Okay, so we’re at the annual reunion block party, surrounded by loving friends and music and food and fun. The day is waning away and it is time for the much awaited raffle prizes to be doled out. My son and another boy his age volunteer to pull the numbers and read them off. There are dozens of prizes it seems. They read through them wonderfully and the adult in charge keeps the witty banter rolling as he hands out the goods. The boys are getting a little bored and tired now. They didn’t know the glory would fade and they’d still be reading off endless sets of numbers 20 minutes in to the process. The bike ramp and pinata are patiently waiting for their attentions.My son picks a number and says loud and clear, “Four eight eighty.” There is a half second of silence followed by the adult in charge saying “Otherwise known as four hundred and eighty” but I can hardly hear it over the roar from our side of the block party. Everyone in our group has just simultaneously burst in to laughter and shouted “Homeschooler!” at the top of their lungs while making a point to aim their fingers at me and Ken in case anyone on the other side of the block wanted to know who was the educational guru. If I wasn’t so busy falling off my chair with laughter I might have hid under the table. Good thing my son has a sense of humor and a bullet proof self esteem too. He just shrugged and smiled and moved on to the next 500 draws.