Kids don't automatically slide into a pint-sized desk any more. I'm here to tell you enrollment is a lengthy process.

I just signed my son up for mandatory screening. For that, he will be given a series of tests that rival college entrance exams. Among other things, he is expected to know his name, age, phone number, and residence. Knowing him, he'll recite our e-mail address just to throw them off. <continued below>

He also has to name basic body parts such as the hand, foot and cerebral cortex. It's hard telling how he'll do in the motor skills department. But, if he starts in on pistons and cylinders, they'll be sorry they asked.

We are required to bring along Kelly's birth certificate to prove my curly-headed, knock-knock-joking, Lego-loving son was actually born. We can't, however, use the embossed document provided by the hospital. Apparently it's not official-looking enough. Instead we have to trot down to the courthouse to get a certified, bona fide fake of the original on file.

We also need a copy of Kelly's immunization record. This, of course, is completely understandable. They wouldn't want him inadvertently spreading, say, malaria. I will assure them he's had all of his rabies and distemper shots.

I'm told the screening takes about an hour and a half. Based on his answers, Kelly will then be recommended for Kindergarten, Readiness or Detention.

And each year in late August, we'll receive a lengthy list of supplies we need to buy our child to ensure scholastic success. To transport them back and forth, Junior also requires a knapsack the size of a golf bag.

Then he'll be off to school like millions of other children while Mom stays home and writes her own book. It'll be called, "All I Really Need to Know About Red Tape I Learned in Kindergarten Screening".

For more of Corky Corcoran's humor, see her weekly column in the Ft. Worth Star Telegram Online. Visit her site.