Parent-Teacher Night 2013 or Shoot Me Now

So my all my fears are confirmed. I am the worst parent I know and there is now photographic proof of this. Of course, it had to be displayed on the wall outside of my daughters First Grade classroom on Parent-Teacher Night for everyone to see. While other children chose more 'upbeat' emotions to display, mine chose 'sad'.

"I feel sad...
When 'my parints yal at me and when peeple be mein to me.'"

I hoped against hope that her spelling would confuse anyone who saw it like other parents, teachers, child services....

And the 'face'! I'm sure the teacher was wondering what horrific image or 'recovered memory' my daughter called up to make that face.

We sat on tiny chairs in the hallway as we awaited our turn to be called in to the classroom. My wife and I tried to make light of it but gave up as we witnessed the facial expressions of other parents as they looked over the wall of photographic emotions or in our case, The Wall of Shame.


When we finally got to our sit down with the teacher it only got worse. We never even got around to presenting our defense (which I was ready to blame quite convincingly on all those 'mein peeple' because they were far worse than I or my wife.) I had even been practicing my eye roll/head nod-move-towards-the-significant-other when it came up.

Instead we regaled with stories of what a wonderful student she was, eager, attentive, and her imagination! Her imagination when it came to writing stories like how her brothers door got broken and other things I lost track of as I blacked out from sheer joy.

After a brief back and forth, thinking we might escape with a shred of dignity, my daughter's teacher dropped what i am sure she thought would best be saved for when the color came back to our faces.

She told us how she was going over words that rhymed on the whiteboard and the word she had written was fits or kits or something that rhymed with either. I held my breath, eyes wide as the teacher told what a few of the children had suggested , like pits or wits...and when she called on MY daughter....

I have a foul mouth, at times. I wrestle with it. I am well aware that certain words will 'slip out' on occasion. My wife is aware of this as well. I was reminded she was still aware of this as I felt her nails dig into my shoulder. Needless to say , we were both surprised when it wasn't the word we thought it would be.

"And your daughter says 'tits'" the teacher smiled.

I immediate turned to my wife and said "That didn't come from me! I say 'boobies' and you know I say 'boobies' ! I never use the 'T' word!" I tried to blame it on my mother-in-law or my daughters older cousins. It didn't matter, because I was off the hook for this. I never use the 'T' word.

The teacher explained that she tried to discreetly 'gloss' over our daughters suggestion, but you have to know my daughter to know that she was having none of it. She called out to the teacher saying 'You didn't write 'tits' down on the white board!' The teacher tried to ignore her a second time but my daughter is nothing if not persistent. 'You forgot to write down 'TITS!'

The teacher said she finally wrote it down, just to get our daughter to stop yelling it. Her bigger fear was that the principal would be walking by the room as the kids went over the entire list of words and would hear the entire class.......

"pits, kits, fits, zits, tits, hits...."

My wife and I smiled and nodded and agreed it was the right thing to do, no problems here, thanks for sharing.....

As we tried to move on to other things, I suddenly heard a voice in my head. It was Morgan Freeman. he was telling me that he was Morgan Freeman and not to be alarmed. Then he said 'Do you know what the word of the day is?' In my mind, I screamed 'NOOOOOOO!' but it was useless. Morgan Freeman smiled and said 'Titty Sprinkles!'

I spit something onto the little table we sat at and I am sure something flew out my nose and was simultaneously sucked back in as I snorted loudly in an effort to suppress a huge guffaw. I tried to turn away as I felt my face turning beat red and could hear Morgan Freeman in my head giggling and singing 'Titty Sprinkles! Titty Sprinkles!'

My wife asked what was wrong and all I could spit out was 'damninternet' as I snorted again.

We left. My wife still had her dignity. I don't know how she does it. It must be a southern thing but that woman can maintain like a rock when she wants to.

I, on the other hand, had no dignity left. No shame. Nothing. I chewed on my tongue all the way to the car as Morgan continued his little song and dance in my head. All in all, I had survived. Barely. yet, I chewed harder on the inside of my mouth as I realized we still had another eleven years of this to go, to which Morgan Freeman screamed 'Titty Sprinkles for everyone!'