“What do you mean that my son is the class monitor?” I responded in surprise, my consciousness receiving an electrifying jolt. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Were we talking about the same boy — the one who irritates me to no end with his incessant ‘poopoo man’ remarks and ‘67’ gestures? My colleague assured me that, indeed, we had been discussing my son. A wave of pride surged through my body, replacing my earlier astonishment. Even though I had an illustrious academic career, I had never been appointed to a leadership position. My son had surpassed me even though he was in Primary One. In spite of his mischief at home, he was regarded as a role model for his classmates to emulate at school. I guess that’s what people mean when they say that you sometimes live vicariously through your children.