[Note: This was posted just before Halloween a few years ago  on a separate blog... true story]
It's a good thing I'm well past the age of parenting young children. I’m just not equipped to deal with the school system anymore (or all the confederacies of dunces in general). In my defense, I’m pretty sure it’s genetic in that I got a double dose of the smart-ass gene.
So I’m catching up with a friend over the phone who has a boy in (I think) first grade. If I’m understanding what he was telling me, each student in his son’s class was given a vocabulary word. They were required to become familiar with the word, probably spell it, define it, and use it in a sentence. Stuff like that.
But since it is approaching Halloween, the young tykes were encouraged to come to school dressed up as their vocabulary word. I kid you not.
Little Junior’s word was… "disaster". Disaster…
D… I… S… A… S… T… E… R…
Given that word and those instructions… there is no way on God’s green earth… zero chance whatsoever… that a son of mine would not show up to school the next day dressed to a tee as anything other than… Barack Hussein Obama.
And failing an earlier successful courtship of a very open-minded black missus, I can only imagine the can of worms that would ensue.
Teacher: "Little TL (he goes by his initials), can you please spell your vocabulary word?"
Little TL: "Disaster (pause for effect) O… B… A… … M…" …
A chip off the old block. :P