Parent-Teacher Conferences

Do you know those moments when suddenly a different path opens up before you?  There you are, doing something that’s second nature, talking to your child or colleague or spouse or friend, in the comfortable, well-worn groove of a conversation whose basic path you’ve walked a hundred times before and you’ll walk a hundred times again, when–suddenly–out of the corner of your mind, you see a different way.  You don’t know where it came from or where it’s going, but, hell, at least it’s different.  A slight shift.  A changing breeze.  Something vague and murkily new.

I had one of those moments on Friday, during parent-teacher conferences.  It was my last conference of the week, one of the only three in English, which is probably why I could do it (it’s hard to be open to shifts when you’re just navigating the shoals of a foreign language).

The conference was going to be about Tomas (who goes by Tommy at home). It was going to be the Kid Not Succeeding In School Conversation.

Tomas’s mom entered.  A slight woman with a tired face.  Maybe ten years younger than me.  Wearing a fitted t that may once have been white, but had gone through the laundry with some graying colors.  The same coke-bottle glasses as her son, glasses which weirdly magnified her eyes, making each flicker of emotion that much more visible.

We shook hands.  Both of us were wary.  I knew from talking to Tomas’s first grade teacher that Mom was a fighter; she worked as a legal assistant in a law office.  This teacher, one of the best teachers at our school, is very effective (because) she is very strict.  Tomas, then, as now, came to school anywhere from 10 to 60 minutes late on a daily basis.  Said teacher said something; said mother got defensive, setting the tone for a hostile relationship that resulted, mid-way through prior school year, in said mother filing a formal complaint at central district headquarters against said teacher.  Tomas was then transferred to another first grade classroom where new teacher didn’t really teach and children got to play legos much of the day.  As a result of which Tomas is behind, thinks school is no different from play time, and is also still regularly tardy.

Knowing all this, I briefly considered asking an administrator to sit in on this particular conference. Then, for some reason, I decided not to.

In front of me, the evidence: attendance card complete with a daily record of minutes tardy, a report card full of 2s in achievement and 1s in behavior (4 being the highest score), a folder full of uncompleted, messy work and tests that would not make Mom’s heart sing, a pile of yellow referral slips (sample: Tomas is being sent to the office because he airplaned an eraser at another child).

We sat down.  We each steeled ourselves.  I could see it in her eyes.  Here we go again, they said.  All the problems with Tommy.

I looked down at my evidence: all the problems with Tomas.

In a flash I could see the conversation we were going to have:

Me pressing my case about Tomas needing to get to school on time, having stricter routines, having her sign off on his homework to make sure it’s been completed, does he have any chores at home to help him learn to become more responsible, does he have friends of his own age he plays with outside of school, do you get him to bed on time, do you take him to the library, do you do you do you blah, bah, blah. . .

Her, defensive, he’s a good kid you know, he means well, he can do the work, he’s better than last year, he’s maturing slowly, I always check his homework, he always does his homework, I don’t know where it goes, mornings are really hard, do you look inside his backpack, you’re too strict, why don’t you why don’t you why don’t you blah blah blah!!

Neither of us said a word.

I looked into her enormous, magnified eyes and saw: a tired mother trying to hold it all together.

After five days of long conferences mostly in Spanish and a grueling 2nd job chauffering my son to soccer, eye appointments, and music lessons, I saw me: a tired mother trying to hold it all together.

I didn’t want to have the Kid Not Succeeding In School Conversation. All this happened in a flash.  Maybe it was the glasses. Glasses are always paths into other worlds.

Whatever it was, I saw a different opening.

“Tomas is a very creative child,” I began, “and I don’t want to do anything to stifle his creativity.  BUT I need to channel his creativity and energy so that he gets things accomplished.”

She looked at me and a flicker of surprise flashed across her face.  She took a deep breath.  Her shoulders straightened, as if the armor had been removed.  Then she let her whole body sag, as if in relief.  “That’s exactly right,” she said.

We began a different conversation. The Let’s Try New Methods Conversation which, by its very nature, is a more unpredictable journey.  I told her some of the things I do with my son when I’m feeling like a nag and he’s not doing his work.  She told me what she’d been trying.  We looked through Tomas’s work together. We came up with some ideas.  We’re not sure if they’ll succeed, but at least we’re on the same page.

We made a human connection across the great wide table of the parent-teacher divide.  We were just two moms trying hard to make sure that kids learned to navigate the unknown world that lay ahead.  She handed her kid off to me for six hours of specialized work, and then I handed him back to her for the rest of the day.

Piece of cake.

As she stood up to leave she told me, “You know, Tommy comes home and says, Mom, Ms. B is a really good teacher.  She’s trying so hard to teach us so many things.  She teaches all day long.  With you, he wants to learn, even if he doesn’t quite know how to yet.”

Complete with chocolate icing.