My Son Is A Literary Genius

My son, the genius.

My wife and I recently received a note from our son’s kindergarten teacher stating that after a careful review of his journal, he was being sent to the principal’s office for what I can only assume was a crash course on Nobel Prize acceptance speech etiquette. I mean, I was kind of in a hurry and didn’t take too much time to read the email because mostly those emails are of the “your son spent all of today’s ‘carpet time’ trying to make the other students laugh” variety. And beside being puzzled as to where he’d get that kind of behavior from, that shit gets repetitive and old really quick, so I admit I kind of skimmed the contents.

Although I probably should have spent a little more time on an email with the subject “This is a BIG PROBLEM!”, I couldn’t be bothered, especially after finding out that our son is going to be the next Hemingway. And then I found that I was wrong when the teacher sent the journal entry in question home. He’s ALREADY the next Hemingway. Get a load of this:

Click to embiggen

Click to embiggen

See? Just like Hemingway, my son eschews overly florid pose, instead favoring brute, direct sentences that hit you with the simple force of the moment. I am, needless to say, overflowing with pride. For those of you who are unable to read my son’s magnum opus because of my poor scan and his masterful use of deliberate misspelling to enhance the mood, here is the full text:

I like my butt. I like my wee-wee. I like my poopie. I like my peepee.

Isn’t that marvelous? Of course, not everyone sees it that way. When my son’s kindergarten teacher followed up with a congratulatory phone call, she informed me that, much to my surprise, there were other perspectives. Jealous, petty, asshole perspectives.

Me: Hello?

Teacher: Hello, Greg, this is Mrs. Jackson.

Me: Oh, Mrs. Jackson, you didn’t have to call to congratulate me! I’m sure you have other things to do, like organize the month-long party at school to celebrate this momentous occasion.

Teacher: I’m still not sure why you think that your son’s behavior is something to be proud of. This is a serious problem.

Me: Yes, I know that he wrecked the curve, and although it doesn’t seem fair I’m afraid you’re going to have to flunk his entire class. Rules are rules after all.

Teacher: You know, I don’t think I’m getting through to you. Perhaps you should talk to the principal. He feels your son’s “work” is awful.

Me: Well, haters gonna hate, right? You tell that $18,000 a year flunky that after we’re rolling in Nobel-money, we’re gonna make him our bitch. You want us to make it rain for your fundraiser? Ok, Principal Bitch, lemme see you work that pole!

Teacher: Can I talk to your wife?

Fuckin’ haters.

See you in Stockholm, bitches!

See you in Stockholm, bitches!

15 Responses to “My Son Is A Literary Genius”

  1. LA Juice says:

    Hey- this has Henry Miller written all over it. If he starts drawing blue whale dong- he’s a mothra faulkner genius. Faulk those educational bureaucrats. I bet that bitch assed kindergarten teacher never even read Tropic of Aquarius.

    • Greg says:

      Hang on, I’m on the phone with the folks over at the Pulitzer Prize Board. They’re having a hard time understanding where I’m coming from. What’s the matter, don’t you fuckers speak ENGLISH? I may have to go over there and start punching necks.

  2. Vesta Vayne says:

    So you gotta little Bukowski?

    Hey, screw the teacher, geniuses are rarely understood by laypeople.

    And, he’s in kindergarten – come on, poo-poo and pee pee are par for the course. Did she just start teaching or something? Plus, it’s my understanding the ‘I like my wi-wi’ thing is universal to all guys. I think she’s just gonna have to get used to that.

    • Greg says:

      Yeah, a little Bukowski is about right. And that’s fine by me as long as the little pecker STAYS OUTTA MY BOOZE!

      The teacher in question is on the other end of the experience spectrum and is a bit too old-school for my tastes. I prefer teachers who redirect “nonstandard” behavior rather than try to shut it down. For my kids, anyway, redirection works a lot better.

  3. Bukowski lives! I love it. See, I’m going to make a terrible parent, because I know, I just know I’m going to get calls like this. And I’m going to walk into the principal’s office, and I’m going to laugh in his/her face, and I’m going to say so what? It’s not a big deal, it’s actually kinda funny. And the icing on the cake is if they actually use the words ‘SERIOUS PROBLEM.’ As a high quality jackass, I’d probably take that time to break out my robot voice and repeat ‘THIS IS A SERIOUS PROBLEM, MY KID SAID WEE WEE, THIS IS SO SUPER SERIOUS’ while swinging my arms in robot fashion. And that is the future story of how I’m no longer invited to after school meetings.

    • Greg says:

      You think you’ll make a bad parent? I just had a friend of mine suggest I have that made into a t-shirt and send him to school wearing it.

      And I think every parent/teacher meeting would be 100% better if parents stayed in robot character the entire time. That idea is fucking GOLD.

  4. Rusty says:

    Its got rhythm, its got rhyme, its got a meter

    He is a genius.

    How old is your son? He is writing what he knows, do they expect him to comment of the occupation of Palestine?

    Some people can’t see the forest through the trees.

    • Greg says:

      No, they asked him to write about London and Paris during the French Revolution but rejected his paper when it began, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of time. I like my butt.”

  5. Bklynwebgrrl says:

    Considering how excited we get when they finally learn to use the bathroom, I would say bodily functions are fairly momentous in their lives. I love how it has meter and rhyme, very nice. Perhaps the teacher needs a copy of “everyone poops?” Could be worse, our kiddo called her pre-k teacher a “douchebag.” – classic!

    • Greg says:

      I agree, his teacher needs to get some perspective. I suggest teaching in an inner city school for a while. She’ll be begging for the days when her students did nothing worse than express fondness for their butts.

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  7. Dawn Wagar you've heard of me.... says:

    I do see a hint of iambic pentameter and honestly, I’ve spent a lot of time reading way worse. A-(wee wee was spelled wrong….)

  8. […] My Son Is A Literary Genius […]

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