Teacher’s Lament

Teachers from across the country appeared to me last night in a dream. With one voice they spoke: “Here’s why teachers feel that we can’t tell parents the truth about their children.”

“Because the parents aren’t nice to us never mind respectful.They treat us like coke machines. When they see us at Publix on a Sunday morning, they don’t ask us how we’re feeling, about the health of our children, or how our parents are getting on. They don’t ask us if we’re going to watch the Dolphin game later. Instead, they ask us if we’ve graded the tests yet. And if we have spent the weekend marking papers, they go on to ask us what grade Priscilla got. Then they go on to tell us WHY she got an A or why she didn’t get an A. Then they go to talk to us about Priscilla’s interactions with her soccer coach and why she didn’t score a goal in the game yesterday. Next they remind us about her upcoming sessions with a psychologist for an evaluation because they think she might have some learning differences just like her father’s sister. As our eyes glaze over and we feel our legs go numb, they go on to tell us about how her father’s sister didn’t do well in school and they ask us whether or not there might be a genetic component to Priscilla’s learning differences.”

“As if we’re geneticists. As if we have any idea. As if we have nothing better to do with our Sunday morning than discuss the genealogy of their ex-husband’s family.”

“That’s why we don’t tell them the truth: that Priscilla is doing the best she can with the gifts she has; that she’s not as smart as her parents think she is or as hard-working as they would like her to be. In short, we’re scared to tell them the truth–that Priscilla just isn’t going to grow up to teach orthopedic surgery at Harvard Medical School. She doesn’t have the horses; she doesn’t have the whip. She could be a happy little girl if her parents would stop pressuring her, criticizing her, doing her homework for her, making her feel like she’s not okay as she is. But if we tell them the gentle truth–that Priscilla is not likely to win the next Nobel Prize in physics–they explain that it’s our fault. If only we would teach better, Priscilla would be getting grades of A+ in AP Calculus. If only we were more sensitive to Priscilla’s learning differences, Priscilla would get a Ph.D. in philosophy while pitching the seventh game of the World Series and rule the world.”

“Not all of the parents with whom we work are this self-centered, and lacking in simple social graces, but enough are. One is too many. Their boorishness makes it hard to teach because we are constantly concerned about what over-the-top craziness they’re going to come up with next.”

“We love teaching. Or we did. We wanted to share our passion, our love of our subject, our love of learning, our concern for developing minds. But we are scared to express joy, because the parents misinterpret every misrepresented tidbit of information that comes home.”

“And perish forbid we try to gently correct their child. If we suggest that a child read a book the parents undermine our authority and tell us why Percy shouldn’t have to read a book, how it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t read the book, and why should he have to read books anyway?”

“Not only are parents obsessed with their kids to the point of ignoring the most basic social niceties, but the worst of their unbearable diatribe is the outgrowth of their overwhelming anxiety. They don’t trust us to do our jobs to the best of our ability. They treat us like hired kitchen help from a lower social class.”

“If there were anything the parents could say to change things for the better, teachers would listen. But telling the teachers that our classrooms are underfunded isn’t helpful. Are you kidding? The parents think we don’t know that our budget for maps, books, magazines, computers, rulers, glue, construction paper, colored pencils, copy paper, and even soap in the bathroom comes from the bake sales rather than from the legislature? Do parents think that we didn’t get the memo about how there’s no money for anything that we need to teach effectively?”

“We’re not in control. We don’t have input over the budget. We know what supplies, books, crayons, and manipulatives we’d like to have for the kids to work with. We have even less say about curriculum. We’re always being told to teach to some vacuous norm-referenced test. Over two thirds of us are outraged as these inaccurate and insensitive assessments. No one asked us; no one gave us a choice. But parents harangue us about testing as if we woke up one morning and decided tormenting your children was a good idea.”

“Because there’s one insensitive, boorish parent in each classroom, I am concerned about sharing my passion. That’s why I find it hard to teach. Knowing that there are parents who are going to second guess my every professional decision makes me nervous. That’s why sensitive teachers are leaving the profession in droves.”

“Here’s a not so subtle hint: Next time you see me in the grocery store, don’t ask me about your child. Don’t ask me if I have graded the math tests yet. Don’t tell me what I’m doing wrong or how my classroom should be operating more smoothly. Ask me what I think of the weather or if I’ve read any good books lately. Or ask me how I think the Dolphins are going to do next year.”

“Then offer to help out in my classroom.”

***

I rubbed my eyes as the amalgam of teachers faded away, wondering if there were any truth to their concerns, feeling pleased that all of my children are further along in their educations. I also pondered if I were guilty of committing any of the wrongs of which they spoke and determined to try to be more understanding of teachers and everyone else.

I hope my gentle readers will consider making the same commitment.