A Report Card with a Side of Cookies

Photo by Patty Brito on Unsplash

The new toaster oven has a little knob that you turn to get it into different modes. It’s kind of magical. Put it on bake, and it bakes just like a heavy duty full-size oven. Put it on reheat, and you got yourself a microwave minus the possible cancer. It can toast of course, and broil, and roast; there’s even a cookies mode that I’m very intrigued about. Irrationally I want to believe that when set your dial there, you can turn around and go about your business and ten minutes later half a dozen perfect little cookies will have materialized out of thin air.

A report card came home today. The child who handed it over was staring at his feet rather than looking at me, and I wished that I too came with my own little parenting knob. When reviewing a different report card handed a couple of weeks ago by a bright-eyed kid who smiled as he held my gaze, I spoke of marks that reflected his efforts, of grades good enough that the AP Biology class might be happening in 8th grade. Good grades took me on a study abroad to New York, these grades were good enough to take him to the moon. A trip to the bookstore ensued as a reward.

I physically turned the dial as I looked at this other child, same size, hair just as shaggy, but almost a different species of small human. I know a report card won’t tell me the real story about his ability or effort. When I talk to him, I am the mother who wants to do away with testing altogether because it is actual bullshit, but I catch myself right on time and swap bullshit for useless, just useless. The knob is firmly locked where it needs to be and he listens as I tell him how proud I am that he’s crushing spelling and participating more in class. He smiles, but then asks, “did I get bad grades?” and my heart crumples a little but I tell him what he already knows but needs to hear over and over again: that he is doing so well, that while he could certainly try a little harder with math, he’s a good student and a good friend and so far, fourth grade is just the way it should be.

And then I grab his arm and nudge him towards the toaster oven. “Should we see if this thing can actually make some cookies?”