So my son's teacher came chasing after me as I loaded him into the car on Friday. I'm ashamed to admit that my experience with the educational system has given me a bit of exposure anxiety. History would suggest that when a teacher the size and age of this woman is willing to run herself breathless to catch me, I'd be wise to get while the getting's good. But her nervous smile stunned me. Teacher's never smile at moms like me. So I stood there, transfixed. Like a stunned deer blinded by headlights.
"Ms. Skye, Ms. Skye. (pant, pant). I just wanted you to know. David had a wonderful day--a wonderful week. He made a ninety in science. Did anybody ever tell you that David is smart?"
THUD. I bit my poor tongue into a bleeding pulp in order to hold back the fulminating "duh" that seared the tip of my tongue.
OK, reality check time. Even I have to admit that a teacher willing to admit that my son doesn't have dumplings for brains represents significant progress. And since I'm famished for anything that might resemble a compliment when it comes to my children and their challenges, I wallowed in this rare, warm, fuzzy moment.
David laughed all the way home.
I'm sure in a dozen or so years, David will be thanking his teacher for her undying faith in his intellect during his (augmented) acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize.
Or, he might type "told ya so" into his communcations device, take the money, and run like Hell.
I'm counting on plan B.
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1 comment:
OK, you really have me thinking here!
402 Lynn St would have been right across the street from me. Lots of baton twirlers, I was one at that age, I was also a brat.
Tell me, tell me, tell me!
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