One day this week after work and school, my son, niece, nephew and I were at my grandmother’s house. I was reading through the instructions for my son’s social studies project, which read in part “attach the rubric to the back of the poster board.”
“WTH is a rubric?” I asked to no one in particular. Bersain, my 8-year-old son, and Kirsten, my 13-year-old niece, looked at me blankly.
“You don’t know what a rubric is?” Karson, my 9-year-old nephew asked me disgustedly.
“No. Could you tell me?” I responded.
He pulled a sheet from my son’s folder with a bunch of columns and numbers on it and waved it in front of me.
“Thanks, Kars,” I said. He just stared at me like I was too stupid to be allowed to live.
By the way, according to Random House, a rubric is “a title, heading, direction, or the like, in a manuscript, book, statute, etc., written or printed in red or otherwise distinguished from the rest of the text.”