Now that the moms of the world are in back-to-school mode, I’ve been thinking about my son’s education. As he turns one, I’ve discovered a sad truth. We aren’t getting into Harvard. And by “we” I mean his dad and I, because now that we are parents, we’ve forgotten about our own miserable lives and only live vicariously through him. Isn’t that what all parents do?

The signs that my son isn’t getting into Harvard are coming fast and furious. First, he has not mastered the fine art of drinking out of a sippy cup. If you are a man or are not a mother, you may have no idea what a sippy cup is. I will enlighten you. It is the new bane of my existence. I have purchased about $96 worth of different types of sippy cups, all of which my son refuses to use. Therefore, he will probably have to drink beer out of a baby bottle, unlike Harvard students, who drink beer out of sippy cups.

My son is not bilingual. Unfortunately, he is not even monolingual. I’ve tried to convince myself that he is speaking some exotic language when he says things like “bababa” and “buh-sha”. I’m not sure if the Harvard Dean of Admissions would agree. Also, since I haven’t used flash cards, my son cannot recognize a word and point to the corresponding object or color. He is way behind the curve for a one-year-old in this respect. This means that he will have to go to a state school, or worse, community college.

My son doesn’t care for sharing his toys with other children. In fact, he only seems interested in himself and shows no regard for anyone else’s needs. As a result, he will not be involved in any community service activities, which we all know is a must for entry into Harvard.

I’ve realized that other mothers have a repertoire of songs that they sing to their children daily. Songs by unusual men named Raffi or The Wiggles. Music I never knew existed and have been delinquent in sharing with my son. Therefore, he will not develop any musical ability whatsoever. We all know, of course, that Harvard expects you to be a musical prodigy.

My son only likes eating bread and American cheese. This means that he has an unrefined palate and will not be writing his first cookbook as a teenager. Publishing a cookbook is the kind of thing that gets you into Harvard.

Our last hope is an athletic scholarship. Sadly, my son is twelve months old and is not walking yet. Therefore, he will not be securing a scholarship for track and field. Unlike many other mothers, I have not taken him to baby swim class. This means that he will not become Michael Phelps and will not win any Olympic medals. Being Michael Phelps could get you into Harvard. Also, because I haven’t enrolled my son in gymnastic classes, he will not be able to jump, bounce or roll. These are skills that come in handy when you are looking for an athletic scholarship to Harvard.

Sad to say, Harvard will not be in our future. At this rate, we’re so behind that I don’t think any university will take us. My son won’t get a good job as a doctor, lawyer, or investment banker (and we all know investment banking is a respectable and honest profession these days). He will probably have to take up permanent residence on the couch in our basement until we move into an assisted living community. And all because of those damn sippy cups.

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