Unlike my father, a lawyer who insisted I choose books from which I could “learn something,” my mother allowed me to read whatever I liked. Nancy Drew, Alexander Dumas, outer space adventures, Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare, Star Wars spin- offs, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Star Trek and Woody Allen. She never blinked at the tales of extraterrestrial geneticists coming to earth to perform unspeakable experiments on human DNA and subjugate our hapless species. As an educator, she believed that educating was not just about amassing facts but connect- ing them through the use of the imagination. She was, unlike her spawn, not an omnivorous reader, but she had the highest regard for words; she believed in their power. She believed that educating was not just about amassing facts but connecting them through the use of the imagination. She was, unlike her spawn, not an omnivorous reader, but she had the highest regard for words; she believed in their power.
Which brings us to her relationships with my teachers. We used to joke that when they saw my mother coming, they would hide under the desks. There are terror teachers; my mother was a terror parent. Who was also a teacher and a fine one, so imagine the havoc she could wreak. If my grades did not go up from the previous quarter’s (if they’d ever gone down World War III
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