Joseph’s school is a big proponent of homework. I’ve written before how much I detest the stuff. But every week, we slog through the pages and pages of worksheets and then sit down to work our way through the reading assignments.
My little guy has a hard time reading. He’s working with a tutor and goes to additional reading classes every morning. By the time we get to the mandatory 20 minutes every night, he’s done. So, sometimes, I fib. I check off the little box next to Tuesday and then cuddle with him on the couch and listen to his day.
Every Parent-Teacher conference, I worry Mrs. G will find out and send me to the Principal’s office. And, sitting in that little chair, the thought sends my stomach plummeting as much now as it did when I was eight.
I can just imagine the long walk to Mr. S’s office, the sympathetic look from the secretary, the stern look on Mr. S’s face as he tsks and reminds me of the importance of reading for 20 minutes each night. I can see myself looking shamefully down at his wooden desk, the front scraped by decades of kicking feet as I mutter that I’m sorry and won’t do it again.
It doesn’t matter that I’m an adult.
It doesn’t matter that I work for another school district and often interact with principals and teacher.
What matters is I fibbed on Joseph’s homework.
And no, it doesn’t change my mind. I know my boy well enough to know that sometimes he needs the cuddles more than the book.
Do you ever lie about your child’s homework?