I'm very fond of my child's teacher, who begins her "back to school night" with a sampling of "personal trivia." She smiles at the parents and says, "I own six pet rats."
Nothing that follows will match the "voltage" of this opening statement.
As Ms. G discusses "rewards and consequences," I think about the rats. Did she acquire all six at once? Was this the realization of a lifelong dream? Why rats?
The evening ends with that classic moment in a school meeting, the "request." "....And so," says Ms. G, "I'm respectfully asking that one of you step forward to act as Class Parent...."
I feel no guilt about my silence. I've got enough on my fucking plate. What amazes me is *not* that the mom next door feels guilt, but that she transmutes her guilt. "I happen to know," she says, "that Adam's wife is a great organizer. She should do it."
All eyes turn to Adam, whose wife is absent. If he doesn't volunteer his wife, he looks mean. If he *does* volunteer his wife, he martyrs himself, he becomes the object of her (inevitable, justified) rage. I almost can't believe I'm witnessing this scene.
Adam volunteers his wife. Everyone chuckles, as if something bizarre has *not* just happened.
My thoughts return to the rats.
perfect essay. 🐀
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