To say Sara is precocious would be the ultimate understatement. She's so smart she makes Albert Einstein seem like a pea brain. And well-read, too! According to her fifth grade teacher, Sara's the only kid in the history of the school who ever gave a book report on the entire ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA.
"I think I've got things figured out." Sara announced to my husband between bites of meatloaf.
"Got what figured out?" Dave shot back before I could send him a warning glare.
"How to resolve the education dollar crisis. The legislature, as you know, is traditionally tightfisted when it comes to appropriating education dollars."
Dave's lower jaw dropped. As a veteran school teacher, he was ready to take the bait. Sara had him chummed.
"Pass the corn and tell me more," was what he said.
"Well," Sara smeared a slice of bread with grape preserves, "first of all, you resume selling canned pop in all the lunch rooms across the state and encourage the school district to sell the scrap aluminum cans to supplement teacher salaries.
"Then, you collect all the pencil sharpener shavings in each school and recycle them into paper school supplies.
"Finally, you take all the onions out of the school lunch salads--the kids never eat them anyway--and use the money you save to buy new text books.
"Why those three measures alone should save the state's taxpayers millions of education dollars."
"I see," my husband said, so obviously intrigued that he had begun chewing on his Jello.
"You recycle the aluminum cans, and you recycle the pencil shavings. But what about the onions? What are all the farmers in Utah going to do with their surplus onions?"
"Give them to the legislature," Sara replied. "That way, next time they talk about the problems in education they can cry some real tears."
