I am turning into Bill Cosby

A's first day at play school.  I sat in the lobby for 30 minutes as he was oriented to the classroom, his two new teachers (one of whom is Nariman, and hardly an old parsi man, she is striking).  Here are some of the essays I read in the newsletter.  All of these were written by first and second graders - their views on education, culture, and parenting.   (Edited because I don't remember all the bad spellings.)  I am not a sociologist, but there is a lot you can tell about their world from this "darnedest" material.

School. I hate school.  I like to play with my fish and my chiks.

I miss my old school.  But the bathrooms are cleaner in this new school.

My mother went to the hair salon, and did not come back for a long time.  When she came home she had a haircut.  She looked fierce and I screamed.  Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

My mother.  My mother goes to the hair salon.  It is boring there.  She puts something green on her face.  Then she turns red.  Then she looks good.

My grandfather is ded.  He is with god in the sky. When he was alive he took care of me.

Liar liar.  I asked my father if he would come to my presentation and he said yes.  Tody I asked him and he said that he was sick.  I know he was making up a story as he went to office.

When I was born, I was very noty.  The doctor slapped me.  My father went crazy.  He slapped the doctor, and bit him with an ant.

My father always tickles me.  When I tickle him he says children can not tickle grown ups.  But he is wrong.  I tickle him after he has fallen asleep.

Bandits came into my house last night, and we called the police  They took them away.

And the following essay, only in Pakistan.

How to make a Nehary. (recipe follows)

And it ends.  This is your nehary.  Enjoy!  (Kinda sums up Karachi culture for me.)