September 20, 2007
Yesterday, while I was out, we got a call from #2 son’s math teacher.
#2 is in high school this year, and things appeared to be going well. As far as we can tell, this kid is a zen master of many things, but not of homework. We have had him tested twice to prove to both us and the school system that he is not
or just plain stupid
All tests come back showing him as gifted and happy. The school psychologist said he was the most well adjusted person she’d ever met.
The rest of the family is a twitching, neurotic mess, but #2 is fine with that, and appears to love us anyway, even if he is our intellectual and emotional superior. But he doesn’t like to do homework.
But all this is going to change in high school, right? Middle school is just a horrible memory. I gave him a lecture on the importance of the grade point, as did the high school orientation (although he said he found a math mistake in their presentation) and turned him loose on an unsuspecting world.
I went off to the hair dresser, yesterday, got thoroughly relaxed, had a lovely chat about literature and art, with the guy that makes my apres-hair sandwiches (I always have chopped liver on rye with onions. I get Reubens for the rest of the family).
And I came home to a message from a teacher. She said she would call us back.
I looked at my husband and said, “What do we usually drink, before talking to teachers?”
“How about Long Island ice tea?”
“With ice?” he said hopefully. (I am a lazy bartender, and the ice is in the basement).
I looked at #2 son. “Go get the ice. Because this is ALL YOUR FAULT.”
I made drinks, plenty of liquor, a little lemon, light on the soda. And I put bendy straws in them. We needed happy straws. It had come to that. If I’d had cocktail umbrellas, I’d have used them. (cocktail umbrellas are the nuclear option, when trying to cheer yourself up by drinking).
And we asked #2 son what he had done.
He had no idea.
“Think harder. And do some homework.”
“I don’t have any.”
“MAKE SOMETHING UP.”
The return call never came. So I screwed up my nerve and called back this morning.
There are no problems. Everything is fine. She just wondered if we had any questions. We checked the gradebook. He is missing an assignment (no big deal) but is averaging an A+.
This was kind of like coming up behind someone with post traumatic stress, tapping them on the shoulder and yelling “How’ya doin’?”