School I know arranges an annual programme where each class puts up a little skit. (Sort of like every school does). This year, the class teacher of one of the classes thinks up a little drama, assigns everyone parts (speaking, singing, dancing, etc), and they begin practice.
Mother of one of the kids has volunteered to run the practice sessions. She is the type who loses no chance to tell all concerned how clever her child is and how well he speaks and how much she does for him. Therefore, she is the type who is annoyed with this skit. Because as it is written, her son does not have much to say. Or, more to the point, he does not have much more than any of the other kids has, to say.
In truth, nobody has more than 5-6 words to say anyway. That's the way the play is. As with all school plays, the idea is less the quality of theatre than giving everyone a chance under the spotlight.
But this means little to this mother. Being a somewhat strong-willed and insistent type, and the teacher being something of a wallflower, the mother actually writes in a part for her kid: a longish introduction to the whole drama.
The rest stays unchanged.
So when the big day comes and the school auditorium is full and it is the turn of this class to stage their little show, this small man enters the stage alone and says his lines. Says them well, too.
Then the other kids flood in and do their bits. Nice skit, good fun. But this kid's part, this soliloquy, stands out like a sore thumb.
Ambitious parents. What do we do to our kids?