“Lindsey is a pleasure to have in class,” my daughter’s third grade teacher began as I wriggled myself into a chair the size of a kumquat seed. “She enjoys interacting with her classmates and is an enthusiastic addition to our group.” This, as every parent knows, is teacher code for, “only stops talking long enough to sneak a Very Berry Gummy Cluster.”
Mr. S swiveled his chair to the right and plucked a light blue folder from the dwindling pile. “Here are samples of Lindsey’s work,” he said, and I relaxed more with each paper he presented: Penmanship (excellent) solar system report (very well written and creatively illustrated) division (good progress.) All-in-all, the fall parent-teacher conference was going quite well. Then, Mr. S. casually remarked, “It’s clear that Lindsey greatly admires her older brother. Brian, is it?”
“Y-yes?” I stammered. Brian, future high school junior, had been assigned the job of babysitting for his sister while I worked to buy them important stuff like electricity. I had assured myself this was a perfect option: My son needed a job; I wanted daycare that didn’t cost the price of a small castle in Scotland. A summer sibling bonding experience.
Mr. S. slipped the final assignment from the folder.
“So,” he sighed.” I knew that sigh. It was the same sigh Brian’s second grade teacher made when she called to tell me he’d leapt onto his chair in the middle of class, yelled, “Day-o!” then proceeded to lead his fellow second graders across their desks dancing and singing like Harry Belafonte and the cast of Beetlejuice.
“I asked students to write a report on the best movie they saw all summer,” Mr. S. said. Most kids wrote papers on The Little Mermaid or Frozen or Ninja Turtles. A few wrote about classics like Bambi. Lindsey’s report was on another classic,” he paused, “Happy Gilmore.”
I scoured my memory. Adam Sandler, f-bombs, elder abuse, mutilated alligators.
“Happy Gilmore?” I repeated, somewhat dazed and confused.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “And, I have to hand it to her. Her comprehension of the subject matter was spot-on, and the context subtleties were not lost on her. She increased her vocabulary by at least two words; however, she knew not to spell them out in the report.” He then showed me, in her little 8-year-old handwriting, how she’d meticulously spelled out the phrase “f!$%ing alligator!”
So, while the summer of Happy Gilmore did deepen their sibling bond, the next summer Lindsey attended a church run summer camp and Brian worked days at Red Lobster. He came home every day smelling like fish, but at least I knew nothing fishy was going on. | 
