THE NARRATIVE ARC
My Friend David, the 4-Year-Old Anarchist
Sometimes you can see the future of a man in a tiny fist
The first thing you notice when you walk in the door is the smell of urine.
It’s not that the place isn’t clean, it’s just whoever designed the centre didn’t think about what 30 four-year-olds with little bladders can do to a place.
It’s the University of Victoria pre-school so the kids are the children of the educated and privileged. I would come to work at 2:30 in the afternoon and stay until the end of the day. Most of the organized activities were winding up by that time. I usually helped out with an afternoon snack and monitored the playground until the parents picked up their children. The structured, educational activities had (by then) taken a toll on their little bodies. They sit like simmering pots ready to explode, so the outdoor time is a needed release, if not a wild one.
And then there are those little people who are wilder than others. This was the case with David. He wasn’t more than three feet tall, but his body shook like a leviathan. Mostly he roamed from one group of kids to the next on the playground. He would engage peacefully for a time until, all of a sudden, something would snap. His eyes turned steely and he’d throw anarchy…
