The hidden exams of child raising are an inevitably harrowing experience that parents opt to ignore. It never fails: I’ll bring one of the kids to the Doctor’s office for annual check-ups, and a bunch of questions are suddenly slung about which determines how good of a father figure I’ve been. Parents aren’t informed as to which questions are going to be asked at any given exam, either, because that would spoil the fun.
Instead, parents are blindsided by bizarre questions which determines the worth of a parent, while a secretary, nurse, or doctor sucks their teeth in your general direction.
- Can your child grab a glass of water, then pick up their socks in the other hand while bringing you the glass of water in another room?
What the fuck do I do with this question.
‘Uh, most likely, but this isn’t exactly part of our Sunday routine, doc.’
‘So you’re saying your child has never done this series of events?’
‘Uh…I guess not, no.’
‘No problem, I’ll just go ahead and mark no.’
- When offered a box of crayons, can your child correctly identify the colors while being bitten by a rabid dog on the leg?
‘Should I help the kid with the whole dog problem, first, doc?’
‘It’s a yes or no question. You know what, I’ll just go ahead and mark no again. I’m already seeing a pattern.’
Why? Where the fuck are these questions coming from. Give us the fucking questions a month in advance so I can train my kid. It’s hard finding a rabid dog in my neighborhood, you need to order that shit these days. It never fails, there’s a list of bizarre questions that some Freudian prick came up with to determine if our children are developing, and we don’t get those questions until it’s time for an exam.
Without fail, the teeth sucking and tsk-tsk’s come through like I’ve failed my child because they’ve never had a bowling pin up their ass while learning to juggle. Just absurd questions that I didn’t know I had them for. I really thought that the whole just ‘keeping them alive thing’ was more than impressive, especially if you’ve ever had experience in a war-torn country.
Then it finds out (and what a huge gasp) that my child isn’t developing like other kids. Because who doesn’t have pre-lubed bowling pins on tap? Fuck these clowns, I’m enrolling my two-year-old in clown college to prepare for the third-year checkup.
