Conferences

CONFERENCES
By Carol O’Donnell-Knych
Parent/teacher conferences can make anybody’s stomach churn. After all, each side of the table is open to criticism from the other, but my teaching life (from second grade on up through high school) couldn’t have been as constructive as it was without the insights gained through my contacts with parents. I know teachers who would rather cut off an arm then confer, but my progression from bumbling beginner to enthusiastic participant left me thinking the struggle to aid the students entrusted to my care was worth sharing.
Teaching dependents of American Military in DoDDS, conferences were often by phone because so many students rode the bus, also I include letters from grandparents received during our Family History Unit. What mattered were the insights I gained as a teacher.

Conferences clarify a child’s situation and help the teacher develop their maturity. Though I put myself on the line for criticism, I believe I was a better teacher for doing so.

Overseas, parent/teacher conferences became increasingly important because military dependents don’t have their extended family nearby to lean on. Families tried to make foreign assignments a learning experience, but there were always those whose situation left them unhappy. We teachers assume kids come to school “ready to learn” but some come with baggage their family heaps upon them and we simply can’t know how complicated their living situation is until we get that telling glimpse.

Military sponsors are expected to attend conferences--rank is no excuse. In civilian schools mothers appear, but among the military, when there’s trouble it reflects on the sponsor’s career. A truly disruptive family can be shipped home. I’ve overheard principals say, “Do you need me to talk to your commanding officer?” No, they never did.

With DoDDS I found myself conferring with dads. In the ‘60’s state side fathers were described as distant, but that wasn’t what I saw. When I asked another teacher how the literature could be so at odds with our experience she said, “These fathers want the teacher to know their child has a man looking out for him. He’s sacrificed so they’ll have a better life and he’ll see to it that nonsense stops fast.” I found that to be true, even if the child declared the teacher as prejudiced, those dads listened and judged for themselves, coming down on the side of learning always.
In my experience, principals think of teaching as a sink or swim endeavor. Most encourage teachers to handle things themselves, but they’re not happy with those of us who venture outside our subject area. 12 year olds feel rebellious; it’s like a call of nature and military families can be very strict. If a child wants to assert himself he/she usually begins being obstinate with a female teacher. They aren’t personally rude; they simply fool around, draw, or don’t do their assignments, even when given time in class. I’m not the best disciplinarian so I designed schemes to keep a lid on the mischief.

I set up a book with a section for each of the 5 classes I taught daily. If a child caused a minor fuss I asked him or her to write down what they’d done and declare they wouldn’t do it again—tripping a friend, swiping a pencil, calling a friend stupid as they grabbed their paper—their confessions had to be well written, and include self- incriminating details. The second infraction earned the same response, but the third earned a call home. I was very clear about the 3 strikes consequences but still, they seldom saw it coming.

When parents came in for their conferences we’d discuss the latest mischief, and their red-blooded American child might snicker. Their infraction sounded silly in the light of day—but when I pulled out the signed apologies, showing they’d had the opportunity to change their wicked ways, suddenly there was a pattern seldom lost on parents. The fact they were taking from class time to perform came across loud and clear and that was enough. Children seldom arrive at a constructive place in life alone and most parents are relieved to share that load once they see we’re all working for their child’s welfare.

Early on I’d received a note from the father of a second grade boy stating Dad had spanked him, soaped his mouth and sent him to bed without dinner because I’d reported he sometimes pushed classmates (thinking they’d speak to him about his behavior in line.) I placed that letter in the child’s permanent record but it was removed because the administration said I didn’t have any business warning the next teacher to tread lightly. Some parents are loving; they simply don’t know how to parent. I found myself resisting the directive to narrow my gaze to “my business.” Of course I spoke to his new teacher but what about those I never met?

Once I reported a student who wrote that she wanted to kill herself, sending that family into counseling. Though I was legally required to report it, Mom demanded a conference with the principal, the counselor and me saying, “That’s a stupid teacher to take my daughter’s creative writing seriously.”

By the time we all had schedules that aligned, they’d determined the girl wasn’t suicidal, but airing her feelings that dad and the boys overwhelmed her and Mom helped the entire family, so Mom gave me a big hug. I can’t tell you how relieved my principal was.

