there’s an on-going trend of referring to women (especially little girls) as “princess”. personally it makes me shudder when i hear a little girl being called a princess. when a girl hears this often at such a young age fosters a huge sense of entitlement.
– Dannyfrom504, “The Princess vs The Angel

Danny’s recent post brought back a couple memories from my first few months over here:

1. A Korean-American buddy saying, “Buckeye, Korean girls are similar to American girls in that many have the princess mentality.”

2. This exchange from with a 1st grade HS girl during class:

Upon seeing another girl’s pencil case with the Disney princesses on it (and the word princess) I said, “Oh no…don’t be a princess.” I’d said it to no one in particular, but one girl, whose English was quite good, perked up on hearing it and gave me a puzzled look. I said to her, “So many American girls want to be the princess.”

She nodded and considered this for a moment. She was searching for the best expression.

“But… they can’t be,” she said.

Just so, I thought. She had the right of it. They can’t be princesses because they’re ordinary girls in an ordinary small town. They aren’t royalty. And yet, like Danny explains, many of us love to foist the “Princess” labels upon girls as if it’s something they need to be.

In the time I’ve spent over here, I’ve encountered many princess types, but more have been like Soo-young above, who understand that as pretty as they be and as virtuous as they may act, they’ll never be princesses.

Two things I’d love to do at my schools/one morning’s mood.

Use every smart phone for skeet shooting practice
Smash every mirror against the wall

Nothing brings these thoughts to the fore faster when my Wednesday morning class of high school kids saunter into the room. They all work at being overworked and yet bored to the core. How that’s possible, I don’t know, but it’s there and happening all the time.

More than once I’ve had to take mirrors away and hear the incessant sine waves of complaint. The same for phones. They shouldn’t have them anyway, but kids are cleverer than they look. They whine and whine and I look at them and say, “That’s too damned bad. You’ll survive without your phone.” And once the daily reminder of phones and mirrors passes, it comes time to actually work. Every single day involves me barking orders like a battle commander to get the little twerps to actually write and speak in English. Well, half of them anyway. The other half won’t do anything. I’ve talked with them, my coteacher and I have talked to them, and my coteacher and I have spoken to their home room teacher. All to no avail. I can’t send them away. I can’t make them serve detention. They know it, and I know it.

Perhaps this is what semester burnout feels like. I’d do best to remember my days teaching in the inner-city. At these kids aren’t threatening tire slashings and stabbings. Nobody is saying “Fuck you, Mr. Buckyeye.” Nobody’s pimping or trapping. Thank goodness for that. Yeah….I’ll take apathy and self-absorption over gangbanging any day.

I’ll post some more about that sordid era later. The days have grown a bit too busy to do any long posts, but maybe I can get something up if I go back to my old paragraph at a time style of writing that served well in college. Cheers.