Parents

Today is arena conference day! A chance for all of us teachers to gather together in the commons, sit at cafeteria tables with our names calligraphed on lovely big signs, and discuss student progress with parents! We are allowed this privilege for three glorious hours after working a full day. It is the equivalent of a twelve hour shift, but with parents.

It is my least favorite day of the year.

My interactions with parents have been mixed, to say the least. At this point,, I am fairly certain that teachers who rave about the benefits of parent interaction and cooperation have never worked in a district with more than 50% free and reduced lunch (the most common determiner of poverty). The parents of many of my students in poverty don't have a phone number, much less an email, because they move so frequently (read: are evicted so frequently). They are often my age (that's 28 years old with kids in high school. That there is some scary mathematics). Their students tell me horror stories about their parents being drunk every night and cussing out their kids without providing them any real love or discipline. I've heard of parents prostituting themselves for drug money in the house while their children are in the next room. Some parents do and/or deal drugs. They are either absent or abusive. About a third of parents I try to contact never get back to me. I am sad for the kids, but glad for me.

Which brings me back to arena conferences. The parents who come here are the parents who care. For example, I just told a mom, "Your son is a joy to have in class. He understands everything right away and he has a really fun sense of humor." And the parents just before her were the parents of the highest grade in the class, who also has a wonderful heart. He sits next to a special ed student and helps him patiently everyday and never sounds like a condescending jerk. Some of them are obviously poor, but they also just as obviously love their children. Every once in a while, I get a crazy.

My very first year, one mom came up to my table literally shaking with rage. She held out her trembling arm, pointed a finger at me and said, "What is wrong with you? Why did you give my son an F on his quiz? He is an A student." He had let someone copy the answers to his quiz. They both got zeros until they came in to retake it. Of course the student in question, Mr. Angelic himself, forgot to mention this to mom. And by the time she arrived at my arena table, she had turned fully into a hydra and was incapable of understanding the situation. She made me cry (I managed to leave the room first, but I got lost in the new building trying to find a bathroom. I hid under a table in the art room for a few minutes to pull myself together. That is a true story).

The following year, a mom wrote scathing letters about my lack of teaching ability, and showed up in the classroom while there were students in the room to confront me about her son's missing assignment that I apparently had lost. Her son was fine as soon as he turned in his late work which was half-complete in his backpack. I did not lose it. I did not fail him on purpose.

And the year after, an athlete failed my Spanish I class for the second time, and his parents put me on speaker phone so they could both cuss me out at the same time. It was my fault their son failed (never studied, never turned homework in, and never paid attention in class) and now he was dropping out of high school and would never be happy again on account of me. No matter that he failed three of his other classes. It was my fault! It took three times to get the message through that they could call the principal because I wasn't going to talk to them until they could talk like actual grownups, please. I worded it differently.

After these (and more) interactions, I'm wary of parents. And I wear waterproof mascara.

Sometimes I wish I could be completely honest with these people. Someday, I'll lose it completely and say things like:

• I know he said he turned it in. He lied to you. It's in his binder.
• She actually did skip class. I don't just not see people.
• Your child is a mean-hearted twit. And I think that's your fault.
• Maybe if you hid your marijuana better, your child would be able to focus better in class.
• Are you high right now?

But usually, I bite my tongue and smile and keep calm and try to remember the good parents. The ones who thank me for the work I do, the ones who know their students and consistently try to help them do their best. So, thank you, calm and reasonable parents! If it weren't for you, I would have quit a long time ago!

"Sometimes when you are a man..."

Tuesday was a real low point. In first period, one of my second year students was a real jerk. That is surprising for two reasons: they are usually still asleep in first period and unusually compliant, and my second year kids know me and respect me and don't cause discipline problems. So he caught me off guard. He threw a pen across the room to a friend instead of walking it over or passing it along. The friend threw it back. I said, "Please stop throwing pens, you're going to drive me crazy." He responds with tone, "Don't talk to me like that and I'll stop." And throws the damn pen again.

Yup, kicked out. Coach talked to. Mom called. Apology received.

But still, it ate away at me all day. Usually when kids are jerks I shrug it off, laugh at them, and tell funny stories about them. This one really got to me. I'm still trying to figure out why.

Then on Wednesday, I was surprised by another student in 5th period. 5th period is the class that usually makes me want to quit my job before 6th period makes me feel better again. This student, Juan, failed my class last year and is retaking it. He is a clown. Last year, he would flirt with all the girls, shuffle across the room slowly to sharpen his pencil and talk to everyone along the way, and talk in a fake Mexican accent to make the kids around him laugh. He got an A+ in these things, and didn't have enough time for Spanish. He was pretty darn annoying. This year, he's kept the fake accent, but he's also trying pretty hard to do well. And he's grown up quite a bit. Here's our conversation (don't forget to make him speak like Nacho Libre):

Juan: Profesora! shoots his hand straight up in the air
Me: Yes, Juan?
Juan: gestures me over Are you ok today? You seem sad.
Me: I'm having kind of a rough week, but I'll be ok.
Juan: Can I help you? I could tell some jokes and create some laughter.
Me: That would be great, thank you.

And then gave me a high five. It was so unexpectedly compassionate and perceptive I was completely caught off guard. So at least for every demon there's an angel in there too.

Extracurricular Teaching

Yesterday, as I was explaining the difference between a sweatshirt and a sweater to no less than seven very confused students, I realized I'm only a part-time Spanish teacher. Here are some other things your tax dollars have paid for me to teach the youth of America:

• Our Independence Day (they thought it was in November? Or August? maybe in the 1830s?)
• A toucan is a tropical bird (Like the Froot Loops bird!)
• Horizontal goes sideways. Vertical goes up and down.
  
• One never asks a woman if she is pregnant. Even if it seems obvious. A polite lady or gentleman waits to be informed by the woman herself, then acts surprised.
• Aforementioned polite ladies and gentlemen also never say, "You look tired." They say, "You look fantastic as usual, but you seem a little tired today."
• Is is a verb.
  
• Vermicomposting will be unsuccessful outside in a Spokane winter.
• Spaniards speak Spanish too... not just Mexicans.
• You should capitalize your name. And other people's names.
• Tittie Twisters are not appropriate in a professional environment.
• All prosthetic limbs (namely ears and legs) must not be flung across a classroom or used to hit classmates.

I'll let your imaginations fill in the blanks for each of those specific circumstances.