Raising children is a tough job. They
can make you laugh, cry, groan, scream.. drop you to your knees and
then hug them until they can’t breath. They’re still all like
that old dinosaur show: “I’m the baby, you gotta love me!”
My third son has always been a smart,
lil’ mess. There were a lot of times he was too smart for his own
good, and mine too.
School homework was required before
they were allowed to do anything. If their teacher didn’t send
something, I’d make something up. They always had homework. One
dear old friend was a regular visitor and once a week she’d take
the dictionary off the shelf, open it, close her eyes, point at a
word, and all the boys had to learn the word, how to spell it and the
definition (the last one she picked was “Harridan,” which means a
grumpy old lady). Yes, homework.
I always went to all the teacher
conferences. I would come home thinking I was raising a house full
of idiots after the conferences, then get their report cards and
think “Wow! I’m doing –something- right!” I didn’t know
what, but they were doing just fine.
Well, I got notice that son #3 was
about to fail first grade. Fail. Flunk. Get held back. Whatever
you want to call it. At first I was devastated, and then I got mad.
His grades had been good all year.
Regardless of his parent/teacher conferences, his grades were all
good on his report cards. So, I scheduled an appointment with the
principal.
The meeting was amicable. Everyone
agreed the child was smart. He had great grades in reading and math.
They were above first grade expectations. The only problem was that
they thought he was “immature.” That was their reasoning for
holding him back.
I listened as long as I could stand
it, then looked the principal dead in the eye and responded “His
father is pushing 40 and he’s –still- immature; my child isn’t
going to outgrow this.”
My kid moved on to the second grade,
graduated high school and is currently a Corporal in the United
States Marine Corp.
He’s still immature.
Bess
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