Making the Grade

This morning, I had the rare opportunity to take the Boy to breakfast.

Alone.

Spending one-on-one time with any of our four children is something that doesn’t happen often. As homeschoolers, we’re all together . . . all the time.

I knew that if we stayed at home, it wouldn’t be long before he would ask to go play with his best friend. I was feeling selfish and wanted some uninterrupted time with our son.

So off we went to have breakfast.

The thing I love about taking most children out to eat is that they’re not impressed with exotic ingredients or artistic presentations (of course there are exceptions to this and the Chef is the perfect example – she will try anything and has an uncanny knack for choosing the most expensive item on a menu).

But the Boy is easily satisfied with two breakfast burritos, milk and a hash brown, so our logical choice this morning laid under the Golden Arches.

It happened to be Inspection Day for the restaurant and when I saw the inspector filling out the grade card, I had to laugh.

When I was young, my Dad was a Health Inspector and among other things, he inspected restaurants.

Like many children, keeping my room clean was my responsibility. This was not an area I excelled in. My idea of cleaning was pushing everything into my closet or under my bed. When I got older and wanted to put my mattress directly on the floor, I lost a major storage space. My solution was to clear a path from the door to my bed.

My parents’ solution was to keep my door shut.

One day, after I had cleaned my room, Dad decided to encourage me to keep it clean . . . or maybe he was just teasing me . . . he was good at both.

He brought his brief case to the dining room table and with authority, opened it up. He took out a grade card, got out his pen and signed it. He explained to me that all grade cards are required to be posted in plain sight. They are not to be hidden from view.

I shook my head in agreement . . . a second grader always wants to be in compliance with the laws of the state!

He took the grade card to my bedroom door and ceremoniously taped it up so everyone who entered my room could see my grade.

Then, he stood back so I could see it for myself.

An “A.”

Unbelievable . . . I had received the highest grade possible!

It was true. I had received an “A” and it was signed:

by a Blind Man.