The Perils of the Pushy Parents: A Cautionary Tale. Boris Johnson

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balding brow and lean physique

      Concealed a terrifying zest

      For putting children to the test.

      When they were babies in the womb

      He’d read them Berkeley, Locke and Hume.

      Before their eyes were even open

      He’d hum them bits of Bach and Chopin,

      And not content, this massive swot,

      Would teach them physics in the cot

      And swipe away their infant bottle

      And fill their hands with Aristotle.

      When normal kids are doing well

      To stick a bit of pasta shell

      On card, or play with coloured blocks

      He taught them Zeno’s paradox!

      Every year it grew intenser:

      At five he put them down for Mensa.

      At six he made them, lass and lad,

      Contest a maths Olympiad

      Which venture meeting mixed success

      He’d wake them up with cries of ‘Chess!’

      When most of us are feeling weak.

      Then after half an hour of Greek

      He’d keep them in the chairs they sat in,

      Switch their books and yell out, ‘Latin!’

      Something told him they would star

      In ballet or in opera,

      So with the zeal of ancient Sparta

      He drilled them for La Traviata.

      He’d make them play the violin

      Then tell them with a sickly grin,

      Containing just a hint of menace,

      ‘February’s great for tennis.

      Come and meet your tennis teacher.

      Come on, kids, say pleased to meet ya!’

      Poor Jim and Molly did their best,

      And yet they knew the vital test

      For dad, more vital than a course

      In how to serve or ride a horse,

      Was quenching his hormonal need

      To watch his little children READ.

      The surest way of pleasing him

      Was sitting like two cherubim

      In silence and for simply ages

      Rustling slowly through the pages.

      Until he’d spot them, stop, and look,

      And gasp, ‘My word – they’ve got a book!’

      He’d hide behind the door to spy.

      A tear would glisten in each eye.

      He’d hug himself. He’d cut a caper:

      ‘They’re reading printed words on paper!’

      So how do you think his children could

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