You know how I usually try to be eloquent?
‘Cause, you know …
You know what’s even worse than three hours in traffic daily?
My first grade son’s homework.
After 90 minutes of driving, we get home at 4:30 p.m., which early arrival is thanks to a flexible work schedule at a company I’m excited to call my employer next week.
Do I get to spend my evening at-home time hanging out with my kids, having fun and celebrating our closeness?
No. I get to spend it trying to keep my six-year-old on task through an hour of homework that doesn’t challenge him to be more inquisitive, more incisive, or better prepared to rock the workforce when he later enters it.
By the time he’s done with his soul-crushing number-crunching, his younger brother is already in bed, and it’s time for me to start his bedtime. So I’ve “helped” him complete a bunch of banal worksheets that don’t much appear to enhance his learning–not a knock against his lovely teacher, just how things are nationwide currently–at the cost of getting to spend an hour just sitting and joyously being together, the way I remember once doing with my siblings.