In lieu of prepping for and heading out to the interview which I was supposed to have today, I am of course accomplishing all sorts of necessary tasks around the house. The place is spotless; the laundry is done; the driveway is shovelled; and I have alphabetized everyone’s sock drawers.
Aaaaaaaahahahahhaaha! Don’t you love it when I’m ridiculous? I might’ve fooled everyone, too, if I hadn’t thrown in the obvious lie about the laundry being done. That’s me, just straying a wee bit over the top and causing the entire story to collapse. Alas.
Okay, what I’ve actually been doing today is exercising this lovely brain of mine, puzzling through many of the pressing issues of our time. I have so. Shut up.
Every parent believes their child(ren) to be of above-average intelligence, it seems. I’ve yet to meet the parent of a dim-bulb child who smiles ruefully and admits, “We love him very much, but, well, there’s nothing wrong with with working at McDonald’s.” Living in a town with a so-called “exceptional” school system only magnifies the party line of every child being gifted and blah blah blah. At the same time, however, alhough no one will admit to having a *gasp!* simply average child, our school system has eliminated almost all tracking in the name of No Child Left Behind (or, as I like to call it, No Stupid Child’s Parents Pissed Off).
So when I found the official-looking letter in Chickadee’s bag that proudly proclaimed she’d been selected to participate in a “mathematics enrichment program,” I was surprised. I honestly didn’t know they still did stuff like that. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least, and the letter didn’t say it would self-destruct in fifteen seconds or anything. Nor did it promise that terrible luck would befall my entire family if I breathed a word of this to anyone. All good, right?
Well, sort of. As I read on, I discovered that this program involves a half an hour a week for… four weeks. Wow. Two whole hours above and beyond the cookie-cutter curriculum! I’m all atwitter. Oh, wait. No I’m not. That’s just me giggling. Sure, I’m not expecting differential equations in first grade (unlike most parents, I have a reasonable view of my child’s abilities… she won’t be ready for those until third grade, I think) (that’s called humor, folks), but what exactly is she going to learn in two hours that changes her life?
Maybe my expectations are unreasonable. But in my typical glass-half-empty way, I’m more annoyed by this program than I would be if she was just left to the usual “let’s cater to the lowest common denominator” agenda. And at the same time, I know that someone, somewhere, is right now complaining that their child wasn’t selected for this program. And to that parent I just want to say… yes, it’s true: these two hours are what shall separate the Ivy Leaguers from the Community College-bound. At least, that’s totally what I’m planning to tell myself when Chickadee comes home those days and her answer to, “How was school today?” is still, “It was boring.”
Whew. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.
Oh, did I say “issueS?” Okay, yes; the math enrichment wasn’t the only thing I was thinking about today.
I was also wondering whether wanting to cover my bed in crispy bacon and roll around in it, naked, is weird. In that same vein, I briefly wondered if a little much-needed male companionship might cause my love of pork fat to diminish, somewhat. Unable to puzzle out either answer, I just ate the bacon while muttering “Mmmmmm… hogfat,” ala Homer Simpson.
It must be a theme with the nookie deprived: You’re nuzzling pork products and I’m writing bad love poems to Dove chocolate. Oh, I’ll be a catch for that lucky boy, I will be.
In short–girl, you crack me up.
Perhaps this might change your pork fat cravings? MmMmGoodiva
Congratulations to Chickadee, ’cause I’m sure she will still feel special that she was invited. ;)
Homer: Wait a minute wait a minute wait a minute. Lisa honey, are you saying you’re “never” going to eat any animal again? What about bacon?
Homer: Pork chops?
Lisa: Dad! Those all come from the same animal!
Homer: Yeah, right Lisa. A wonderful, magical animal.
When the gifted class came for me I said no thanks. They took my brother so I figured they would be satisfied. The whole myth is that you get to be creative in those classes, but sometimes that’s not the case. I opted for lowest common denominator where I could talk the teacher into letting me do my own assignments. And I didn’t have the principal watching my every move. I’m with you, be skeptical. On the other hand, my brother turned out ok.
P.P.S. (pork post script)
Ok, I am surprised that I am doing this but, if you love bacon so much, here’s a fat free option: http://www.stupid.com/stat/METF.html
My 10 yo was chosen for a similarly stupendous 3 hour program. He showed he might really be brighter than we thought by refusing to go. It makes his underachieving mama so proud, lol!
My daughter was invited to be in the gifted program. My instinct: “Hell, no!” My dd’s instinct: “Look, they like me, they really like me!”
I’m such a failure.
What I hear you telling me is that you want to get porked. Go for it.
just be careful during the hot bacon action. its just like having sex in the surf – it sounds romantic, looks cool in the movies, but in reality you wind up with sand in places it was never meant to go.
So, practice safe bacon rolling and never tell anyone where the bacon bits in tomorrow’s salads came from.
Would you believe…my brother-in-law told us last week that my in-laws sat him down at one point and told him that it was okay, they understood that maybe school wasn’t his thing, and if he wanted to just work at Taco Bell for the rest of his life, that was okay with them. No lie! The hell? Who says that to their kid?
He actually ended up in a trade, and in a few years he’ll be outearning every member of his family. Heh.