Ah, fourth grade—the magical crossroads where innocence meets the first whispers of pre-teen drama. It’s the age when life feels like the best thing ever because it’s pizza day at school, but also the absolute worst because ugh, long division. This is the golden era of wild imaginations, hilarious missteps, and a never-ending stream of questions that leave adults blinking, scratching their heads, and seriously wondering if Google has a “parenting FAQ” section.
Being a ten-year-old boy or girl means living in a constant state of curiosity overload. Questions pour out of their mouths faster than they can tie their shoes: “Why is the sky blue? Why do dogs have wet noses? And seriously, why can’t I have cake for breakfast? It has eggs, and eggs are healthy, right?” Fourth graders treat life like one giant science experiment—one that might involve burping the alphabet or figuring out if gum and broccoli can peacefully coexist as dinner. Spoiler alert: they can’t.
But kids today? They live in a world where answers are instant, thanks to Siri, Alexa, ChatGPT, and an endless stream of YouTube tutorials. They no longer need to wonder how airplanes fly, what’s inside a chicken nugget, or why poor Pluto got booted from the planetary lineup. Still, with all this information at their fingertips, life for fourth graders hasn’t exactly gotten simpler. If anything, it’s a little weirder.
Take the Tooth Fairy. Back in the day, she was just a mysterious nighttime visitor who left a quarter under your pillow. Easy peasy. Now? She’s the subject of heated debates about inflation, stealth operations, and why your cousin got five bucks while you only got one. And then there are birthday parties. Once upon a time, it was all about cake and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Now, they’re full-blown productions with inflatable obstacle courses, snack tables designed for Instagram, and enough balloons to fill a stadium.
Despite all their tech-savviness, though, fourth graders haven’t changed in one important way: they still see the world with unfiltered honesty and logic that’s both absurd and brilliant. They’ll loudly inform you that the school principal “lives in the basement” or point out how adults tell them to “dream big” but won’t let them build a rocket in the backyard. It’s this mix of candor and creativity that makes them so entertaining—and occasionally exhausting.
These stories are love letters to that fourth-grade magic. The endless questions, the daily catastrophes, and the universal survival code of childhood: blame your siblings whenever you can. Whether you’re a kid currently navigating the chaos of recess politics, a parent wondering why your child insists they need a pet Burmese python, or anyone who’s nostalgic for the pre-smartphone days, these stories are for you.
How Did the Tooth Fairy Get into My Room Last Night?
Last night, something suspish happened. Like, for real. So I lose my tooth—my big chomper on the bottom. It was wiggling and jiggling for, like, seventeen hundred years (okay, maybe a week), and finally it popped out like POP!—just like a cork on soda day.
Mom said, “Put it under your pillow so the Tooth Fairy can come.” I said, “How? My pillow is not a mailbox.” But she just winked like moms do when they’re being all mysterioso.
So here’s the thing: I know I closed my door. I triple-dipple checked it. The latch went click, clack, clunk. Locked like Fort Knox. I even put my stuffed army—a battalion of Fluffys and Mr. Snuggles—on patrol. But then this morning, I woke up, and Bam! The tooth was gone. Gone. Poof! Like magic smoke.
Instead, there was a whole shiny dollar under my pillow. Not a quarter. Not a stinking dime. A whole dollar. Cha-ching! I screamed, “Jackpot!” My brother came running in with cereal still stuck to his face. He said, “The Tooth Fairy isn’t real, you baby.” I said, “Oh yeah, Sherlock? Then how did this dollar get there? Magic?”
But still… How did she get in? I mean, let’s go through this:
Theory 1: She’s tiny. Like the size of a gummy bear. Maybe she squeezes through the keyhole like whoosh!—slippity-slide like toothpaste outta the tube. But then I thought, how does she carry a big, humongous dollar if she’s that small? Wouldn’t the dollar crush her like a pancake?
Theory 2: She’s invisible. Like a ninja ghost with sparkles. You know, sneaky-sneaky. Maybe she floats in, like whoooshhh, and you don’t even hear her. Or she turns into glitter dust, sprinkles through the vents, and poof! Instant cash under the pillow.
