I was standing in the middle of Times Square a few hours ago and my cell phone began to ring. My cell phone almost never rings, mostly because few people have the number. The call was local to home, so I picked it up.
"Mrs. S?" I heard, "this is So And So, admissions officer of your son's high school."
I was standing in the middle of Times Square, incredulous.
"We were just wondering if your daughter had made a decision about high school..."
"The daughter," I yelled into the phone, partly over the noise of Times Square, partly in sheer annoyance, "has been accepted at the arts high school."
And furthermore, I added mentally, but in deference to the son and the fact that I have to endure one more year of this school, did not actually say, I have told you about her acceptance to the arts high school 50 times in the last 4 months.
"What attracted her to the arts high school?" he asked conversationally, clearly oblivious to the cacophony on my end of the call.
"She wanted to study film and television," I bellowed, "and was accepted into the film and television conservatory."
The son's high school has very little in the way of arts education. Their focus is medical magnet, engineering magnet. Which is fine if that's your bent. It's not the daughter's.
"Oh..." he replied. "Well, thank you."
Times Square. Really?
Go listen to some good music: "Pilgrimage" from the album Days of Open Hand by Suzanne Vega. I can't seem to escape the kids' schools in any way, shape or form. I even had to register the daughter for the coming year while I was in Baltimore.