Just trying to kill time before I leave work
I'm really hoping that my son is not a dummy. He seems very alert for a month old, but I don't think alertness is the best barometer of how much intelligence a baby possesses. I'm not looking for nor do I expect a genius. Just please don't be an idiot.
I was lucky enough to be born with an average amount of intelligence. I'm smart enough to know that I'm stupid in relation to the people out there with real brains. I was bussed to white schools up until the 7th grade and was in the top class during my Caucasian tenure. In the 8th grade I went to school in the 'hood' where again I was placed in the top class there. I was feeling pretty confident about my scholastic abilities until I was completely blown out the water by those kids who had been preparing to be engineers, doctors and scientists since the 4th grade. But Math was never my thing and this class was primarily focused on Math and Science. We had back-to-back-back periods of science twice a week with the portly, bespectacled Mr. Holler. He was the only geek teacher that I know of to have 13 year old groupies fighting over who would get to carry his bunsen burners after class.
I was an English fan, probably because my mother taught me to read when I was three. She enrolled me in this program at Queens college for pre-schoolers who were early learners. We played games that involved reading and spelling, made rock-candy and learned how to count. An ongoing project that we had involved writing letters to a "buddy" in the class, and leaving them in his or her cubby. Every day I would get a letter from my buddy which was filled with kiddie affirmations about how "nice" I was or how good a friend I had become.
Initially I never wrote any letters to my buddy. Towards the end of the semester, Jonathon tearfully approached the teacher with his mother explaining that he had never received a letter from me. The teacher pulled me aside along with my mother to ask why I hadn't completed the assignment by writing to my assigned buddy. It was at this point I had to make one of the hardest admissions in my short life. While I could read..I didn't know how to write. I was three years old...and partially illiterate. My secret would have been safe if Jonathon had not been such a cry-baby. My mother upon finding this out apologized to the teacher and Jonathans mother. When we got home we immediately got to work on a buddy letter for Jonathon to leave in his cubby. I believe it went something like this:
Dear Jonathan. You are my friend. I like you very much. From Lawrence.
Looking back if I had the chance to pen another letter, it would go something like this.
Dear Jonathan. You are a snitch. Watch your back during nap-time bitch. Pay-back is a motha. From Lawrence.
I was lucky enough to be born with an average amount of intelligence. I'm smart enough to know that I'm stupid in relation to the people out there with real brains. I was bussed to white schools up until the 7th grade and was in the top class during my Caucasian tenure. In the 8th grade I went to school in the 'hood' where again I was placed in the top class there. I was feeling pretty confident about my scholastic abilities until I was completely blown out the water by those kids who had been preparing to be engineers, doctors and scientists since the 4th grade. But Math was never my thing and this class was primarily focused on Math and Science. We had back-to-back-back periods of science twice a week with the portly, bespectacled Mr. Holler. He was the only geek teacher that I know of to have 13 year old groupies fighting over who would get to carry his bunsen burners after class.
I was an English fan, probably because my mother taught me to read when I was three. She enrolled me in this program at Queens college for pre-schoolers who were early learners. We played games that involved reading and spelling, made rock-candy and learned how to count. An ongoing project that we had involved writing letters to a "buddy" in the class, and leaving them in his or her cubby. Every day I would get a letter from my buddy which was filled with kiddie affirmations about how "nice" I was or how good a friend I had become.
Initially I never wrote any letters to my buddy. Towards the end of the semester, Jonathon tearfully approached the teacher with his mother explaining that he had never received a letter from me. The teacher pulled me aside along with my mother to ask why I hadn't completed the assignment by writing to my assigned buddy. It was at this point I had to make one of the hardest admissions in my short life. While I could read..I didn't know how to write. I was three years old...and partially illiterate. My secret would have been safe if Jonathon had not been such a cry-baby. My mother upon finding this out apologized to the teacher and Jonathans mother. When we got home we immediately got to work on a buddy letter for Jonathon to leave in his cubby. I believe it went something like this:
Dear Jonathan. You are my friend. I like you very much. From Lawrence.
Looking back if I had the chance to pen another letter, it would go something like this.
Dear Jonathan. You are a snitch. Watch your back during nap-time bitch. Pay-back is a motha. From Lawrence.
posted by Larry Bailey at 1:37 PM
1 Comments:
HA HA HA!! What a great payoff to your story!
- HogWilly!
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