Mr. Niece

In my early 20s, after working for 6 years for Coca-Cola, I decided to go back to school and finish the bachelor's degree I'd barely started. I had it in my head that I should be an elementary school teacher. I loved kids, right? And I compulsively taught people things, right? (Read: bossy, annoying know-it-all who liked to play on jungle-gyms.) 

Handily, I'd become good friends with a woman who just so happened to be a lead teacher for a daycare. She graciously hired my silly self to be a teaching assistant, and I began a 6-year relationship with daycare and summer day camp. 

I wasn't not conventionally "feminine." In fact, I've always been a bit of a tomboy. My uniform: Jeans (dirty was good; torn was better), t-shirts, sneakers. My hair was long and straight, and the less I had to mess with it the better. Make-up? Seriously? Not on your life! And what does a coach have to do with a hand-bag?



As a result, I didn't get along with the other teaching assistants because I ran out of things to say to them in about 20 seconds -- just couldn't keep up with the latest fashions, the cutest shoes, and the prettiest nail colors. Oh, and I couldn't care less what a guy drives. (Kiss of death.) 

So, really, there wasn't much to do but play with the kids all day. *sigh*  You know: my job. 

Being a tomboy and all, I ran; I wrestled; I leaped the occasional tall building; I rough-housed; I got dirty building things in the sand box with the kids. (Kiss of death, the sequel.) 

One day on the playground, I overhear an argument: 

"She is NOT!" 
"Yes, she is." 
"No, she's a girl." 
"She's a BOY!" (pronoun-challenged youngster) 
"Nuh-UHHHHHH!"
"I'm gonna ask." 

Several 3- and 4-year olds were suddenly standing in front of me, looking up at me with great determination. Then one of them spoke. What anyone unfamiliar with the situation would hear was: "Miss Denise, are you a girl or a boy?" 

What the little one actually said was, "Mr. Niece, are you a girl or a boy?" 


Mr. Niece.


I put on my best straight face -- no small task, I assure you, and we tried to figure it out together. After a lengthy Q&A session involving hair length, the (almost invisible) "boobies" on the front of my body, and what girls are *really* supposed to be like -- all of it very enlightening to my young self -- we decided to just go and play. 

It was much easier than trying to get Mr. Niece to give them a straight answer.