My five-year-old niece and I got into a war of words the other day over, of all things, a Miley Cyrus song. I was trying to perform 7 Things I Hate About You to the audience of my own reflection, courtesy of my niece's in-wall aquarium, but she kept interrupting me to tell me that I was messing up the words. I was getting it all WRONG WRONG WRONG!
"She says 7 things I like about you, not hate," my niece insisted.
"Yes," I said, in my very patient teacher voice. "But she only says that when she sings the chorus for the last time. She changes it from hate to like at the end."
I then took my explanation one step further.
"You see, she's only saying she hates him because her feelings are a little bit hurt, but she really likes him. Get it? The song is called 7 Things I Hate About You, I promise I'm not lying."
"WRONG WRONG WRONG! It's like. It's like. She says 7 things I LIKE about you, and that's it. She never says HATE. SHE NEVER SAYS HATE."
And with this, she started to come unhinged. Her eyes began to water and her nostrils flared. She looked like someone whose entire belief system was on the verge of being shattered by someone she once trusted. Her face seemed to read, Why are you pushing me? I'm right. You're wrong. I'm SURE. Stop messing with me, you crazy poopy head!
Now, at the sight of this, any other adult, I'm SURE, would have just said, Okay, okay...it's LIKE; you're right, just to put the kid's mind at ease.
Nope, sorry. I don't play that. I tell kids the truth, even if they think they don't want to hear it. How else are they supposed to learn how to trust you? I don't rub it in their faces or anything, but I don't believe in BS at any age level. Sometimes, because it has to be, it's a softer version of the truth, but the truth nonetheless. And sometimes I just tell it like it is. For example, when one of my students asked me if getting your ears pierced hurts, I said yes...because it does. She said, "But my mommy said it doesn't hurt."
"Your mommy is lying," I said. "But if you want to be able to wear earrings, you have to get your ears pierced. You have to decide if it's worth the pain."
The next day, after her having gotten her ears pierced at the mall, she came to class and reported on her experience.
"You were right, Miss Sandra. It did hurt. But at least now I can wear earrings."
See? The truth is a good thing. Anyway, back to the song.
"Listen," I said. "I'm sorry you're upset, but I'm correct. You'll hear for yourself when the song comes on."
An hour later, while my niece and I were in her kitchen sharing a slice of cheesecake, we heard the song. It was coming from the TV in the living room, the TV that is perpetually tuned to the Disney Channel. We dashed toward it, practically pushing each other into the wall in the process.
And there she was, Miley Cyrus, in her slick new video, singing 7 Things...I LIKE About You.
"Ha!" my niece blurted out before she effortlessly slid into a very sing song-y, "Told you so. Told you so. You got schooled. It's LIKE. It's LIKE. You were wrong."
How was I to know that the Disney Channel only plays the last part of the video, neglecting the hate altogether? This is the only bit of the song my niece has ever heard because A) she has yet to hear it in its entirety on the radio, and B) she does not watch MTV.
So, to her and to millions of other young Miley Cyrus fans watching the Disney Channel, Miley just straight-up likes 7 things about you. I mean, Disney should just go ahead and call itself the Disinfectant Company once and for all. Really.
Unwilling to let her revel in her perceived victory, even if she is just five years old, I tried to clarify things, for her sake, of course.
"You were sort of right, but sort of wrong," I said. "When you come over my house I'll let you hear the real version of the song, not the baby one."
My niece's eyes narrowed suddenly. And then, sailing through the air and toward my head came her enormous satin-faced Miley Cyrus pillow.
"Oh yeah?" I said. "Is that what a Miley Cyrus fan does? She throws stuff with Miley's face on it all around? Huh? Do you think Miley Cyrus would like that you threw her pillow? I don't think so."
Stomping toward me, scowling the whole way, my niece approached me and dramatically snatched the pillow up from the ground where it lay.
"This," she said, pointedly pointing to the smiling face on the pillow she was now holding, "is NOT Miley Cyrus. Don't you see she's wearing a blonde wig? Don't you see she's in character? This," she repeated, "is Hannah Montana."
