What do you mean average? Not good? Just doing good enough?

That’s what came out in Joshua’s report card recently. Looking back, I wasn’t too bright a child either. Sure, I did well enough in the BIG exams but my toes curl in fright when I think about MY OWN report cards when I was younger. Let’s just say there were more reds than blues (or blacks) in there and my favorite letter begins the word “Favorite”.

My parents did not see much of my report cards, during those days because I would hide them in my closet. I would go back to school telling my teacher that I lost my report card. My teacher would issue me a new report card the next semester. The cycle repeats itself the next semester.

This is not the first time I am receiving my son’s report card. I received the first one last semester and we (my husband and I) giggled over it a little. I looked, relooked, analyzed and checked everything in the report. Was I proud of the report? Erm, half-half. I was proud that my son made it this far and it warrants a report. I mean, someone is GIVING me a reportnot the other way around.

It sort of makes me feel like a President or something, you know. And it confirms my status as a “Mother-with-a-school-going-child”. But I was rueful about what was actually IN the report. I gripped the report tightly in my hands and stared at it - someone