Okay, it’s time to strut a little bit here at The Fourth Row. We had parent teacher conferences for the twins yesterday. They have both tested at the top of their respective classes in every single category. They were associating word sounds that were two steps above the normal range, or something of that ilk. I actually have no idea what that means at all, but I’m sure it’s very good because their teachers were smiling as they told us. I quickly realized that that the smart kids are the most difficult for the teacher to talk about.
Teacher: Your son is a joy to have in class. He has excellent blah, blah, blah. And he has tested at the top of his class.
Smile at Parents.
Pregnant Pause.
Parents: Oh, thank you so much. He really enjoys every day here. We’re so happy he is doing so well.
And both teachers suggested that we have the twins tested for the gifted program.
And there is literally nothing left to say. Except that took less than a minute, and we have fifteen of our public school taxpayer minutes to fill. So now, instead of filling the ensuing time with advice on how to improve the child's skills at home, the teacher and the aide must expound upon the cute little quirks the each child has and how endearing they have become. Noah is a wonderful block builder. He even puts windows in his buildings. Aidan loves to give hugs to the teacher’s aide. She loves to get them. So nice. So sweet. So Hallmark.
And after every short story, we as parents smile again, laugh on cue, and reiterate how happy we are that they are doing well. By the end of the second “conference” I was grinning on the inside. But then, almost as though it was planned for the climax of the meeting, Aidan’s teacher said to us, “There is one more thing that I’d like to discuss with you.” Her look became very serious. Our smiles faltered, and I wondered what had happened with our lovable, huggable, boy wonder genius.
“Aidan would like to drink the milk we serve here in the classroom and not the milk you send from home. He says your milk tastes yucky. We serve one percent here. It’s not the organic milk-in-a-box you send in, but it is still very good for him”
If I had been drinking milk, it would have come out my nose.
Oh, and for the record, Leah caved like a faulty mine shaft. I love you dear, but I hate that milk too.
