Super Star Kids

Depsite popular opinion, I actually like kids. They’re pretty awesome; super stars at times.

I love their curiosity, and the mischief they get up to, and I love, love, love their innocent honesty.

Well not, obviously, the shit they pull when their teethmarks are in the cooking chocolate, and you can clearly see the whorls of their finger prints in the cake icing, and they respond with “It wasn’t me!”

Not that innocent honesty.

The other kind where, like last week, we caught up with a teacher from the school we’ve been at for ten years, until this year.

She told Chippie she missed him.

“I don’t miss you,” he told her, without rudeness, without sarcasm (sadly, he is the second of my three children to have missed this gene), and with complete, raw, innocent honesty.

Because I love kids so much, and they make me laugh and I was at a school thing and still finding my feet and was a little nervous and I found myself standing alongside the red carpet to the Logies disco, a line of kids waiting to go in, I thought I would get into the spirit of all and do some red carpet interviews.

“Hello, you look gorgeous,” I say to the six-year-old standing at the front of the line. “Can you tell me, who was your gorgeous dress designed by?”

“Ummmm,” she said, looking at me like she really couldn’t decide if I was a nutcase or not. In her defence, we’ve been at the school two terms, and I’m there for pickup about once a week, if that often… so,

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