Hubbub abounds at the house at 45 South North Street on this, the first day of school for young Patti Plink.
“I’m so glad Mom decided homeschooling’s for the birds,” Dad says. “It’s enough that I work out of the house and she’s a housewife. What do we need another person around all day for, anyway?”
Patti pouts until Dad tells her he was just kidding and adds, “Homeschooling’s just a bunch of hooey. Everyone knows homeschooled kids are hated by everyone else. And besides, what does Mommy know about trigonometry?”
“We weren’t up to that yet,” Patti says. “I’m six years old.”
“Well, that’s good, Patti, because she doesn’t know the first thing about it. Your mother counts on her fingers! And don’t even get me started on home ec!” he says with a laugh, lifting a spoonful of scrambled eggs and strawberry milk from his bowl.
Patti stands by the front door, not knowing what to do. Her mom gets down on her knees and straps a backpack to Patti’s back. The backpack looks like a fluffy pink kitten.
“It’s a good thing we clipped your wings,” her mother says, patting the pack and getting to her feet. “This thing wouldn’t fit if we’d left them on, and I’ll be damned if I let my kid look like some kind of freak, going to school without the things the other kids have.”
“I liked my wings,” Patti says softly into the space just above the zipper of her hooded sweatshirt, and waits for this yellow thing her mother calls a “bus”.