It is my firm belief that readers of this blog have been on the edge of the seat, gripping said seat, their knuckles white with the force of said grip. Everyone is wondering how my be-spotted tyke is. Well, he's still home from school. I did take him yesterday, after a visit to the doctor, but was telephoned by the school who were very concerned he might have had chicken pox. 'Well,' I said, 'I have Senior First Aid, but Doctor went to uni and attained a degree in medicine, so I'll defer to this expertise.' It turns out there are three pregnant staff members at the school, one of whom is my son's teacher, so the concern is very understandable, and I was worried, too. This meant another trip to the doctor, and because chicken pox could NOT be ruled out one hundred per cent, I have my little fella home with me. I have collected some school work for him to complete, much to his disgust, but I do not want him falling behind. I will always be supportive of the school It's a good one, and they were fabulous when he first started to have seizures that are symptomatic of his epilepsy. He was to play 'Jingle Bells' for a concert last night, but I rang the conservatorium to have him removed from the program. I explained to him there might be pregnant ladies in the audience of the small auditorium, and we just cannot risk the babies getting sick. I thought he would be very disappointed because he loves the smell of greasepaint and the roar of the applause, but he understood, and I am very proud of what looks like a pox-riddled little man.
I'm not sure what your idea of a good time is, gentle reader, but mine does NOT entail running repetitive errands like doctors' visits in 40 degree heat. Maybe I'm a tad unadventurous, but I just do not enjoy this. I hate the heat at the best of times, and wanted to lie down, but it didn't turn out that way.
When Master 13 got home, all he wanted to do was play on the computer. He had to get ready for his music class's concert last night. He fart-arsed all afternoon, and with about five minutes prior to leaving time still wasn't in costume. I shouted and roared like a mad bull-elephant, and just as I was gathering up my handbag, he decided he had to fire one off into the bowl and made for the toilet, leaving me tapping my foot and glancing at my watch. At one stage I was in the car, honking the horn, as he struggled into his shoes. He and his class had to dress as nerds, and along with all the others, he had plain oversized spectacles on. Their act looked like a Brains from 'The Thunderbirds' Lookalike Convention, and not a bunch of kids playing Blink 182 songs on instruments.
Things to be glad about: I don't write kids books. Nothing wrong with that, but when a publisher wants to remove gender references from titles is when I start wanting to rip out my auburn locks. Truly, what the fuck is WRONG with a gender reference anywhere, let alone in the title of a work? For the most part, people are gendered. Some of course are transgendered and intersex, but the majority of us have a gender. It's biological. It's a fact of life. This watering down of what is just a manifestation of nature is not going to help kids to not discriminate or pigeon-hole on the basis of gender. It's going to leave a dumbed-down populace with no idea what to do. God, I'm just imagining these on the shelf in the children's section of the library: 'The Amphibian Non-Gender-Specific-Person-Of-Royal-Lineage', 'The Non-Gender-Specific-Person-Of-Royal-Lineage and the Pea', and that all-time popular fable: 'The Non-Gender-Specific-Person Who Cried Animal-That-Might-Or-Might-Not-Be-Gendered-And/Or-Wild'.
No comments:
Post a Comment