The Reader of Books

It’safunnythingaboutmothersandfathers.Evenwhentheirownchildisthemostdisgustinglittleblisteryoucouldeverimagine,theystillthinkthatheorsheiswonderful.

Someparentsgofurther.Theybecomesoblindedbyadorationtheymanagetoconvincethemselvestheirchildhasqualitiesofgenius.

Well,thereisnothingverywrongwithallthis.It’sthewayoftheworld.Itisonlywhentheparentsbegintellingusaboutthebrillianceoftheirownrevoltingoffspring,thatwestartshouting,"Bringusabasin!We’regoingtobesick!"

Schoolteacherssufferagooddealfromhavingtolistentothissortoftwaddlefromproudparents,buttheyusuallygettheirownbackwhenthetimecomestowritetheend-of-termreports.IfIwereateacherIwouldcookupsomerealscorchersforthechildrenofdotingparents."YoursonMaximilian",Iwouldwrite,"isatotalwash-out.Ihopeyouhaveafamilybusinessyoucanpushhimintowhenheleavesschoolbecausehesureasheckwon’tgetajobanywhereelse."OrifIwerefeelinglyricalthatday,Imightwrite,"Itisacurioustruththatgrasshoppershavetheirhearing-organsinthesidesoftheabdomen.YourdaughterVanessa,judgingbywhatshe’slearntthisterm,hasnohearing-organsatall."

Imightevendelvedeeperintonaturalhistoryandsay,"Theperiodicalcicadaspendssixyearsasagrubunderground,andnomorethansixdaysasafreecreatureofsunlightandair.YoursonWilfredhasspentsixyearsasagrubinthisschoolandwearestillwaitingforhimtoemergefromthechrysalis."

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