Later, I assigned writing about mischief that got out of hand. I reaped a paper describing several of our kids throwing rocks off a German overpass by a small rough-neck I could imagine performing that deed. I was told privacy issues prevented our disclosing that information. I pointed out that if drivers were injured, the shame would be on us. German police were given a time and place so they could patrol and no incident occurred.

Another time when a student stayed after class to help he told me he’s been “a love child.” His birth parents were too young. His mother married his step-father who kept him and his step-sister when she left. “She couldn’t take me because I eat so much she couldn’t save for a house if she had to feed me. Between my parents there are seven children. Mrs. K, why do people do that to their children?”

I said I was sure his parents loved them all, they just started before they could cope with the pressures of life. I said “I’m sure the younger kids look up to you, so I hope you wait to have children until you can care for them together with the woman you love.”

Two years later I was teaching a small Basic Skills class. That young man’s sister, Erica, attracted the notice of Joey, our “official 7th grade sexual expert.” Our vice-principal knew him and his single father well, he was the go-to guy for any girl wishing to explore her sexuality. He wasn’t forcing anybody, but I wouldn't want him teaching my daughter.

I’d spread out the 12 students in my class so they could concentrate. One day I saw “our expert” behind Erica, rubbing her neck. Startled, I ordered him back to his seat. The next day he was caressing her arm. Indignant, I shooed him away. The 3rd day I tried to empower her to resist him herself.
“Tell him to keep his hands off you Pop him one. He has no right to touch you.”

Erica whispered to me, “Don’t worry, Mrs. K, Joey’s not hurting me. He does that in all my classes. Besides, he makes me feel good.”

I called Erica’s father that night and described the scene to him. “It isn’t my job to explain the facts of life, but I have a daughter and I know how responsible you’ve been. I simply couldn’t let this go on without alerting you. Erica doesn’t see that fellow coming but if you talk to her now maybe she’ll be able to resist till she’s more mature.”

The next day a gaggle of girls gathered around my desk. I winced, thinking they’d tell me to mind my own business. Erica turned to me, “My dad talked to me about boys. He said he wanted me to stay a little girl longer and he cried. He said you were a good lady to call him long distance (I hid our phone bills from my husband.) Thank you, Mrs. K.”

Several girls asked if I’d call their Dad, but I said they should tell them about Erica and their conversation would happen. I considered myself blessed I hadn’t been reprimanded.

I had Joey, our sex expert, again in 8th grade. He got into some disruptive mischief so I sent him to a time out seat in back, tucked behind a bookcase. When I checked he seemed busy. After the classes changed there was a buzz of activity in back.
Jeannie, my best artist told me I’d better come see what Joey had drawn on the wall. Disgusted and busy, I told the class to sit down and ignore it, that I’d look later.
Jeannie offered to copy it for me. When I saw her meticulous copy of his detailed drawing of a 2’ long penis with an original poem naming a student from my last class he’d like to share it with I felt like he’d flung boiling water over my heart. I’d not only have to deal with him, I’d have to call my artist’s mom, plus the girl he’d named, oh boy.

I sent Jeannie to the office with her drawing in a sealed envelope. The vice-principle appeared on the run, armed with a large piece of Manila paper and tape to cover that drawing. She announced Joey’d be coming in to remove it and he was to be ignored.

Of course, those who hadn’t seen it wanted to know what he’d done. I said it was just our expert being mischievous, but I’d have to trust them to not talk about it because he’d used another student’s name and it would be a terrible injustice to humiliate her.

Our expert denied his deed, but when he was told Dad was on his way to view the art work he got a bucket and comet and scrubbed that wall panel clean. When Dad saw the tell-tale space and the vice-principal showed him the drawing he paled.
Now when you hear a very large man muttering, “My good God,” you have to feel for him. He glanced my way before ducking his head and muttering, “Sorry Ma’am.”
Amazingly enough the class kept it quiet, though the student named in the poem did hear her name was used inappropriately. We had a class discussion about the kind of boys who bad-mouth nice girls. She and her mother took it well, but Joey found his circle tightening as his father prepared to send him to live at Grandpa’s for the rest of the school year. By the time he returned he’d filled out enough to play football. He had one girl friend and I never heard another word about predatory behavior linked to him, a testamony to cooperation among the adults in his life and the miracle of maturity.

