Around these parts, finding a good private school is a part-time job from October to March. Each one requires an essay, personal references, an IQ test, teacher recommendation forms, a parent interview, and of course a $65 non-refundable application fee.
We are at the very last and most frightening step – the child visit. I nailed the essays and I rock at parent interviews (fundraising, you bet!!!). But I cannot control what the Little Guy does in a strange and distant classroom while I am held hostage by perky teachers and bitter coffee in the library. I will tell you, though, that all the activity books and practice handwriting and adorable outfits mean nothing when your child has the alarming habit of belching like a sailor.
The burps, they just come thundering out. And all I can think is no one light a match. I tried ignoring it. I tried the good manners discussion. I tried the gentle correction. And just as the savage beast begins to be soothed, another belch rumbles out and everyone laughs. And it sets us back a week.
After today’s visit I asked him what he did, which is of course the only report I’ll get. All I know is he built two Tonka Joe thingies, heard a story about Hootie the Owl, and burped three times. And did you close your mouth when you burped? Yes, the first two times!
If only the ability to belch were a sign of giftedness. If only they could hook him up to a seismic scale and measure the earth’s movement when the rumbling begins. A 7.2 on the Richter Scale! Go to the head of the class!
