The Dangers of Breaking the Curve

I think I've traumatized my wife.

I tell a story of being in a playground at recess, and being embarrassed by a teacher. I don't know how old I was, but I wasn't in kindergarten yet (it's easy to keep track of what grade I was in because before my junior year in high school two years was the longest we lived in one city). I was running around, having a grand old time, and one of my shoe's laces came undone. I turned to the nearest teacher (or supervisor, or whatever), and asked her to tie my shoe. She looked at me, bent to tie my shoe, and said, "You know, a kid your age should already know how to tie his shoe." I was ashamed enough to have that episode stick with me through the years; it wasn't until some years later that I realized what had happened. I'm a huge guy. I haven't always been huge, but I've always been tall. Very tall. The teacher must have thought I was older than I actually was.

I shouldn't have told that story to Kimberly. Joffre Jr.'s turning out to be a bruiser. He's only two months old, so the trend-line is pretty tiny, but this kid is a hefty dude: tall and strong. Now Kimberly's afraid like he's going to be treated like he's dumb.

Hey, we all have our burdens to bear. He'll be able to beat everybody else up. If he wants.

And I don't want to hear about how someone's three-year old learned to tie his shoe. Point still holds.