Teacher Conferences

by
Patti Dickinson

The long tables are set up in the gym around the perimeter of the room. Chairs are in the center, facing the tables, for parents to sit while they wait for their turn to talk with the teacher. Funny, but you can tell by the body language of the parent(s) how it's going....good news or bad, adversarial or easy-going banter. Some parents ignore the seven minute limit. Parents bent over teacher-generated progress reports, palm to forehead, is usually a good indication that all's not well in academic paradise. Teachers circling grades....parents taking lots of notes. You know THOSE parents are going directly home to demand to see the planner where the kids are supposed to write assignments/dates of tests/field trips. These parents are on a mission, not stopping to chat with other parents, or even stop at the cookie table for a quick sugar pick-me-up. Nope. Important business to conduct back home at the kitchen table.

Back at home, the inevitable, "Ummm how were conferences?" Translation: The teachers surely wouldn't have put you in atrial fibrillation and told you EVERYTHING. This is the kind of news that is more safely handed out in small, small doses. But this is middle school. Seven different teachers. So each teacher, independent of the others, just delivers HER/HIS information, as seen from HER/HIS perspective. If things are not going well in four of the seven classes, ohhh boy. You're in for a long morning!

Just today, I was at conferences at my kid's middle school. A few bumps, a little struggle. Nothing that will keep her out of higher education options, and nothing, probably that will even keep her off the honor roll if she steps it up a notch. And as I shared with one teacher her struggles, and I teared up in the telling, I looked up, and saw there were tears in the teacher's eyes. In three heartbeats, we had accomplished something that paragraphs of words couldn't. A poignant moment that went unacknowledged by either of us. She shared some of her son's struggles. She touched something deep down in me....a compassionate moment where she became a part of the village. Ready to shed the I'm-the-teacher-you're-the-parent and collaborate with me, step outside that role and roll up her shirtsleeves to be part of the solution. Thank you, JS. You lightened the load. I will sleep better, knowing that my kid will have a safe place to land at least one time during the school day. I have a quote on my refrigerator....it says, "You have not lived a perfect day unless you have done something for someone who will never be able to repay you." Congratulations and thank you.