn to have the room. You could hear the squeals of delight all over the school and, as is so typical of girls, they lost no time and got right to work cleaning. Carrying all sorts of piles of stuff and marveling at how dirty the “place” was—and the poor boys just stood there, mouths agape, seeing their whole world crumble right before their eyes. I heard, from one of the boy’s younger siblings, that he went home and cried his eyes out because the girls took their fort. Wow. I never expected this. And then, to make matters worse, the girls started bringing in things from home: a pink rug, a purple bean-bag chair, flower pots, candles, and a jewelry box that plays a pretty little tune. The boys were sickened by all this. And the girls were thick as thieves—at first—cramming themselves in there at each break like so many baby rabbits all snuggled into the hollow of a tree. So the boys grumbled and complained and at break time, if even one of the girls peeped her head out, the boys would verbally assault with words like, “Oh, so now you want to come out,” and “Oh, we thought you liked your new dollhouse…” Well, the boys were told to refrain from their snide comments and leave the girls be. The girls, however, seem to be spending less and less time in their house and often I find them joining the boys’ games of four-square in the back of the room. The girls haven’t decided to have a club president, or sell things either. It’s just a peaceful place to resort to with each other, and listen to their music, and take turns resting on their bean bag chair. A quiet, clean, pink and purple place that gives them so much satisfaction—and that the boys just can’t understand at all.
I think the boys in my class are a little disappointed. For the past year or so, they had turned a tiny little room in our classroom into the “Boys’ Club.” This small room is actually directly behind the church baptistry. And it was built so that someone could have access if there were any repairs needed. So the boys met in this little room almost every day at lunch time and free time. They voted on who should be the club president and collected small fees that enabled them to buy things for their club. One year they even had a popcorn stand in there—carting bags of buttery popcorn and selling them throughout the school. They made a nice profit, though they argued incessantly about who would sell, who would pour the butter, and who got to wear the “popcorn for sale” sign, which would (to quote in the pig-Latin my students are fond of using) drive me “azycray” by the end of each lunch day. By-and-by, the boys decided they would sell things in their fort, which turned it from a cute little boys’ club to what looked to me like a side alley at Attias Flea Market. And so, I had had enough. It was, I announced at the beginning of the school year, the girls’ turn to have the room. You could hear the squeals of delight all over the school and, as is so typical of girls, they lost no time and got right to work cleaning. Carrying all sorts of piles of stuff and marveling at how dirty the “place” was—and the poor boys just stood there, mouths agape, seeing their whole world crumble right before their eyes. I heard, from one of the boy’s younger siblings, that he went home and cried his eyes out because the girls took their fort. Wow. I never expected this. And then, to make matters worse, the girls started bringing in things from home: a pink rug, a purple bean-bag chair, flower pots, candles, and a jewelry box that plays a pretty little tune. The boys were sickened by all this. And the girls were thick as thieves—at first—cramming themselves in there at each break like so many baby rabbits all snuggled into the hollow of a tree. So the boys grumbled and complained and at break time, if even one of the girls peeped her head out, the boys would verbally assault with words like, “Oh, so now you want to come out,” and “Oh, we thought you liked your new dollhouse…” Well, the boys were told to refrain from their snide comments and leave the girls be. The girls, however, seem to be spending less and less time in their house and often I find them joining the boys’ games of four-square in the back of the room. The girls haven’t decided to have a club president, or sell things either. It’s just a peaceful place to resort to with each other, and listen to their music, and take turns resting on their bean bag chair. A quiet, clean, pink and purple place that gives them so much satisfaction—and that the boys just can’t understand at all.
