I Am Smart. Really. I Am.
It won’t be long now. I am going to be found out. Soon my cover will be blown and I will have to face the facts that . . . I’m just not that smart.
We’ve already covered the fact that my memory stinks. I’ve blocked out whole years of my childhood. High school and college are kind of melded into one gigantic attractive J.Crew barn jacket wearing blur. I’m constantly asking my husband, “Remember when we saw this movie or went to that place.” And then he glares at me and shakes his head. “Wasn’t me, honey.”
He really loves it when that happens.
And while I went to an all-girls’ private prep school and a pretty decent east coast college (read: very expensive, especially for someone relying on scholarships, grants and loans), I don’t really remember much of my formal learnin’. That Sociology degree doesn’t really come into play too often.
So now, while Big F is only in the first grade, the signs are already there that I’m going to have to learn right along with the boys as they go through school.
Big F is learning about presidents, via money apparently, and told me tonight that George Washington was a very important person because he is on the dollar and the quarter. I told him he was on the dollar and the quarter because he was a very important person. Not really the same thing.
Lucky for me this was an easy one and I knew that Washington was the first president. Impressive, I know. It would probably be your duty to alert my employer if I didn’t know that. But I began to panic. What if he asked me who the 6th president was? I don’t know that off the top of my head, people!
Don’t tell me I can Google it. I don’t want to Google it. I want to know it! Shit, now I know why there was a show about being smarter than a fifth grader. I don’t think I’m smarter than a third grader. I’m scared of just how much I have forgotten, or worse, never knew.
For a recent heritage project, I wasn’t totally sure how to pick Scotland out on a map. I mean I had a general idea but…My four year old can find and name all the continents. This freaks me out.
Wait until we get to the Russian czars, or Gutenberg (printing press?), Socrates, onomatopoeia (zip!), theorems, Paradise Lost . . .
The boys think I’m super smart now, but it’s not going to last for much longer. My days are numbered. There are only so many questions you can answer with “Where do you think it is on the map?” and “What do you think it means?”
And then homework will be just like reattaching robot limbs and building marble tracks:
“Want me to help?” I’ll ask.
“Uh, no thanks, Mom. I’ll just wait for Daddy.”