By Heather O.
I took Jacob to gymnastics today, and since mother’s aren’t allowed into the gym for fear we will be possessed by the spirit of Nadia Comaneci and try to vault off the vault horse thingie, break a nail and sue the place for pain and suffering, there was a gaggle of us moms in the antechamber, if you will. I like these women–they are fun, energetic, and involved in their kid’s lives.
One mom asked, “So, did you take Newsweek? Did you read that article about how little boys are failing in school these days?”
No, I don’t take Newsweek, because, you know, I hate the liberal media and want all pundits to go to hell.
Ok, really, I just hate the clutter that a gaggle of magazines causes in my house. (Gaggle seems to be my word of the day, I suppose. I think it technically refers to some avarian species, but it seems to be fitting my purposes quite well today, don’t you think? I wonder how many times I can use it one post!)
Where was I? Oh, yes, magazines. A gaggle of ‘em.
Anyway, my friend went on to remark that today’s public schools have spent so much time and energy trying to get girls to catch up and realize that they, too, can look just as cool as the boys in goggles (wow, that’s almost like gaggle!) in chem class,
they forgot to spend 2 second saying it to the poor boys “You can do math and science too!”, and now everybody is just ADHD and high on Ritalin, which of course makes everybody depressed, and how can you learn about geese, gaggle like or otherwise when you are thinking deep, profound, depressiong thoughts about mortality while bouncing off the walls at the same time? Darn those teachers, when are they going to get it right?
Ok, so our sons are headed for a life of depression, ADHD, and illiteracy. oh NO!
But here’s the thing. I recently read another study somewhere (probably in that paragon of scientific findings, “Parent” magazine) that boys usually graduate from high school and set off for college feeling invincible, whereas the girls are the ones whimpering in the corner, just needing to be loved. The incidence of depression in adulthood is also apparantly much higher for women than for men, and the seeds of that seem to be planted in highschool.
Ok, so it’s our DAUGHTERS who are headed for a life of depression and, um, listening to Depeche Mode in the dark with their eyes closed, swaying to the beat and wafting incense through the air. At least they’ll be literate, though. (Wait–does anybody listen to Depeche Mode anymore? What happened to those guys, anyway. Were they even guys?)
All of this means one thing, really–our kids are doomed.
Somehow, though, I don’t buy it, or at least I can’t get all that excited about it. My parents admitted that by the time I came along, I was lucky to be alive at the end of the day. No namby pamby things like nap schedules or structured play time for me, no sir. They would basically throw some food my way sometimes, hope I would find it amongst the mess, and go on with the task of trying to make sure the house didn’t fall down while raising 6 children. And, not to brag or anything, but I did turn out to be pretty literate. I can even spell fairly well. I also know cool words like “gaggle”.
So I’m just going to keep reading to my child, keep encouraging him in his pretend games (well, maybe not all of them ..ahem..), and let him swim and gymansticize his guts out without worrying about the pending doomage of his academic career.
And if he does fail, I guess there’s still always Depeche Mode. And gaggles.
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