At the end of the day, I sometimes find that grown-ups are highly underrated. The way they usually look at you when you're speaking to them. And agree that it's not nice to interrupt someone who's speaking or make fun of someone's appearance right in front of them. Grown-ups talk about that person later, in hushed tones, and often apologize for saying the devilish thing they say.

That, I can deal with.

But the whining, interruption (often whining interruptions), and general pain-in-the-assedness of some children has permanently damaged me. Penetrated my very soul, my friends. Cade was walking around this evening when I called him from work. I invited him to walk some long blocks to Harlem and meet up with me. He's never been inside the school where I work.

I didn't even finish the email I have to send about some kid I had to remove from Photography class before Cade arrived. He came upstairs, admired my penmanship on some classroom charts, and got bored. The school seemed so calm, I'm sure. Half an hour after dismissal, school is a tranquil disaster area. Smudged and upside-down and dog-eared, but quiet.

When we walked outside, we saw a tiny boy no older than five playing on a scooter. Cade smiled and said, "Look how cute he is." I looked him dead in the eye. "That makes me feel nothing." He shrugged. "Work with children for more than three days and you, too, won't look at children the same way ever again," I sighed. Perhaps to keep things smooth between us and play the part of the sympathetic significant other, he agreed.

And then he stuck his tongue out at me.