Raw Drip

For some reason we receive a ton of small, community-based free newspapers.  Every morning there’s a pile of them at the foot of our driveway.  They’re all the same, subbing the words “Tribune” for “Tattler” or “Herald” for “Journal”.  Most of their content amounts to a collection of advertisements for small local businesses with the occasional human interest story thrown in for good measure.   But my favorite thing about all these little newspapers (and the reason I haven’t sought to stop their delivery) is the community ”Incident Log”; the log of various police reports filed in the area over the previous week.  These logs always make for fascinating reading.  Here are some favorites with my commentary in italics.

Retail theft and resisting arrest – 2:32 PM: Suspect was observed concealing ten packages of raw meat in his pants and leaving the store without paying.  The meat was valued at approximately $145.

Cue the ”Is that fresh grade A sirloin in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” line. 

Loose cows – 11:57 AM: Three cows were found to be roaming loose through a local subdivision. An officer attempted to herd the cows for about 45 minutes before the owner arrived.  Upon the owner’s arrival, the cows ran through a fence, re-entering the pasture.

As far as I’m concerned, this officer got off easy.  Herding cows is a piece of cake compared to herding children.  Herding cows may seem similar to herding children since in both cases you’re stuck directing a group of unwieldy, destructive creatures who only reluctantly behave themselves when an authority figure arrives on scene.  But at least with cows you can legally use a cattle prod to urge them along.  Not so with kids – or at least that’s what the child protection authorities keep telling me.

Burglary – No Time: Unknown person(s) entered the residence by unknown means. Once inside, the person(s) set up housekeeping, remaining in the residence for at least three weeks.  The person(s) ate all of the food in the refrigerator and used the victim’s washing machine and dryer.

Attention visiting relatives: Note the fine line between welcome & unwelcome is a potential Burglary conviction. 

Indecent Exposure – 7:44 PM: A 54-year old male was charged with indecent exposure for walking naked with a glass of chardonnay while covered in Vaseline.  When questioned by police, the man stated that he was out for an evening walk and likes to do so in the nude.  When advised that public nudity was against the law, the man said that he came from Vermont where walking in the nude is legal.

Fine then, but I bet you they don’t allow you to walk naked in Vermont while covered in Vaseline do they, Mister Smarty-No-Pants??

Retail Theft – 10:17 AM: Suspect was observed entering the electronics department of the store and concealing a 15-inch LCD TV in the front of his pants before attempting to exit.

Eh…forget it.  The whole metaphor is so played out. 

 

They are the words I’ve always dreaded hearing in a Parent/Teacher conference: “…Your son is very bright. Actually, we think he’s gifted…”

Of course it wouldn’t be a good story about Adam if Miss Melissa’s statement of praise wasn’t also followed by another dreaded word “BUT…” – although the words that followed the “but’ are the subject of an entirely different post. This post is about why I’m totally bummed that he’s gifted.

As the words, “We think he’s gifted” hung in the air, I teetered uncomfortably on the little green Kindergarten chair I was forced to sit upon ready to spring forward and rage in protest. I wanted to shout at them – How do you know gifted? You send home progress reports riddled with poor grammar and spelling errors a third grader wouldn’t make! Gifted? Have you seen him try to tell a lie? He’s an amateur! The boy can’t even do a half-decent job of wiping his own butt and you think he’s gifted? Perhaps you think he’s bright because he hasn’t yet stumbled into a low-paying, thankless job like yours. A job whose high point seems to be the periodic power-trip you get from making busy working parents feel neglectful and inadequate…

Thankfully something inside me sensed that these were not the words or reaction the teachers were expecting and I silenced myself. Instead I sat there listening to their assessment of my son’s intelligence with an oppresive feeling of inevitability hanging over me like the spectre of an unwanted promotion at work.

You might be thinking, “What’s wrong with this woman? Isn’t it a good thing for your children to be seen as bright – even gifted?”

Um…no.

I know I should be flattered that my gene pool contributed to the creation of a new intellectual dynamo, but I just don’t see any good coming of this revelation. Of course I don’t want an idiot for a child either (although being male, Adam’s genetically predisposed to a certain amount of idiocy). It’s just that I’d always hoped my kids would be regarded as middle-of-the-road bright – above average, but hard working. I was hoping they’d be just smart enough to give their brain the occasional privilege of weighing in on decisions before they go with their gut, but not so super-smart that they’d be more intelligent by age 6 than I’ll ever be.

Here’s my problem with the whole “gifted” label. First of all, growing up is just going to be made that much harder for him because with all those smarts and not a clue how to use them for good; he’ll use them for evil. That means his father and I are going to have to work that much harder to keep him intellectually engaged both at home and in school. I’m already exhausted, how am I going to find time to further “engage” him? But I also have no choice in the matter. Any teacher will tell you: there’s nothing worse than a bored smart kid.

