Almost but not quite torturous
Parents evenings were invented as trials for young people. Not only must we juggle completing coursework on time, slaving well into the early morning hours. Not only must we appear not be scrounging off our parents to an embarrassing extent (which involves going out from time to time to slave away some more, often in the form of attempting not to burn fingers whilst carrying a soup bowl weighing ten times the amount of a normal soup bowl AND being polite and smiley all at the same time). Not only must we appear to have some sort of social life on top of family obligations, which apparently must come first...
No. In addition to all this, we must, at least once an academic year, take our parents to a place in which we have reinvented ourselves as completely different people. A place in which we must endure such embarrassment as we never otherwise encounter.
Last year, my father sang "Lovely Veater, meter maid" to my Religious Studies teacher, Ms Veater. Every second felt like a year as he continued to sing, despite my foot stamping down on his repeatedly with vehemence and the threat of hysteria. The year before, he told his one and only joke, one which I hear every time the wine flows a little too fast.
(What do you get if you cross an earl with an OBE? Wait for it. It's good...
An earlobe.
Haha. Ha.)
It's only ever just him laughing.
This year, he was remarkably well behaved. The only potentially cringe-worthy happening was when, from across the corridor, he tried on his mobile phone to ring my sister, who was at home. Instead he rang me, standing opposite him.
(Hello? Chrisie?
No. It's me.
Who?
Me! Your other daughter! The one standing opposite you!
You're here too? Where?)
And then there was a semi-faux pas. The Critical Thinking lecturer, refusing to look me in the eye, gazed at my mother and asked, "So, are you thinking about Oxbridge then?" Is SHE thinking about Oxbridge?! What about me? I have a mouth! So I jumped right in and answered for myself. He gave me a peculiar look. Ten minutes later, sitting in the car, I realised he may have been asking my mother whether she was willing to take up her further education studies again, drop German teaching at the local university, leave the family nest after all these years of diligent mothering and worrying, and continue studies at Oxbridge as a mature student. Oooops. Silly me.
No. In addition to all this, we must, at least once an academic year, take our parents to a place in which we have reinvented ourselves as completely different people. A place in which we must endure such embarrassment as we never otherwise encounter.
Last year, my father sang "Lovely Veater, meter maid" to my Religious Studies teacher, Ms Veater. Every second felt like a year as he continued to sing, despite my foot stamping down on his repeatedly with vehemence and the threat of hysteria. The year before, he told his one and only joke, one which I hear every time the wine flows a little too fast.
(What do you get if you cross an earl with an OBE? Wait for it. It's good...
An earlobe.
Haha. Ha.)
It's only ever just him laughing.
This year, he was remarkably well behaved. The only potentially cringe-worthy happening was when, from across the corridor, he tried on his mobile phone to ring my sister, who was at home. Instead he rang me, standing opposite him.
(Hello? Chrisie?
No. It's me.
Who?
Me! Your other daughter! The one standing opposite you!
You're here too? Where?)
And then there was a semi-faux pas. The Critical Thinking lecturer, refusing to look me in the eye, gazed at my mother and asked, "So, are you thinking about Oxbridge then?" Is SHE thinking about Oxbridge?! What about me? I have a mouth! So I jumped right in and answered for myself. He gave me a peculiar look. Ten minutes later, sitting in the car, I realised he may have been asking my mother whether she was willing to take up her further education studies again, drop German teaching at the local university, leave the family nest after all these years of diligent mothering and worrying, and continue studies at Oxbridge as a mature student. Oooops. Silly me.
kiwiqueen - 21. Mar, 19:31
