They're Ba-ack!
I thought I had left them behind nearly thirty years ago, when we moved away from Michigan and away from my kindergartners. I thought I'd escaped having any of those little blue creatures in my house, but no. Thirty years later, they're back. The Smurfs have invaded this country again.
I don't know why even the thought of Smurfs bothers me so much. They really are quite innocuous. I can't even tell you (yet) what they do, but I'm sure that Levi will soon be telling me all about them. After all, he's the one who brought home a little blue-and-white, plastic Smurf the other day, after enjoying a Happy Meal with a friend. I've heard there's another Smurf movie in theaters now, so I suppose that a weekly or, heaven forbid, daily television program will soon follow (again.) When Christmas arrives, most young children are destined to find at least one Smurf toy or T-shirt or coloring book, or even the movie itself, all wrapped up under the tree. And then, when school starts again in January, I'll have to sit through more endless rounds of Show and Tell, Smurf-style.
All Smurfs look pretty much alike. They come in a variety of sizes, it's true, and they can be made of plush fabric or plastic, but they all wear the same little white tights, and the same little white hats on their little blue heads. There isn't much a three- or four-year-old can say about a Smurf--certainly nothing that the whole class hasn't heard before. "It's blue." "He has a white hat on his head." "His name is..." "I got it for Christmas." "I have that movie!" After we've heard it for the third or fourth time, all of us, kids and teachers alike, begin to feel a little restless. And by the twentieth time...forget it!
Blue is one of my favorite colors. I like Smurf-blue, as long as I don't have to see it on a Smurf. I refuse to set foot in any theater that is airing the newest Smurf movie, but I'm wondering if anyone would like to take a certain boy to see it. You're welcome to take him, really. Just don't let him bring home any more souvenirs. Although, I suppose he could always take a Smurf to school for Show and Tell... (He's not in my class.)
I don't know why even the thought of Smurfs bothers me so much. They really are quite innocuous. I can't even tell you (yet) what they do, but I'm sure that Levi will soon be telling me all about them. After all, he's the one who brought home a little blue-and-white, plastic Smurf the other day, after enjoying a Happy Meal with a friend. I've heard there's another Smurf movie in theaters now, so I suppose that a weekly or, heaven forbid, daily television program will soon follow (again.) When Christmas arrives, most young children are destined to find at least one Smurf toy or T-shirt or coloring book, or even the movie itself, all wrapped up under the tree. And then, when school starts again in January, I'll have to sit through more endless rounds of Show and Tell, Smurf-style.
All Smurfs look pretty much alike. They come in a variety of sizes, it's true, and they can be made of plush fabric or plastic, but they all wear the same little white tights, and the same little white hats on their little blue heads. There isn't much a three- or four-year-old can say about a Smurf--certainly nothing that the whole class hasn't heard before. "It's blue." "He has a white hat on his head." "His name is..." "I got it for Christmas." "I have that movie!" After we've heard it for the third or fourth time, all of us, kids and teachers alike, begin to feel a little restless. And by the twentieth time...forget it!
Blue is one of my favorite colors. I like Smurf-blue, as long as I don't have to see it on a Smurf. I refuse to set foot in any theater that is airing the newest Smurf movie, but I'm wondering if anyone would like to take a certain boy to see it. You're welcome to take him, really. Just don't let him bring home any more souvenirs. Although, I suppose he could always take a Smurf to school for Show and Tell... (He's not in my class.)
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