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."