By Dave Ellis
Today I heard a song from my high school days playing on the “oldies” radio station. I am now living in a cliché. Pretty soon I’ll be embarrassing my soon-to-be teenage daughter (wife/editor comment:
He already does, but isn’t aware of it yet…)

Did you hear that? Anyhow, I’ve also found that as I get older I become more like my parents. Which is step two in the “How to Live a Clichéd Life” book. Step three involves high waisted pants (Check!).

Part of being an adult is having the opportunity to teach the next generation. Since I’ve done such a bang up job growing up (and out!) I was asked to teach Primary to mold the fragile young minds. I’m going on four years now, if you don’t count my three years in nursery, which is really just Primary understudy.

I really do enjoy the calling, and not just because I have one more year until I’m tenured. No, the best part about it is the kids. They are the main reason I can carry bags of candy and treats to church without looking like a glutton. And of course they are fun to teach too.

I could pull another cliché out and say I don’t teach them, they teach me, but it really is true. Last year one of the kids certified me as a notary in three states. I’m still waiting to hear back from the notary commission but at least the first hurdle is complete, my check was cashed. I wish the commission would hurry, the potato stamp he gave me is starting to rot.

Teaching seven year old kids each week has its challenges. You just can’t waltz in there and read out of the manual; well not in those shoes. No sir, these kids today are so calloused by the media, they can’t focus for more than forty-seven seconds at a time! We use pictures, videos, coloring, treats, drywall repair (70% my fault) and more coloring.

Don’t get me wrong, these kids are smart and their faces reveal as much as a Nielsen’s rating. They are not shy about looking bored. I can tell when they are drifting off because they literally drift off of their chairs and walk around the room. Grown ups don’t do this in polite society. Adults stay in their chairs during a lesson and look at you while you talk, until you mention home teaching. Then they look at their feet.

The last hour of Primary is sharing time. We sing a lot in there. A lot. Really. A lot. (Note to my primary presidency: I’m OK with this, but I am going to make fun of it.) I know I sound annoyed but it’s only because I know most of the songs. I already know what I saw when I looked out the window,
I know what the little stream said and I am aware of what the wheels on the bus do (nursery days). I have learned some things from the songs too: pioneer children didn’t have radios and kindness begins with me (and ends with me if you back me into a corner, man!).

I hope it’s not too cliché to say that kids are the future and I’m glad to be there teaching them. We’ve had a lot of fun over the years and I hope that one day they’ll look back and remember a lesson I taught and pass it along to the next generation. If not, hopefully at least they will wear high waisted pants.