The Reader of Books

It’safunnythingaboutmothersandfathers. Evenwhentheirownchildisthemostdisgustinglittleblisteryoucouldeverimagine, theystillthinkthatheorsheiswonderful. 

Someparentsgofurther.Theybecomesoblindedbyadorationtheymanagetoconvincethemselves theirchildhasqualitiesofgenius. 

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

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

Imightevendelvedeeperintonaturalhistoryandsay, "Theperiodicalcicadaspendssixyearsasagrubunderground,andnomorethansixdaysasafreecreatureofsunlightandair. YoursonWilfredhasspentsixyearsasagrubinthisschool andwearestillwaitingforhimtoemergefromthechrysalis." 

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