Theory 3: Mom. I mean, the Tooth Fairy could just be Mom in her PJs with a pocket full of cash. But I don’t think so. Mom’s like a bull in a China shop. She steps on LEGOs, goes Owww, and the whole house wakes up. No way she could do a secret ninja mission without knocking over my lamp.
Also, Dad doesn’t know anything because he says the Tooth Fairy doesn’t visit grown-ups “because their teeth are boring.” Which is weird because why are their teeth boring? Do adult teeth not sparkle?
Here’s the wildest part. What does the Tooth Fairy even do with all these teeth? Does she have, like, a tooth castle made out of molars and canines? A tooth bank where she saves them for emergencies? Does she eat them like popcorn? My brain almost exploded thinking about it.
Anyway, I still don’t know how she got in. Maybe she has a teeny-tiny helicopter with fairy fuel that lands on my windowsill. Or maybe my stuffed animals are actually spies helping her out. I bet Mr. Snuggles is the ringleader.
The Secrets Behind How I Pick My Nose
Okay, so, everybody picks their nose. It’s, like, a universal fact. But the trick is to do it sneaky-style, so no one knows. That’s where I come in—I’m basically a professional. Like, if nose-picking were an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. Or maybe silver, because my cousin Jake is pretty good at it too. First of all,
Rule Number One: Never, ever get caught. If someone sees you mid-pick, they’ll yell, “EWW!” and tell the whole world. So, you gotta be smooth, like a ninja. My favorite move is The Sleeve Swipe. It’s where you pretend to scratch your nose, but really, you’re on a secret booger mission. Nobody suspects a thing.
Rule Number Two: Timing is EVERYTHING. You can’t just go digging during class when the teacher’s staring at you. Rookie mistake! I wait until everyone’s busy, like during a math test or when the teacher’s back is turned. It’s all about oppor-tuna-ity, which is a big word I learned that means “the perfect time to strike.”
Rule Number Three: The Disguise. You gotta act natural. I usually fake a yawn or pretend I’m thinking really hard. Like, I put my hand on my chin, and—bam!—quick pick. It’s like being James Bond, but instead of saving the world, you’re saving yourself from embarrassment.
Now, sometimes, things get tricky. Like, one time, I found a super-sticky boogie bomb that wouldn’t budge. I had to use The Double Finger Scoop, which is an advanced move. But then my friend Mia saw me and said, “Are you mining for gold?” I panicked and yelled, “No! I had an itch!” Smooth, right?
Another important tip: Always have a backup plan. If you don’t know what to do with the treasure, you’re toast. My little brother just wipes his on the couch, but that’s gross and dangerous because Mom always finds it. I use The Tissue Tuck, where you pretend to sneeze and hide the evidence. Genius, huh?
One time, though, I got cocky. I tried The Under-the-Desk Flick during snack time, but the booger didn’t stick—it boomeranged back right onto Amy’s arm! I almost barfed, but I just said, “Well, snack time is over.” and ran for the door. Crisis averted.
So yeah, nose-picking is an art, and I’ve got it down to a science. Some people call it gross, but I call it self-maintenance. Just remember: Be quick, be clever, and never leave a trail. And if anyone asks, just say, “It was an itch!” Works every time.
Why Do We Throw People Under the Bus?
Okay, so, first of all, nobody is actually throwing anybody under a real bus. If that happened, it’d be, like, kablammo! and someone would get flattened like a pancake. I mean, can you imagine? The bus driver would be like, “Hoooonk! What just happened?!” and everyone would be screaming, “CALL 9-1-1!” So, no. It’s not that kind of thing.
It’s actually a thing called an idiom. My teacher says an idiom is when the words don’t mean what they sound like, but they mean something else. Like when someone says, “It’s a piece of cake,” they don’t mean there’s cake on the table—although that would be awesome. It just means something is super easy.
So when someone says, “He threw him under the bus,” it means they totally blamed someone else or got them in trouble, usually to save themselves. You know, like snitching. But not just snitching—like snitching times a million.
