I would love to say I was very intentional about introducing my children to that wizard of scrumdiddlyumptious things, Willy Wonka.
The truth is, I came upon the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory {by the incomparable Roald Dahl} before a long road trip and threw it into my bag of tricks almost without thinking. I also almost forgot to read it and came upon it on the return road trip and started to read it aloud when I had had as much, “Are we ho-o-o-ome yet??” and backseat wrestling as I could stand.
Of course, my children fell in love with Charlie Bucket, Veruca Salt, Mike Teavee, Violet Beauregarde, and especially Augustus Gloop. My imitation of Augustus’ accent, borrowed from the movie, drew so many screeches of delight that we had to re-read each Augustus scene several times over. Most of the hilarious things said by Willy Wonka had the same effect.
When we got home, my three homegrown Oompa Loompas discovered that there was a movie. {Don’t you dare tell them about the modern interpretation starring Johnny Depp. As far as our household is concerned, Gene Wilder is the one and only.} It immediately became a favorite.
Mr. Turkentine
Strangely, it is a relatively small character whose wisdom is regularly quoted in our household. Charlie’s teacher Mr. Turkentine does not appear in Roald Dahl’s book, and in fact, until writing this post I was 100% certain his name was Mr. Turpentine, so that will be fun to break to the kids.
There are several hilarious bits that include Charlie’s teacher, but what has stuck with my kids and me is the incident in which Charlie is assisting him with the making of a wart remover. I assume this is a science lesson?
“Of course you don’t know. You don’t know, because only I know. If you knew and I didn’t know, you’d be teaching me instead of me teaching you. And for a student to teach his teacher is presumptuous and rude.“
This line is one that I pull out at the {all too plentiful} times that my children try to correct me. I’m afraid they have gotten a head start on the stereotypical teenage notion that they know everything and I know nothing. Obviously, I’ve popped out of the earth with not a bit of real-world experience. Thank goodness they have been sent to school so they can bestow their knowledge upon poor, simple, ignorant me.
Vomit.
Most recently, my first grader has been correcting me every time I state any number over one hundred. “One hundred and two.” “One thousand and four hundred.” Apparently, they teach the children very specifically to omit that offensive three-letter word. “One hundred two.” “One thousand four hundred.”
Hilariously, they also attempt to lecture to me about all those nineties-era things that are coming back. Teaching me about Pokemon when my sister is a walking Pokemon encyclopedia? Explaining that Mario and Luigi are brothers? Girl, listen here. I’m from the age of Yikes! erasers and I remember a time before the original Nintendo Entertainment System, so sit on down.
At these times, I look my children square in the eye and ask this loaded question: “What does Mr. Turkentine say about students who teach their teachers?” And I do not rest until they have answered, “That it’s presumptuous and rude.”
The little old ladies at the grocery store can close their gaping mouths now. No one thinks a child can use a huge word like “presumptuous.”
“You’re not my teacher!”
This argument came up precisely one time. Here’s how it went:
Child: You’re not my teacher.
Me: Oh really. Who taught you how to talk? Who taught you how to walk? Who taught you how to use a fork? Use the toilet?
Child:
Offspring: 0, Mom: 1.
