The pressure is unbelievable. It’s one of those life-defining moments in someone’s life where you know that one little mistake, one wrong answer, one tiny miscue can make the difference between a life of hardship and a life of splendor.

The energy, as we walk down the hallway is tense. Playful words are exchanged as we take in our surroundings and try to block out what will transpire in the next few minutes. The tension mounts as we enter a cramped corridor that holds untold potential horror. We are greeted and summarily ushered to two small tables where Swee’Pea and TheMonk are made to sit and face their judgment.

I feel, not like a lion protecting his cubs, but a parent who is offering his children up to be sacrificed to appease some deity that controls all that is known and unknown. I fear the worst and I am ready to lash out at a moment’s notice. I am ready to rebel against the tyranny of oppression that stands before us in judgment. I want to scream out to protect my offspring in a primal, winner take all, battle to the death. But it is useless. I am resigned to accept the situation as it is.

I, as a parent, am helpless in my ability to protect my little ones from what is about to take place. I am forced to wait beyond the reaches of my protective grasp and as I take my seat and force myself to exude a calmness that doesn’t exist, I strain to hear what is happening to my little ones at this very moment. I hang on every sound, no matter how faint, and I expect to hear the worst. But, suddenly, I hear it. I strain even harder to hear with my one good ear and barely make out a familiar, yet faraway, sound.

“a, b, c, d, e, f, geeeee… h, i, j, k, lmnopeeeee… q, r, s… t, u, v… w, x, y and zeeee.”

Hmmm, maybe this kindergarten assessment won’t be so bad after all.