Garrison Keillor
Leave them kids alone!
It was clear that countless mother-hours and possibly professional help had gone into the other kids' dioramas. What's wrong with plastic animals and green paper trees?
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Someone sent me a file of photos of Costa Rican beaches and surf and beautiful languid people in shorts and sandals — sent it to me — here — on the frozen tundra where this morning my sandy-haired gap-toothed daughter and I struggled through the sleet and snow toward school, like Washington crossing the Delaware or Little Eva on the ice floes.
We can’t all go to Costa Rica. Some of us must stay at our posts and sacrifice personal comfort to make sure the roads are plowed so the children can attend school and learn about gerunds and string theory and the lifeways of the Yoruba people. And so the National Guard can defend the border against the rapacious Canadians.
My daughter is in the third grade and she is full of questions such as when do we get there, who will she sit next to, and what will be served for lunch. She is a joyful child, even on a cold March day when the grown-ups are sunk in sepulchral gloom. She is plainly thrilled to be alive. And this morning she was happy about her assignment, a little diorama/shadowbox illustrating a scene from a favorite book, which she completed all by herself.
It was a shoe box that contains trees cut out of green paper and small plastic animals such as you’d buy in a dime store back when there were dime stores, and we walked, heads bent, through the driving snow, to deliver this treasure to school, and when we arrived, there on a long table sat the completed dioramas of other children.
I could see that many, many mother-hours had gone into the other children’s projects, and some were of a quality that suggested professional help had been hired. I don’t like to think ill of other parents, but it was perfectly clear that several of those child-submitted dioramas were done by teams of $200/hour designers in striped shirts and Gucci moccasins bent over a light table, saying things like, “I just think we need to ramp up that shade of green so we totally experience those trees” and “I don’t like the way Laura and Pa interface with the house. And does the house need to be this little?”
My child’s diorama illustrated (with green cutout trees, plastic animals, Scotch-brand tape) a scene in which a dog named Binky befriends a family of groundhogs, but some children’s dioramas were illustrating scenes from “The Iliad” and James Joyce’s “Ulysses” — why, people? Why? This naked ambition on behalf of one’s children — it’s so ’90s, so California. Why overcompensate for your own frustrations in life by pouring time and money into your children’s class project so they can gloat over my child’s crude agglomeration of cheap green paper, 29-cent animals and three yards of adhesive tape?



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