On top of him being academically mature Adam is HUGE for his age, so with the brains and the looks of a much older kid, he’s never going to be given permission to behave in a developmentally appropriate manner. There will always be behavioral expectations on him that aren’t placed on a smaller, bright kid. The battles we’ve faced this past year are NEVER going to end. Someone kill me now…

Another problem I have with labeling him “gifted” is that I don’t see a lot of extremely intelligent and happy people in this world. Oh, I’m sure they’re out there. But all the ones I’m familiar with are complicated, tortured souls. I think gifted people tend towards this level of misery because nature doesn’t favor extremes – nature likes moderation. So when you’ve got that many marbles, you end up being screwed up in some other crucial way. Besides, you know the saying that “ignorance is bliss”? Well, it is. And, while I don’t want Adam to grow up ignorant, his brightness is certainly going to eliminate the possibility of a good old fashioned “snow job” from my limited repetoire of parenting techniques.

So what’s a parent to do when your kid is poised to be much smarter than you? I haven’t a clue.  Inside I know I should be happy to have such a bright kid on my hands, but in truth, the prospect terrifies me. I’ve long functioned in this world as slightly above average and it’s where I’m most comfortable. Now, all of the sudden, I need to develop a whole new perspective, new skills, and a new grit for dealing with someone who in very short order will be much smarter than I am. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

So, like I said, ignorance is bliss…and Adam’s teacher totally ruined it for me. Bitch.

I never fully realized the extent of all my quirks and hang-ups until I became a parent. For instance, I’ve always had a complicated relationship with food and eating, but only recently did I realize how pathetic and twisted it had become.

As I said in my previous post, I have the palate of a 4 year-old so, naturally, my meal choices tend to reflect my level of culinary sophistication appealing more to kids than to most mature, sensible adults. Unfortunately for me, this means I field endless requests for bites of my food at nearly every meal. Because I’m their mom, I know I’m supposed to be cool with sharing my food with them. As a grown-up I should set a good example and encourage them to try new things – even if it means that they end up picking over the food on my plate like buzzards devouring road kill. But as I watch my food being happily dissected by greasy fingers and stuffed into eager mouths whose lips smack in delight with every bite of MY meal – well, I have some trouble taking the high road. Okay, okay…the truth is I’ve yelled, pouted and refused to share. I admit it – I’m petty, selfish, and childish. See? Told you it was pathetic and twisted.

I attempt to rationalize my “no sharing” behavior to Dick by pointing out that It’s not like we’re starving the children; we always make sure they have something to nibble on. They should be fine with their own food. But it’s annoying to me the way my meals consistently appeal to everyone at the table.

I know my behavior is despicable, so I’ve tried to dodge the whole food sharing situation altogether through the use of reverse psychology and diversionary tactics. Countless times I’ve ordered something I really didn’t want – something I thought of as “safe” or “healthy” – for the express purpose of keeping it to myself, only to find my meal somehow drawing the unwanted attention of the swarming pizzarazzi. I’ve also lied to my kids telling them that my sirloin sliders were actually made with veggie patties (code for healthy). I’ve even ordered Dick’s meal for him, ordering semi-kid friendly fare in a failed attempt to deflect the food scavengers from picking apart my meal, for a change. Every step of the way my crafty crew outwit me and steal my food as I watch helplessly.

It’s not just the kids who demand that I share my food. Whenever I order my favorite margherita pizza – one I already am forced to share with my children – Dick always wants a few pieces, too. I usually pout and whine about sharing with him as he rolls his eyes in disgust and takes the slices from my plate. Of course, this has the result of infuriating me because you couldn’t pay me or the kids to even touch the stinking sausage, jalapeno & pineapple-laden pizza monstrosity that Dick orders! Not only does Dick get to eat his pizza and mine, too, he doesn’t even have a pizza anyone would want to share in the first place. It’s just not fair that I’m the one who always has to share…

But the full extent of my “no sharing food” hang-up was revealed the other night when I happened upon a favorite episode of “Friends” featuring a storyline with Joey dating a woman who, to his great annoyance, likes to eat his food.

Something must be seriously wrong with me, because I totally relate to Joey’s feelings. I’ve got to think that my ability to strongly identify with the views of a fictionalized man-child is a big red arrow pointing at an opportunity for personal growth. Years of therapy may only scratch the surface of this food issue.

So like most things related to my flawed appearance and my even more profoundly flawed character, if I can’t learn to overcome, I’m going to have to learn how to disguise. So readers, stay tuned for the future post on “Even More Things Left Unsaid” featuring at least one annecdote about me stifling the urge to bitch about sharing my food so I can stay married to Dick and, hopefully, raise children who eat their food instead of trying to get over their relationship with it.