Not all my conferences involved such graphic displays. Often they concerned attending to the task at hand. When bright kids decided they really didn’t need to learn once they could read and write I’d call home and ask parents to point out that school was their job. I said that learning was like climbing a ladder; it’s easy if you don’t skip rungs, but do and it’s increasingly hard to reach the top. I had upper-grade texts I’d assign to show a bored student that he wasn’t as far ahead of classmates as he thought.

Parents often thanked me and they made sure the child got his assignments done, but some parents needed more help than their child. I called one mother from the Philippines who spoke broken English. She said her son, Sam, knew he was smarter then his step-father, a kind and decent man who’d taken them in after his birth-father abandoned them. She said, “If my husband hits him to get him to work, Sam will call the M P’s and ruin my husband’s career. If he won’t behave we’ll have to leave because my husband is too good to do that to him.” She paused to consider her options. “I’m still bigger then Sam, if I jump and wrestle him to the floor maybe he won’t realize he’s stronger then me.”

Horrified at the thought, I persuaded her to talk to Sam as if he was an adult because his behavior would affect his adult life. I suggested she explain their situation to him, then ask if he thought he was smart enough to support himself, and her, if they left.

The next day Sam asked me for extra credit assignments. “My mother said I’m not a little kid anymore, but we can’t get along without my step-dad. I’m going to study harder and I’ll be nicer to him because he’ll take care of my mother when I’m gone. Thanks for telling her to talk to me like a man, Mrs K. I understand better now.”

Teachers grumble because “I know that parent’s going to stick up for their kid.” But I tell you, it’s a parents God given duty to be there for their child, even if the teacher is mad enough to hang that kid out the window by his thumbs. A parent who doesn’t support their child is somebody no teacher ever wants to meet.

Of the hundreds of parents I dealt with, very few truly shocked me, until I saw a bright boy wad up his instruction sheet and dump it in the garbage as he left. I’d designed projects to teach more advanced skills. One was to write to the oldest person in their family capable of answering. We started early in the year so we could refer back to times their family connected with so they’d see that they were part of our continuing history. They wrote letters stating our goals and each child added something personal about their life in Germany so the letter was more than a request.

I fished Steve’s sheet out of the trash and invited Mom to come in so I could explain the assignment, thinking her son just didn’t get how much fun he’d have. The next day Mom arrived at my door with Steve in tow. The mother was tall, heavy and glowering. He was slim, blond and handsome.

As I turned to unlock my door she said to him, “Go get your assignment sheet.”
“I don’t have it, Mom.”

She slapped his face, not hard enough for me to call the M P’s, but shocking nonetheless.

I lightened my tone, saying many kids needed help to get this assignment started and he was such a good student I’d felt sure she’d want him to do his best. “He left his paper with me yesterday.” I pulled out the sheet with his name on it and proceeded to go over the directions as she emanated hatred and disgust at that child.

Breathless, I said, “If you don’t have anybody you can write, you can tell him a tale you remember from growing up and I’ll accept his written interview.” Anything to save that kid, I thought, anything.

She shook her head and said she’d come from a gruff group of mountain people who didn’t tell many tales except about peddling moonshine. Only she and her “smart mouth” brother had escaped. I said a moonshine story was just what we needed, and the way it turned out, he wrote a witty report on moonshiners backed up by his family tale.

She barked at him to thank me as they left the room. Steve not only thanked me, he did everything I asked of him from then on. We never mentioned my producing that paper.

The school nurse said that unless he showed up obviously battered or asked for aid, we couldn’t remove him from his home, and we might well make life there harder for him. We suspected he reminded Mom of that brother who’d tormented her.

The nurse and I decided that whenever I detected surliness in a parent I should say, “I know it’s hard, I have 5 kids of my own, but we’re both here for your child’s welfare and together we’ll do a good job.” It seemed to me then, and I’m even more sure of it now, that scolding a parent who goes home with that child is never helpful to that child.

Meeting that mother taught me to start with a compliment before reporting mischief because it’s hard to retract annoyance once it’s registered and we never want to trigger abuse. From then on, I started conferences by saying I’d noticed some good attribute and I was trying to reinforce its development because, as we all know, being 12 is hard. Then, if their response sounded positive I went on to discuss the mischief that needed parental attention.

