Kids have a date with a raspberry pie today.
I am told it's not a pie, it's not made of raspberries, and you can't eat it.
I ask how the day went, apart from the fact that no-one ate pie, and I was told it was alright and they learnt stuff, but don't ask what, unless you want a blank stare and a curled lip.
Nevertheless, I approve, totally, of the big grits acquiring an education about programming a pie, even though I am not the slightest bit interested in programming, would have no emotional involvement for the loveliness of 010101010001, and if I was in the class, I would spoil everything by demanding more pie with my raspberries and in the end, get sent out.
Thank goodness I was excluded from the workshop in the first place.
Come to think of it, today's experience puts me in the same category as most school-choosing parents. Ignorant of the day, vaguely supportive, mostly indifferent. When it's all over, not much wiser.
But like most school-choosing parents, it did give me time off.
(I spent it with my inevitable.)