40 Reopens: City Safe Once Again

Playing in the road!

So, why did St. Louisans make such a big deal about the completion of the construction on 40/64? I have a theory. Everyone that was out there was a city resident, and we were celebrating the fact that county denizens would no long have to hurtle down side streets to avoid imagined car jackings.

For the past year I have not been able to exit my neighborhood without great difficulty during rush hour. The additional time spent in my car probably totalled at least 30 minutes a week. This time would increase exponentially whenever there was an accident at Skinker and Forest Park caused by a commuter who could not possibly sit through another iteration of the traffic light.

In addition to the ending of traffic woes I am pleased that the homeless will no longer consider this intersection to be their personal ATM. It became a viable economic option to stand at this intersection with a cardboard sign detailing ones misfortunes. White-flight guilt would force drivers to lower their windows and hand over any change that they could find in the crevices of their Explorers.

So I will celebrate the opening of the highway so that the thousands of countians that wreaked havoc on my neighborhood and now zip by at 60 miles per hour picking their nose and listening to Sean Hannity.

Hairstyles and Attitudes*

*Title stolen from 80's icon Timbuk 3

"Long hair minimizes the need for barber . . ." Albert

Teacher conferences, a time of paranoid, knee shaking, underarm sweating stress. Is my kid smart? Is he scoring high enough on the tests that will determine his future? What did I do wrong as a parent? We all want our children to succeed because as we all know, life is a competition.

Last years conferences in kindergarten (freaking kindergarten) were excruciating. Sitting in front of a teacher that from all appearances had crept slightly further along the autism spectrum than one would expect for a professional educator. A knitter perhaps, or a professional mail-in contest winner, but it was obvious that social interaction was not her area of expertise. In her haltingly monotone locutions she would explain how our son was not reading at the levels that were expected of him. As high school English teachers, my wife and I were noticeably concerned. We have read to him since he was a mere blastocyst. How could he fall behind in reading?

It was suggested that he get tutoring over the summer and enroll in the Title 1 program. We were aghast. After a few months of intensive work with my wife he was able to catch up. So this years conferences would hopefully be much better, and as far as academics go they were. His teacher, though with a touch less Aspergers and little more Marm, told us that he was doing well. Big sigh of relief, until a slight upturn of one corner of her mouth and a downward glance at the papers in front of her indicated that all was not well.

"Evan has problems taking responsibility for his actions."

No surprise there. I have never made a mistake that I couldn't find an excuse for.

"Sometimes I have problems reading Evan's handwriting. He needs to work on his fine motor skills."

Again, genetics has cursed him. I gave up handwriting long ago and barely remember cursive. As for fine motor skills, I doubt it. He probably is rushing through his work (see how I can make an excuse?) and who needs fine motor skills anyway? How often do you have to thread a needle? Alright maybe a brain surgeon, but that is it.

"Evan needs to comb his hair."

What? You have got to be kidding me.

"We have been emphasizing neat uniforms and personal grooming."

You're not kidding. You should be, but you're not.

"Some of the older kids have started referring to him as the kid that doesn't comb his hair."

Yeah, because they are jealous.

Of course I have an excuse for the hair as well, but I'm not going to use it. I shouldn't have to. Hair is in no way connected to school performance. I knew what I was getting into when we signed him up for school. The student handbook clearly states that students are not allowed to color their hair. I have such an anti-authoritarian outlook that I had considered dying his hair purple before his first day of school so that they would not know his natural color.

Once he was shamed by his teacher because he had a temporary tattoo, at which point I seriously considered taking him to Iron Age to get a permanent one.

So for now I guess I will tolerate the Catholic Fashionista, but as soon as he graduates we are doing some serious Salvador Dali bedhead.

"I had the craziest dream."