Thursday, March 05, 2009
When a baby is born, he is so sweet and innocent. Two years later, Wolf has done enough mischief to deserve years of confinement. We've had enough of his tantrums, of him throwing full plates of food on the ground or stepping on the cats' tails on purpose.
So yesterday, we contacted the local jail – or kindergarten school if you will – to reserve him a cell – or classroom as they call it euphemistically.
Actually, we're lucky that things went so smoothly, because in many places in the country and even in some other parts of the city, there are waiting lists. In order to be sure that their child can go to a school in the neighbourhood, parents will literally camp at the gates of the school. In other places, like Ghent, the schools took the sensible step to organise a waiting list on the internet. This way, children get access in accordance to the distance they live from a certain school. I think it's a good principle, because now parents have to inscribe their children in far away schools if they are too low on the waiting list.
But our part of the city has plenty of schools. Still, we didn’t want to take any chances, so Mrs.B went to register Wolf as soon as the gates opened.
He’ll be forced to 'wear his pants down on the benches' until he’s 18, and then (probably) some more time if he’ll pursuit a higher education. Poor boy, looking up to 20 years of time, and he can't even speak or go to the toilet yet.