Party, Party

The huge coach bus to Quebec City left school at 6:30 sharp, or at least I think it did. I left about five mintues before, not wanting to be one of the last remaining geeky parent with nothing better to do than hang out on Meeting Street at dawn. The kids on board the bus were half awake or half asleep, whichever, armed with abundant stores of food and candy, American dollars, cell phones and who knows--who really wants to know--what else? Sophie brough a blanket and her bear, her childhood insecurity blanket. The kids appeared to be a great group, nothing bizarre or grungy or salacious on the surface. For the next four days the kids will wander the streets of the old city in groups of two or three or more, hiking up and down the steep streets on tours and on their own, absorbing history. Several "Madames" will direct and recdirect them. One mother told her daughter, the one who is always being disciplined at school, as she climbed on the bus: "don't be the story..." A funny thing to say, but her daughter evidently has ideas of her own.

I hope my own daughter is strong enough among her peers to do the same, to enjoy herself, behave, not become the story. Yesterday she finished her school year with a a bang, a final exam grade of 104 in math, the only dimple in a nearly flawless record of achievement during this time of change. There will be many A's on the report card, I expect. The trip will be a just reward. And then the kids return, only to turn around and head for Block Island for three more days of fun together. Bon voyage!