A Tale of Two (Hundred) Kiddies

I crept in to the back of the theatre, watching frustrated teachers herd hordes of kiddy cattle into empty rows. The shuffling of hundreds of small feet was drowned out by the dim squeal of ipods, mobile phones and bubbling hormones. I fear some of the elderly MWF volunteers received a contact high from the sheer volume of adolescents in the room. One grey-haired lady, who was inspecting my festival pass, asked if I thought she was pretty. Without waiting for a response she burst into tears, then started laughing before telling me she was really hungry and that Lady Ga-Ga was a musical revolutionary. I nodded out of fear and pulled my scarf around my nose and mouth in an effort to filter the airborne child vibes.

When the author Isobelle Carmody began her talk, she struck a deep nerve in the quivering mass of lanky girls and fuzz-faced boys. The point she imparted was how powerless young people are. We often hear stories of wayward youths in the media. The blame inevitably leads to drugs or a lack of education, but if you mull it over, you realise they can’t smoke, drink, vote, or engage in carnal satisfaction. If those same restrictions were placed on you, chances are, you’d behave like a bit of a shit too. Perhaps we should go easy on them. After all, they’re people too, just with no rights whatsoever.

Having said that, the talk of powerless youths brought me back to the time some toddlers escaped from a crèche in my neighbourhood. They had ambushed me in an alleyway and Weeboked my face to a blood mush. After they severely bootied my head bits in, they crawled off with my trousers, my drivers license and a pack of cigarettes. I was relieved when I woke up and saw the two police offers standing over my crumpled form.

They were less than happy to find a grown man covered in crayon graffiti wearing a nappy.

by Frenchelbow
Festival Blogger
Dead Under Fluorescent Lights