One time at school, during snack, my friend Jason spilled his chocolate milk all over the carpet. It went splish-splash-splotch everywhere, and he looked so guilty. But then when the teacher turned around, he pointed straight at ME and said, “It was him!” And I was like, “What? ME?! I didn’t even touch your milk!” But he just threw me under the bus, and I got sent to sit out of recess.
It’s also like when someone does something bad, and instead of saying, “Oops, I did it,” they just point at somebody else and yell, “It was that guy!”, even if the guy is totally innocent. That’s throwing someone under the bus. It’s not fair at all, and it feels kind of like you got tackled in dodgeball when you weren’t even playing.
My mom says grown-ups do it too, but instead of chocolate milk, it’s about boring stuff like “deadlines” or “forgotten meetings.” Like, “Oh no! My coworker didn’t tell me!” when really they just didn’t do their work. That’s throwing someone under the bus office-style.
But I think kids do it more because nobody wants to get in trouble. Like, say you broke your mom’s favorite flower vase because you were doing ninja kicks in the living room (which you’re not supposed to do). If your little brother walks in, you might say, “He did it!” so you don’t get grounded. That’s bus-throwing too, and it’s sneaky.
I asked my grandpa where this saying even came from, because I thought, like, did people throw each other under carriages in the old days? He just said, “It probably comes from politicians.” I don’t really know what that means, but grandpa always says it’s the politicians.
Anyway, now I try not to throw anyone under the bus because it’s not nice, and it’s not fair. Plus, if you throw someone under the bus, you might feel guilty, and being guilty feels like you ate three pizzas and then went on a rollercoaster—super yucky. So now, I just say, “It was an accident!” and hope for the best.
Will I Forget How to Have Fun When I Get Old?
So, I’ve been thinking about something super serious: Will I forget how to have fun when I’m old? Like, when you turn into a grown-up, does your brain just delete all the fun stuff to make room for boring things like taxes and grocery lists? That sounds like the ultimate tragedy.
Right now, fun is everywhere. It’s in building the tallest LEGO tower that almost reaches the ceiling, zooming down the slide so fast I feel like a rocket, or making up songs about spaghetti (Spaghettipalooza!). But grown-ups? They seem allergic to fun. I’ve never seen my dad ride a bike just because it’s awesome or heard my mom make dinosaur noises for no reason.
I asked my mom if she still knows how to have fun, and she said, “Of course I do! I have fun watching you.” But that sounds like a cop-out. Watching someone else have fun isn’t the same as having fun yourself. That’s like smelling pizza but not eating it!
Then I asked my dad, and he said, “Work is fun for me.” WORK? Fun? That’s like saying broccoli is a tasty dessert. I mean, maybe some jobs are cool, like being a zookeeper or a roller coaster tester, but Dad sits at a computer all day. How is that fun? His job doesn’t even have snacks.
The thing is, fun should be loud, wild, and maybe a little messy. Like playing dodgeball with meatballs or trying to jump from one couch to the other without touching the “lava.” But grown-ups are always like, “Stop that, you’ll break something!” It’s like they have fun-nesia and forgot what it’s like to be silly.
Then there’s laughing. Kids laugh all the time—at jokes, silly faces, or when someone farts (don’t lie, it’s funny). But grown-ups? They just do polite chuckles, like, “Ha, ha, that’s amusing.” Amusing? What does that even mean? Laughing should come from your gut, like a hyena in a tickle fight!
I asked my teacher if adults forget how to have fun, and she said, “No, we just have different kinds of fun.” But I don’t want different fun. I want the kind of fun where your cheeks hurt from smiling and your clothes are covered in glitter or mud or both.
I really hope I never lose my fun-ability. When I’m old, I’m going to slide down banisters, eat ice cream for breakfast, and have dance parties in my living room. And if anyone says, “Act your age!” I’ll say, “I’m acting like the coolest version of my age!”
So, yeah, I’m not worried too much. But just in case, I’m writing a note to Future Me: “Don’t forget how to have fun, and always keep a stash of bubble wrap for emergency popping sessions.” Future Me better listen, or I’m gonna give him a serious talking-to.
You can read these stories and more in my recently published book, available now on Amazon.
Burps, Boogers, and Broken Rules
The Ultimate Guide to Being a Kid
