Our school resource officer threw himself into the corner armchair right after the first bell and let out a huge sigh.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked

‘Grandparents’ Day’, he said. ‘I need a stress relief pill or something.’

I soon find out that Grandparents’ Day is one of the most dreaded, stressful days of the entire year. Correction: they only hold it every other year now, since it can get so crazy. In fact, the way they described it, you’d expect to find a mosh pit of octogenarians in our event hall across campus.

‘Just imagine 800 old people driving Cadillacs in our parking lot. I try to tell them to follow the arrows. Or park in that spot. And they can’t hear me, so they roll down their windows and drive closer to me so they can hear me. Which means my feet, if not my entire body, are in constant danger.’

Some of our seniors come by the office to get the script for saying the pledge (yes, we have a script for the pledge to the flag. just in case). They’re out of uniform, which is odd, but what worries me is the hunted-deer expression on their faces. So I ask what’s wrong.

‘Grandparents Day’. They throw out, as they rush out of the office towards the event hall.

I had a mental picture of hordes of Chico’s-clad bluehairs tearing popsicle crafts off the walls of the elementary school classrooms, at the same time pouring pixie stix on top of their hyped up grandchildren…letting their teachers manage the sugar high (and crash) afterwards.

No wonder it’s only done every other year.

Unfortunately, I had a hectic day yesterday, preparing for my sophomore parents’ meeting, so I wasn’t able to see what all the fuss was about on the elementary school side of the campus.

I did hear a very slow-moving thunder in the distance, though…