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!