This Ain't Harper Valley

I've mentioned in past entries that I am the PTSA president for my daughter's school. PTSA stands for Parent-Teacher-Student Association...it's what the PTA becomes when it gets to high school.

Now, I joined the PTSA for two reasons:

1) To be involved with my daughter's education, and

2) To get laid.*

I have news for you Imaginary Internet Single Dads out there: Single mothers don't have time for the PTA. They're too busy actually being mothers, which these days means four nights a week and one day per weekend of sports, scouts, dance lessons and church activities. One of my executive board members suggested that I reach out to the single parents at the school by forming an SPTSA (SINGLE Parent-Teacher-Student Association), and I'm not sure she was entirely joking.

But I digress. (Me? No!)

Over the last two days, I've received about three dozen e-mails on the subject of a dispute between our principal and the two unions at our school. As PTSA president, I have to remain neutral and make sure that the PTSA remains neutral. As a parent, I am more than a little bit freaked out. The only analogy I can come up with for how this feels is the way it must feel to be at a dinner party when, in the middle of the main course, your best friend's wife accuses him of screwing around on her.** You had no idea any of this was going on, you have no idea who to believe, and you have nothing to go on but what you hear. Until everyone dropped their forks, you were perfectly secure in your belief that your friend and his wife were both wonderful people whom you could trust with your children.

So, I was up until 11:30 last night writing e-mails to all the people I'm supposed to write e-mails to, and thinking about how this is all going to play out. Honestly, is it so much to ask that my kid receive an education that prepares her for college and for life?

Of course, that's the reason for the dispute: two groups of professionals who are passionate about educating my daughter have opposing views of how best to accomplish the task.

So, like a stunned dinner guest with his fork lying handle-in-the-gravy on a chipped dinner plate, all I can really do is silently watch in horror as events unfold.

But now I know: Reality ain't nothin' like a country song.

* This has not happened.

** Disclaimer: I have never personally been to a dinner party (or anywhere else) where this has happened. I'm just saying that it's like that.