Repeat After Me: Boys Not Saints

Please tell me I have never claimed my boys are saints. If I have, that karma came back and bit me in the ass tonight. I swear I have a saying, “I am raising boys not saints.”

Tonight was the Parent/Teacher Open House. We go into the Parish Hall and the Principal introduces everyone on the board, including their new damn Treasurer, so anyone who didn’t know me before (98% of the school as I prefer to lay low) does now. We hear about all the big things in store this year, yada yada yada, then off we go to our kid’s classrooms to understand the new grade and meet the teacher. I have my Better Half do the younger kid’s classes while I do Son#1. Been there, done that with the other two, since I’m in charge of their education, assisting in studies etc., I need to make sure I know all the ropes for the new grade.

I know I posted earlier that Son#1 has who I will now call “Man Teacher”. I actually love Man Teacher. He’s a very good man and believes that the kids need to be exposed to other things in schooling besides just academic book work. So during the religious studies, instead of opening the Bible and making them learn chapter and verse, he takes them to Nursing Homes to interact with the elderly. We will do that 4 times this year. We’re also doing a type of exchange program with an immigrant school where our kids go there for an entire day, learning, playing, and breaking bread with them. Later on in the year, the kids come to our school and do the same thing. I need to make it clear that while I am sure our school is much nicer than the school they are visiting, my children do not go to some exclusive plush hoity toity Catholic School. It is very plain and old. But it is homey and we love it.

I’m excited about all this stuff Man Teacher is doing. He has older kids and he’s the basketball coach for is son’s High School B-Ball team. He’s really into kids. All the kids in the school love Man Teacher so I feel fortunate we have him.

Today, he brought a video camera to school and he videotaped all the kids doing their routine, walking into the classroom, sitting quietly at their desks, and doing the morning prayer. Then he took the camera and went to each child individually. As luck would have it, he started with Son#1. Keep in mind, everyone knows me now, although I probably only knew 10% of the parents before. I am sitting under the TV when Son#1 comes on the screen.

“Good morning, Son#1”, says Man Teacher.
“Good morning, Man Teacher”, replies Son#1
“What did you do this summer,” asks Man Teacher?
And Son#1 says, I kid you not, “Thank you Mom and Dad for taking me to Pensacola this summer and letting me set 3 foot fires. I love you!”
My eyes are big as saucers. I’m not breathing. I’m staring at the TV and every parent in that class is completely cracking up. Dad’s are patting me on the back. Moms are laughing and yelling, “Man Teacher! I don’t want my son sitting next to Son#1!”

And could it get worse? Oh yes it could. Because 5 minutes later, Man Teacher is taping Sweet Little Girl Classmate doing her schpiel to her parents telling them she loves them and how wonderful her summer was and in the background is Son#1’s desk. In the beginning, you see his face… a little, mainly his chest and body. Slooooowwwly his face gets closer and closer to his desk so it is in full view of the camera. Sweet Little Girl Classmate is now sharing her screen time with Son#1 in the background, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows, like something you would see at a professional sports event when the camera breaks into the stands. Oh and to make it just a little more pleasant, EVERY parent in the classroom notices and is breaking up through the whole thing. I am aghast and I’m laughing that nervous laugh, breathing in only, not exhaling, tears streaming down my face in a combination of laughter and horror as he continues to steal Sweet Little Girls Classmate's screen time.

Oh the shame of it all.

And for your information, the real story of the Pensacola trip goes like this. My boys have a magnifying glass and they go outside my home here in West Palm and fry ants. My folks have a big ass magnifying glass, I mean big, they don’t make them like this anymore. So whenever we get to my folk’s house, they wake up bright and early and yell, “Mom! We’re going outside to burn!” and off they go. I allow this because there are rules. First, other than ants, you burn nothing alive. You can only burn in the driveway or a sidewalk. And you must always have a cup of water with you. I did this stuff when I was a kid. This is what kids do.

Well they ran outside to burn and we’re checking on them, someone is always popping by a window to look. My Mom walks by a window and she sees flames! She runs outside and they have burned pine straw and leaves to nearly a 3 foot flame! And they’re fanning it!!! Keep in mind, they are no where near a lawn. They’re actually at the edge of the driveway on the cusp of the street of my folk’s cul de sac. My Mom goes running out there and they’re so excited and she looks down for their cup of water and there sits a teeny tiny little Dixie Cup. Thus ended their burning for the rest of the vacation. We are adding more parameters and precautions. They recall this as one of their fondest memories. They still talk about it. All.the.time.