Parents, Parents, Parents

One of my biggest fears as a first year teacher was dealing with parents. Being a mere 23 years of age, I wondered if parents would be able to see straight through me. Upon looking into my eyes (fighting fear and wearing a façade of confidence and cool headedness) I initially feared they’d ask the following questions: Is she 18? Did she just graduate high school? How could she possibly be teaching my kid English? Are you sure she’s a teacher? But, with each conversation I had with parents, my confidence grew. I became less fearful and felt more comfortable in my own skin as their child’s teacher.

As Parent Teacher Conferences approached I wondered, How much do I tell parents? How little to tell them about their child’s behavior or progress? What problems to tell the mother? What things to tell—or not tell— the father? What if the parents hit their child?

I have a vivid memory of meeting with A’s mother on the first Parent Teacher Conference Day of the year. A was failing my class, not because he was not capable of completing the work or excelling on tests, but because he was lazy, plain and simple. His mother asked me why he was failing and I showed her all of his grades and missing work. A sank lower in his chair, his hood covering his eyes. I looked his mother in the eyes and told her her son was one of my brightest students with unlimited potential to excel in school. She looked back, dubious. She replied, “Oh, well, he’ll get it, don’t you worry.” Fearful of what might happen to A, I reiterated how talented he was but that we—she and I—just needed to figure out how to tap into his talent to so he could thrive. Again, a dubious look. How could she not see her son was incredibly bright? I wondered what went on at home that prevented A from showing his parents this. On his way out, A, his eyes averting mine, said, “Hopefully… I will see you tomorrow.”

I went home that night feeling awful. I had to tell his mother the truth, but I also feared I would be the reason why A’s father beat him that night. As his teacher, I, unknowingly, had the power to cause physical harm to him. I was a facilitator of that harm, and all because I was honest. However, what I feared most was that his mother did not believe me when I said her son was one of the brightest in the class. How could I see it and she couldn’t? I’ve known him for a mere 2 months. She’s known him for 15 years. There was so much wrong here.

No one ever told me how to handle parents on Parent Teacher Conference Day. Teachers at my school said, “Oh no parents never show up. You’ll be fine.” In my mind, that was not what I needed to hear. (Something like 40 of them ended up coming.) I needed to know how to deal with an indignant parent. I needed to know what to do if a parent led me to believe he or she would physically harm their child. I needed to know what to do if I was told I was a terrible teacher who was failing miserably. I needed to know what to do if a parent and her daughter and daughter's friend came in and yelled and screamed at me for 10 minutes incessantly. (Wait. Asking Kristin about that one...) No one could tell me, so I went into Parent Teacher Conferences with a thousand knots in my empty stomach, hoping to make it out alive and in one piece.

What was most astonishing to me on Parent Teacher Conference Day and Night was the parents who asked me for parenting advice. “Ms. Brady, what do you think we should do? Should we pull him out of school and put him in the job corps? The military? An alternative school? Ground him? Take away his phone, internet, i Pod? Kick him out?” As the questions came head on, all I could think was, Are you serious? I, a 23 year old who just graduated from college, am being asked how to raise a teenager? I still FEEL like a teenager sometimes. How could I possibly give advice to the parents of my students when I still felt like a kid in so many ways? Who was I kidding?