Tomorrow night I’ll participate in my 30^th Parents Night at the independent school where I teach English. I remember my first fairly well, being really nervous addressing these older people putting down some serious jack to have me, an imposter — someone who had never taught high school — in charge of teaching their precious replicated DNA. In the two weeks I’d been teaching them, I had learned that many of my students — as far as well-wired cerebral cortexes go — were more intelligent than I, so I assumed their parents would be the same.

Like I said, I was nervous. I remember sweating profusely and my hand shaking in my pocket as I improvised my way through an overview of the course, fielded a couple of questions, and bid them a fond farewell. Several wanted to shake my hand as they left and told me how much…