1300

I don’t mind that “l’esprit de l’escalier” doesn’t have a perfect translation. “The wit of the staircase” is close enough. Denis Diderot doesn’t owe me anything and, to be fair, 18th century France impresses me as a more conversational time. I think people lived or didn’t based on what they said and wrote, a far number of cries from the present time in which people routinely spout the most outrageous silliness—anonymously, the cowards!—on-line with impunity. Nothing like the possibility of being challenged to a life-threatening duel to concentrate the choice of words. Suggest, without evidence, that a 17th century election was stolen and d’Artagnan would skewer you in front of Versailles.

No what honks me is that I still can’t come up with a snarky enough response to a remark from several weeks ago. The wit of the staircase, thinking of the perfect phrase a few minutes too late? This is the “wit of the geological age.” I’m still trying to come up with what I shoulda said. Maybe my community of gentle readers can help.

What is the proper response to “My son got 1300 on his SAT”? What should I have said to a neighbor, no more than a vague acquaintance, who, apropos of nothing, began a conversation (conversation? Monolog? Diatribe?) with a revelation about the standardized test results of her 17-year-old son?

“How nice for you” doesn’t seem to convey my contempt for the disclosure. “Does your son know you’re violating not just his privacy but every social decency?”

Maybe I should have been over-the-top sarcastic: Tell me more. What else are you sharing arbitrarily and indiscreetly with folks you barely know? Is your son sexually active, for example? Is there any aspect whatsoever about your son that is personal and private?

Here’s another even more acerbic thought, “a 1300, how about that! Great! Wow! So proud! What a joy to have a healthy son! Hit by an impaired driver, my 17-year-old son has a traumatic brain injury but he will be learning to walk on his own after another few weeks in the ICU and the doctors are optimistic that he will be able to relearn speech but doubt that he will ever be able to read.”

Too much? Cruel? By definition, every student who scores above the average on norm referenced tests means there is another student who scores below the mean. Is suggesting that many other children are not invited to the banquet of health and ability overstating the obvious? Surely we can express our joy and acceptance without the unmistakable implication: if my son had a low score on the test I would be disappointed, convey that there was something wrong with him, love him less.

Or am I overreacting? Am I a privacy freak for suggesting that there is a reason our bathrooms and bedrooms have doors? These days the value of my house is online. It is my understanding that people post on-line what they had for dinner (something healthier than what they actually ate) and with whom (frequently Humphery Bogart, occasionally Lauren Bacall).

Our children are our greatest joy; our children are not our property. Ducks hang upside down in the windows of restaurants in full view of passersby so that they (the ducks not the people walking past the eateries) can be purchased and devoured. I would argue that your child is not a duck hanging upside down or otherwise and should not be treated as such.

Which I suppose, now that I have thought about it for these several weeks, is what I should have responded. Next time a mom tells me, “my son got a 1300 on his SAT,” I’ll look her in the eye, say, “your son is not a duck” and walk away. What with stabbing people ala the Musketeers not being an option.