I am sitting in my classroom waiting for the next parents to
trickle in. It is that iconic
event we lovingly refer to as Parent/Teacher conferences. Let’s be honest here. Nobody loves it. It is a long day for teachers and drudgery
for most parents. Because my
husband and I sent our children to a tiny K-12 school district, all conferences
were held on the same night(s).
Traveling from class to class for our four children literally took hours
– 10 minutes at each stop to tell us our children were doing just fine and 40 minutes to
discuss our wheat crop and current grain prices. The bright spot was the homemade desserts and coffee loving
displayed in the hallway.
I am on the other side of the desk now. I actually like them more now than I
did as a parent. I get to look
parents in the eye and honestly share the strengths and challenges their child
possesses. Most parents appreciate
the honest appraisal, I think.
Better to know than wonder.
It is usually a healthy conversation.
I think my experiences as a parent have helped me as a
teacher. I try to remember the feelings of being told they were excelling or struggling. It can be an emotional roller coaster. Every parent wants to hear praise and glowing reports. It can be tough to hear less.
As a formal educator now, there are few things I am a little desperate for parents to
understand about their child in this great grinding wheel of education. Maybe these things will help you understand
your child’s experience better in general, and teachers in particular. Here they are:
1.
I will never know your child as well as you
do. I spend many hours with your
child, yes indeed, I do. Sometimes
too many hours and sometimes not enough.
I assess and listen to them stumble over words and struggle to add those
darn 9 fact families. But your
child is your progeny. Your flesh
and blood. You know their moods
and what happened at home this morning to make them so weepy (or angry or
silly). I am an expert at
teaching. You are the expert on
your child. Speak up. Tell me if I misunderstand your child’s
learning style or fail to see their grasp of concepts that seem to elude them
at school or on a test. I want to
hear it in your own words. I like
your child, but you love your child.
There is a vast and unfathomable difference.
2.
You are and always will be your child’s best
advocate. If you are frustrated
that they are frustrated with something at school, please come to me. I can only address the things I am
aware of. If they love school, do
me a favor and tell me. Teachers
like an “atta boy” once in awhile too.
3.
I am not your enemy. If there is issue that leaves you frustrated or angry, let’s
have an adult conversation.
Accusations will only throw up a few stony emotional walls between
us. Come to the table with the
problem and some possible solutions.
We’ll talk. I want to hear
what you have to say but I don’t have the time or energy to wade through a sea
of angry rants. We can do this
calmly and part friends. I choose
to believe the best in you. I hope
you will return the favor.
4.
We are partners, you and I. I may not love everything about the way
you parent, or communicate with me, or approach life in general. It is quite possible you won’t love all
things about me either. That's OK. The rugged reality is, we have been
thrown together for nine months with the corporate goal of helping your child
grow toward the next grade. The
raw truth is (oh, if parents truly understood this…!), I cannot do it without
you. I have file folders stuffed
with strategies, graphic organizers, and cutesy art projects, but YOU… you, my
friend, are the sun, moon, and stars in your child's universe. If you say, “Let’s read together for a few minutes.” They will come running. If you ask at the cash register while
you pay for your Slushy, “What is this coin called and how much is it worth?,”
they will quickly learn that a quarter is worth twenty-five cents. Your impromptu reading and math lessons
will always go further than my carefully crafted, standards-aligned, works of
genius.
So when you sit in my tiny chairs
at my tiny table for conferences and I show you reams of standardized test
scores and examples of their work, I will look you in your tired eyes and say,
“Let’s work together, you and I.
Help me understand your child and I will help you understand my student. You may not know this, but I need you
more than you need me. You are the
REAL teacher in this sloppy partnership."
I hope you take your role seriously.
Join me...