Again, sort of right, but sort of wrong. Like I said, the truth is a good thing, it just fails to be an uncomplicated thing at the same time.
"She says 7 things I like about you, not hate," my niece insisted.
"Yes," I said, in my very patient teacher voice. "But she only says that when she sings the chorus for the last time. She changes it from hate to like at the end."
I then took my explanation one step further.
"You see, she's only saying she hates him because her feelings are a little bit hurt, but she really likes him. Get it? The song is called 7 Things I Hate About You, I promise I'm not lying."
"WRONG WRONG WRONG! It's like. It's like. She says 7 things I LIKE about you, and that's it. She never says HATE. SHE NEVER SAYS HATE."
And with this, she started to come unhinged. Her eyes began to water and her nostrils flared. She looked like someone whose entire belief system was on the verge of being shattered by someone she once trusted. Her face seemed to read, Why are you pushing me? I'm right. You're wrong. I'm SURE. Stop messing with me, you crazy poopy head!
Now, at the sight of this, any other adult, I'm SURE, would have just said, Okay, okay...it's LIKE; you're right, just to put the kid's mind at ease.
Nope, sorry. I don't play that. I tell kids the truth, even if they think they don't want to hear it. How else are they supposed to learn how to trust you? I don't rub it in their faces or anything, but I don't believe in BS at any age level. Sometimes, because it has to be, it's a softer version of the truth, but the truth nonetheless. And sometimes I just tell it like it is. For example, when one of my students asked me if getting your ears pierced hurts, I said yes...because it does. She said, "But my mommy said it doesn't hurt."
"Your mommy is lying," I said. "But if you want to be able to wear earrings, you have to get your ears pierced. You have to decide if it's worth the pain."
The next day, after her having gotten her ears pierced at the mall, she came to class and reported on her experience.
"You were right, Miss Sandra. It did hurt. But at least now I can wear earrings."
See? The truth is a good thing. Anyway, back to the song.
"Listen," I said. "I'm sorry you're upset, but I'm correct. You'll hear for yourself when the song comes on."
An hour later, while my niece and I were in her kitchen sharing a slice of cheesecake, we heard the song. It was coming from the TV in the living room, the TV that is perpetually tuned to the Disney Channel. We dashed toward it, practically pushing each other into the wall in the process.
And there she was, Miley Cyrus, in her slick new video, singing 7 Things...I LIKE About You.
"Ha!" my niece blurted out before she effortlessly slid into a very sing song-y, "Told you so. Told you so. You got schooled. It's LIKE. It's LIKE. You were wrong."
How was I to know that the Disney Channel only plays the last part of the video, neglecting the hate altogether? This is the only bit of the song my niece has ever heard because A) she has yet to hear it in its entirety on the radio, and B) she does not watch MTV.
So, to her and to millions of other young Miley Cyrus fans watching the Disney Channel, Miley just straight-up likes 7 things about you. I mean, Disney should just go ahead and call itself the Disinfectant Company once and for all. Really.
Unwilling to let her revel in her perceived victory, even if she is just five years old, I tried to clarify things, for her sake, of course.
"You were sort of right, but sort of wrong," I said. "When you come over my house I'll let you hear the real version of the song, not the baby one."
My niece's eyes narrowed suddenly. And then, sailing through the air and toward my head came her enormous satin-faced Miley Cyrus pillow.
"Oh yeah?" I said. "Is that what a Miley Cyrus fan does? She throws stuff with Miley's face on it all around? Huh? Do you think Miley Cyrus would like that you threw her pillow? I don't think so."
Stomping toward me, scowling the whole way, my niece approached me and dramatically snatched the pillow up from the ground where it lay.
"This," she said, pointedly pointing to the smiling face on the pillow she was now holding, "is NOT Miley Cyrus. Don't you see she's wearing a blonde wig? Don't you see she's in character? This," she repeated, "is Hannah Montana."
Again, sort of right, but sort of wrong. Like I said, the truth is a good thing, it just fails to be an uncomplicated thing at the same time.
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