Tonight was curriculum night at our son’s school.
The teachers tell the parents about what the kids are learning and the year’s goals. As if I know whether it makes any sense or is grade-appropriate. Nevertheless, I go because, well, you know the adage, “be there or be talked about”. In fact, POB (partner of blogger) and I did talk about those who weren’t there over dinner later. Let’s face it, we are all just children with graying hair. So, if you put us in a gossip-y environment, then you better run for cover.
We were at the school for two hours, during which I slipped into the slouching, smart-mouthed, bored student of my youth. I was disruptive during the reading teacher’s presentation because I was joking back and forth across the table with another mother (who has made a cameo in prior blogs — the mother of our son’s future wife). Later, I was whispering to the father of my son’s best guy friend (who also has made a cameo in prior blogs — he was the one in need of adult male bonding rituals after months at home with the kids).
During the math teacher’s presentation, I was getting antsy and was counting ceiling tiles. During the art and music presentation, which was last, I stared at the clock until there were ten minutes remaining and then I started packing up. Just the kind of child that makes teachers leave teaching.
POB took notes throughout and asked pertinent questions. She elicited smiles and positive reinforcement from the teachers. She was like that as a kid. Remember we’ve known each other since we were ten years old and I know that she always did her Hebrew school homework. Her Hebrew school homework, for G-d’s sake (in a manner of speaking).
If there is a test on the details at the next parent teacher conference, POB will ace it and won’t let me peek at her paper. I just know it.
My poor son. I sure hope nature (POB’s genes) beats nurture (my overbearing personality) because otherwise he is toast.
