MAGICALLY MISCHIEVOUS
I seldom write about my day job which is that of a preschool teacher. A myriad of interesting storylines happens each day (I could write a book about it and likely will, one day), but to remain topical in celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day this past week, I’ll recant one of the more fascinating classroom celebrations: a visit from a Leprechaun.
Like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny, preschool teachers help propagate the mythology that there are magical beings out there in the world that, apparently, need to interact with children. Except Leprechauns are quickly adored and then hated for their shenanigans. I’ll explain.
In class, teachers read books about Leprechauns, usually something like Leprechaun On the Loose by Marcia Thornton Jones and illustrated by Cyd Moore, which depicts a waist-high, green-coated little person causing all sorts of trouble: making messes, licking the frosting off of cupcakes, and placing the blame on some clueless kiddo who is then scolded for causing all the damages. The book leads to the Leprechaun being caught (as they all must be, apparently) wherein we learn of two choices:
1. Keep the little guy in your sights and show the world that they do, in fact, exist.
OR
2. Make a deal to let him go and keep a pile of treasure as a reward.
(All kids choose the treasure over showing the world that Leprechauns exist, which I always find intriguing. I always thought this meant kids were aware of the hassle of tying up a hostage in order to make sure he doesn’t escape—as even 4-year-olds realize how difficult it is to wrongfully detain someone for long periods for fame or an exchange of funds.
…But the real answer is that kids will give up most anything for shiny, glimmering cold coins.)
With the story read, the kids go home in anticipation for if a Leprechaun visits the classroom on Saint Patrick’s Day.
A Leprechaun always does. And makes a huge mess.
Chairs are flipped over, green footprints line the walls, lockers, and bathroom toilet. Glitter is littered everywhere in the room (to the chagrin of custodial staff in the building). The traps that were set (a couple of painted cardboard boxes with a stick propping them upright and a string to spring the trap closed) are flipped over, tossed aside like nothing, not one capable of catching our vandalizing Leprechaun.
The gag is that we teachers tour the classroom, taking stock of what damage the little green guy dealt. Then, we all clean up the mess, and the kids are quick to realize what makes Leprechauns their least favorite of magical creatures:
The mess needs cleaning up, and guess who gets to help?
That’s right: the kids.
Quickly, the classroom of excited children turns into an angry mob, spewing smut and shaming the Leprechaun for causing such a headache.
“I hate leprechauns!” proclaims a little girl.
“If that leprechaun comes in this classroom again, I’m going to punch him in the face,” says the one boy in my room predisposed to solving EVERY issue with a punch to the face or worse.
“Why did he make a mess of our classroom” Another little boy asks as he tries to sweep up glitter from our rubberized tile flooring (a task too herculean even for us teachers).
As a reward for our foiled attempts to catch the Leprechaun, we are given chocolate coins in golden foil and a lot of green-frosted cupcakes with shamrock candies on top. There’s often a note left behind that the leprechaun has written, teasing the kids for being incapable of catching him.
“Tee hee hee! You see? I knew you’d never catch me! But keep on trying, and someday finding, my pot O’ gold before I flee!”
Once the mess is cleaned up and the treats handed out, the outrage simmers but is not forgotten. Every time a Leprechaun is mentioned, kids conspire to catch one and just what they’d do.
“I’ll choke him with a rope,” says one little boy—I’ll let you guess which one.
And just like that, we’ve taught the kids a very valuable lesson about mischievous creatures that cause messes: they are hated with a mob-like vengeance unless they give delicious treats.
And in this way, I think we keep a healthy dose of mob-like mentality going in schools.
Plus, the green cupcakes were pretty good this year.
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A SPIDEY’S WAY HOME
I’m late to the party because I did not see Spider-Man: No Way Home until it was released digitally this past week (due to an upsurge in Covid cases when it was released in October, it didn’t seem worth it to brave the theater at that time). Now that I’ve seen the movie, I can say definitively the movie does things with nostalgia no other film has done before it. What Spider-Man: No Way Home accomplished was validating previous iterations of the franchise. Spider-Man existed as Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield, and there was always a sense of defeat when one saga ended and another reboot was around the corner.
Until Spider-Man: No Way Home, those previous entries felt dejected, pointless, and hollow.
Building off the multi-verse that other Marvel movies and series such as Loki and Avengers: Endgame established, it made sense for previous Spider-Men to arrive and continue to have a life. They weren’t wasted renditions of a superhero cinematic formula that wasn’t polished by the Marvel Studios team or botched by spearheading more films by Sony executives looking to make bank on their cheaply bought superhero property. Instead, those stories could live on and impact the present, introducing a 3-dimensional history of the Peter Parker character whereby Toby’s Spider-Man is in his upper 40s, Andrew Garfield’s in his 30s, and the two showing what became of their lives in other universes.
And the film chose critical moments from Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy and Garfield’s Amazing Spider-Man. The impact of what it means to fail, what it means to watch Uncle Ben die and be told, “With great power comes great responsibility,” (and was told through the dying words of Aunt May—Marisa Tomei’s character in the modern telling) hit the hardest of the three only because the original movies set the groundwork to enhance that message. It was no longer a line stereotypically required for Spider-Man to hear, but was now for Tom Holland’s Peter Parker, specifically—it was the missing piece of his origin, that the one closest to him had to die and recant this ominous rite of passage and change his destiny forever.
None of this could have happened without the brilliant recall in the script and bringing all the familiar faces of the cinematic Spider-Man canon together. Those moments hit hardest when we saw both Toby and Andrew struggling to guide young Tom Holland (his Peter Parker character, of course) because they know what he’s going through—the dread, the anger, the pain, the desire for vengeance, knowing the only way forward is to be virtuous in the face of despair. Toby and Andrew’s Peter Parker watched a younger version of themselves suffer through the pinnacle moments that defined their own lives. And there was no changing this, only being present to say they know how he feels because they experienced it, too.
That was the cost of Spider-Man with Toby Maguire and sacrificing his personal dreams for the responsibility of protecting those that needed help. It was the cost of losing Gwen with Andrew Garfield’s Amazing Spider-Man, knowing there was no way back to a normal life after the loved one that meant the most to him dies. And in this film, Tom Holland’s Peter Parker loses his Aunt May, his most prized love.
And now the tale can be told anew.
I’ve never seen a more wonderful symphony conducted with all the original pieces in place. So many great moments were redeemed from movies that meant so much for so long—but were seemingly meaningless with every failed attempt to be the definitive edition of the Spider-Man. I don’t think Tom Holland is the definitive Spider-Man because I loved the old franchises for their own unique telling of the story. What made this film special, was the cohesive strength of the three Peter Parkers coming together in a rich tapestry that made all those past moments matter.
And isn’t it wonderful that it all meant something after all?
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Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,
