Is it worth it?

Teachers can sometimes be total arseholes.... 

Harsh? Maybe - but first let me tell you why. My kids are what I would describe as “mediocre” at school. Not at the bottom of the class. Certainly not at the top. I would pitch them at slightly below average. So imagine my pure delight when I received the following email last week. 

“Dear Parents. I am delighted to tell you that based upon his/her poetry writing and performance, your child has been chosen to read their poem at our special Poetry Week Showcase on Friday. I do hope you will be able to attend. Kind regards Mrs X.”

Well this is bloody marvellous! I have to admit that little tears of joy well up in my eyes. My little Teddy Bear! He’s a poet - and I didn’t know it! ( Ooh - that rhymes - maybe I am too!) Clever little chap. Extra 

Sprinkles on his ice cream tonight for that! 

So it comes as a bit of a surprise to me when Teddy literally has no idea what I am talking about, as I raise the topic at dinner time. Teddy ponders for a second or two, before saying, “Oh! That must be the poem I wrote with George!! Teddy gives me a beam as I squish him gently while telling him how proud I am. The moment is ruined by an insanely jealous Ben who starts chanting “Teddy’s going to mess it up! Teddy’s going to mess it up!” Honestly - my kids can be such pricks at times. 

Well - with immediate effect, “Operation Poetry Showcase” comes into play. My parents are called and urgently requested to collect Ben after school on Friday, so I can attend the showcase. A promise of a homemade dinner of Spag Bol persuades them to cancel their monthly outing to the Everyman Cinema OAP evening (and it’s even for the new Downton Abbey film).

I rush out first thing the next morning to the supermarket to grab the Spag Bol ingredients. As I wander around the aisles I feel like I am walking on air - my kid - YES - MY KID is the chosen one (well, to be precise - one of the chosen few! Who cares?! It’s FUCKING MARVELLOUS!) I celebrate by chucking in a load of naughty treats - Several multi-pack bags of crisps ( btw - I hate the fact they contain different flavour crisps - I just want the cheese and onion ones  - it’s always the bloody salt and vinegar packets of which are left - Walkers -  please take note), sharing bags of M&Ms, a bag of chocolate buttons, crunchies, snickers and a mars-bars 4 pack. I even grab a pot of that “Fluff” marshmallowy stuff which my kids adore. Total crap of course. 

As I wander past the fruit and veg aisle (otherwise known in my house as the no-fun aisle) - I spot Veronica Chow’s mother lurking in the lychee section. (Veronica is a whizz- kid at school who has literally been tutored since she came out of the womb (ok - a little exaggeration - but you know what I mean). Clearly her parents are intending on putting her forward for that Child Genius spelling TV programme -thingy. Veronica wants to be a doctor/lawyer/scientist - yada yada.... I literally just want my kids to not end up destitute on the streets.) Well, of course she spots me - just my luck - so I smile sweetly and wander over towards her. Well she’s not called “Miserable Mandy” for nothing. Fuck me! Her trolley is full of just fruit, veg and some weird “Quorn” shit. And tonnes of sodding chia seeds and goji berries. Mandy must have noticed me staring at her trolley, as she surreptitiously moves some Cheese Straws and bread sticks to try and cover up the 5 packets of spinach. Shit - was that done on purpose? Does she know she is known as “Miserable Mandy”? She glances down at my trolley and I begin to feel my face redden as she takes in all the crap that is sitting in there. Her eyes suddenly widen in horror and I realise she’s spotted the Fluff. Or maybe it was the pot noodle? Whatever. Clearly, she is horrified. But who cares? Because I have a little poetic genius! Hah! I take great pleasure in informing her of Teddy’s upcoming performance. “Ronnie’s in it too - she’s doing 2 poems”. Mandy tells me. Oh, of course she fucking is - you trumping smug cow! 

I leave Mandy and her goji berries and go about my business. 

I even zip along quickly to John Lewis to pick up a new frock for the Showcase. It’s so exciting! For once, I’ll be in the school equivalent of the ‘IT’ crowd. 

But any feelings of excitement are dashed as soon as Teddy opens the car door at pick-up time . “How’s my little poet?!!” I wink, as I nudge him. 

“Mum, the teacher told me that they made a mistake. The email shouldn’t have been sent to you. I wasn’t picked. I’m not doing the showcase.” Teddy says flatly. My disappointment and anguish for Teddy is palpable. He clearly realises and bravely says “Don’t worry! I really didn’t want to do it anyway!” And that is my Teddy. A brave, cheerful, resilient little superstar. At that moment I couldn’t be more proud of him. But later on in the evening, like a mamma bear fiercely protective of its baby bear, feelings of anger overwhelm me. How dare the school tell a little boy he has been chosen to perform and then cruelly take the chance away simply because they made an administrative error. Seriously - just let the kid perform. What harm will it do? More harm done by revoking their offer and making the kid feel completely useless. Arseholes. No other word for it. 

Tim offers to write an email of complaint,  but I know better than to piss off teachers. 

So I simply adopt Teddy’s wonderful attitude and swallow up the negative feelings. It’s no surprise that Teddy’s dinner that night is a pot noodle, followed by a ‘fluff’ sandwich topped with a crunchy bar. He deserves it. 

P.S. - having cruelly teased Teddy when she found out he wasn’t in the showcase, Ronnie Chow never made it either . She spent the whole of the night before chucking up - maybe too many goji berries? At last - a bit of ‘poetic justice’?