My kids go to a Montessori school, where they learn techniques to bring about harmony and world peace in addition to eating whole grains. They also make found art (garbage, usually, painted or modge-podged into artistic submission) and learn about ways to save water and eliminate malaria in the third world. So the other day when I picked them up, they were full to bursting with anecdotes from the day, as usual. Younger son was telling me about this kid in his class, Nature Ravenstar, who was totally in trouble because he broke school rule number five. And since the school only has five rules, number five is kind of the major pinnacle rule, I guess. So old Nature Ravenstar, he was in the bathroom doing something that was outside of the scope of general crunchiness, and a teacher had to redirect and then of course tell N.R. how that made her feel, and that's when all hell broke loose and he stomped all over #5. Apparently he said some pretty heated things.
"He broke school rule number five," said the littler dude, eyes wide, sincerely aghast.
"What's rule five?" I ask.
"He used charged language, Mom."
No comments:
Post a Comment