Where's your Gold Star?

The following is a step-by-step instruction list on “How to Brag About Your Kid.”

1. Have a kid.
   
2. Make sure she’s awesome.
3. Brag.

See, with only three steps, you can be one of those people who always can proudly enter unrelated social conversations and somehow steer the dialogue towards the excellence of your offspring. The only problem? The market’s flooded with charlatans and other lying types. Not everybody’s kid is awesome. If everybody’s kid was awesome, that would mean that twenty years from now, all adults would be awesome. We would live in a world without problems, disease, depression, paparazzi, and crappy relief pitching. But we know this not to be true. In fact, this world is far from it. I can say this, despite being an optimist. So where does the formula not compute?

Most parents are liars.

If you’re going to tour your kid as awesome, you better have proof. Just like any court of opinion, hard evidence is required in order to substantiate your claim of youthful grandeur. Now me? I wouldn’t come to a knife fight without a knife, so the mere action of introducing this as a blog topic means I’ve got the dagger to back it up. That’s right, you Interweb skeptics.

My kid is awesome. And I have proof.

Every now and then, Katie and I need to rely on a back-up daycare program that my company provides. In case your regular day care option in unavailable, I can take Clara to Bright Horizons, a center designed for sporadic use. All you have to do is 1) provide a child, 2) give them feeding and sleeping instructions, and 3) pray to God that you don’t get a phone call during the day because she ate a crayon. All in all, we’ve used them about 6 or 7 times this year and we’re very pleased with the service. And what’s more, they’ve given us the proof that Clara is awesome. How?

She gets a report card.

That’s right, I’ve got awesome documented. Ok, sure, it’s for informational purposes mainly – listing feeding times, food choices, sleep schedule and all – and this is helpful as parents. But down in the “From my teacher” section, it’s an open-ended insight into the awesomeness of Clara. I’ll translate for you.

“Clara loves the stacking cups, balls, and shape pieces. (There isn’t a single geometric shape that Clara doesn’t dominate.) She explored all the toys in the room. (It’s a shame she wasn’t born 500 years ago, Africa would have been discovered by Vasco da Clara.) She played Peek-a-Boo through the tunnel on the crawler. (you know, after destroying all the teachers in a game of Risk where she managed dominate despite having to start in Europe. And by Peek-A-Boo, we mean “Strategic Recon”, a game she plays that her Uncle Mark taught her.) She also played hide and seek around the tunnel. (That’s right. Hide AND Seek. Not Hide and Take a Nap in your Hiding Place. Versatility, baby.) We read books and sang songs. (Simultaneously! That’s how she rolls. She also wrote a mini-musical featuring her stuffed bunny, and it was about man’s longing for social acceptance but at the expense of ethical decisions. She ran out of time, so it’s only two acts. But hey, if your kid drew some lines on a paper, that’s art, too.)”