I’ve previously opined on the horribly unrealistic educational expectations elementary school engenders in its attendees. The impending classroom visit here depicted is just another example of this trend; not only was my mom coming to school, she was coming to BAKE COOKIES (that yellow blob is an oven). This wasn’t an infrequent occurrence. I also remember entire school days devoted to churning applesauce or making potato latkes, all of which seem like torturous exercises in academic rigour compared to Clifford The Big Red Dog Day.
Never one to see a cloud only for its silver lining, I was quick to take offense when Mrs. Judge errantly attempted to include a personal touch in her response.
To this day, I remain dumbfounded by this error. Until this point in the year, she’d found no occasion to address me by first name in any of her replies. Yet on this, the first (and, as it turned out, the last) occurrence, she couldn’t muster a simple flip back to the front cover to confirm my identity. For all I know, the rest of my classmates luxuriated in the joy of this familiar form of address all year, while I was left to subsist on mere smiley faces.