The other night at dinner, it became apparent to me that the kids were questioning my intelligence. Not in that typical “My parents don’t know anything” way, but regarding my accumulated knowledge and how I was as a student.

They thought I was dumb.

I was baffled. I had no idea where this was coming from.

Of course I grew immediately defensive. It seemed like the smart thing to do.

Me: I’m smart!

Them: {silence}

Me: Really! I’m smart!

Them: {hard stares at their food}

Me: I was in advanced English my senior year in high school!

Them: {silence}

Me: National Honor Society!

#2: How do you get in to that?

Me: Wouldn’t you like to know! If you’re so smart, you’d know!

Them: {silence}

Me: Top ten percent of my class of 750? 3.8 GPA?

They exchanged the kind of glances that their Dad and I exchange when we’re inwardly making fun of them but trying to give an outward appearance of propriety.

Finally, #5 spoke up.

#5: Then how come you can never check my math homework right?

Them: {Laughter}

Me: Shut up.

We are four and a half school days away from summer vacation. While I suspect I may grow even dumber over the break, I rest comfortably knowing they will have fewer opportunities to prove it to me.