Don, a pale, asthmatic student received a reply from his grandfather with a $10 bill inside. He shared a family story, then said, “I’m so proud you invited a classmate to go on that church picnic with you. I showed your letter to all my friends and they say their grandkids can’t write like that. You must go to a real good school. Their grandkids refuse to go to church at all, so they say just inviting your friend took courage. My faith sustained me when I lost my job the week after I married your grandma and now, when I read that you’re studying and keeping your faith, that makes me a proud Grandpa.

Don’t you think that boy worked harder after that?

In their letters each child asked what the world was like when they were 12 and if any event in history had changed their lives significantly. Whatever event was mentioned in their reply the kids looked up the date in my Chronicle of The 20th Century (daily news items for the last 100 years.) Finally, they gave a 3 minute talk about what they’d learned, pretending their relative was in the hall waiting to speak to the class.

Military dependents come from varied cultures. One letter came from a grandmother raised in Haiti. She’d walked through mud to school and rinsed her feet in a stream before entering. She hand copied a letter written by a Haitian leader removed by Napoleon’s troops. It sounded like the Haitian version of the Gettysburg Address, to me. He declared that the French could do what they wanted to him but they would never crush the drive for freedom from the hearts of the Haitian people.

A brooding classmate said, “I was really mad that Haiti is my dad’s next assignment, but now I hear this I understand they need our help. I won’t feel so bad about being without my dad for awhile.” What more could I ask from any lesson?”
Some grandparents had had terrible troubles, but life had improved and they proclaimed themselves so happy to be in the US their letters were inspirational.

Money accompanied many replies that said, “I have – grandchildren, but you’re the first to ask about me.”
Lucy, from Texas said, “My grandma raised my dad alone by cleaning hotel rooms. Her father said girls don’t need to learn, so she’d quit school. She’s proud my dad’s helping me and my sisters learn. She said she never knew a 12 year old could write like me. I’m trying harder for her. I just feel bad she sent me $10.00, I have more then she does. ”

I said her Dad would take care of Grandma, but those dollars were a sign of respect from one woman to another. I recommended she buy a book and thank Grandma for that.
Meeting Steve’s Mom taught me to start with a compliment before reporting mischief because it’s hard to retract annoyance once it’s registered and we never want to trigger abuse. From then on, I started conferences by saying I’d noticed some good attribute and I was trying to reinforce its development because, as we all know, being 12 is hard. Then, if the reply sounded positive, I got to the mischief that needed parental attention.

I didn’t just call about mischief though. A girl walked in early one day, unzipped her slacks and tried to flap cool air down her pants declaring, “It’s too hot. I’m just so hot I can’t stand it.” It wasn’t that hot. I called Mom and suggested a physical. Obviously hormones were raging, though she had no idea what was going on. Later the nurse informed me the doctor had put her on birth control pills to ease her into puberty.

Growing up is a struggle and many people expect more adult judgment from a 12 year old that they can give. As an end of the year assignment, I offered extra credit for writing Dad a letter thanking him for all he did. Could they write Grandpa, step-fathers, guardians etc.? I said okay—but they could only get extra-credit for 3 tops.

I looked over their length and appearance but didn’t read the wording—those letters were between them and Dad, except Monica’s. She asked me to read hers. Did I think she should send it? She’d told her Dad how much she missed him. She knew he sent support money, but she was beginning to forget what he looked like. Could he send a poster size photo of himself she asked—she wanted to put it on the back of her bedroom door so Mom wouldn’t have to look at it.

I said I thought he’d be thrilled she’d written and sure enough, his photo (less than poster size) arrived with the next check. She showed me, then taped it on her door, as promised.

Last of all, I offered extra credit if a child persuaded a parent to write a recommendation letter for him/her, stating the qualities they could see in their child that they felt would help later on in life. Humorously affirming letters full of love appeared.

Growing kids must move some part of their body every few seconds. That alone makes them annoying. Besides, who can resist letting a jiggling 12 year old know just how disappointing they are? Those children were touched by the letters from their parents. The calming effect those recommendations wrought was remarkable.
One dad said he was tough on his son because he mirrored him so closely he wanted to spare his son some of the growing pains he’d suffered.

His son grinned, “And I just thought he hated me.” We laughed together, but knowing 12 year olds as I do, that wasn’t just a funny line.

Ron told me, “My step-father said he was proud he could be part of my life. I thought he was just nice to me for my mom. I wouldn’t know he loved me if he hadn’t written that.”

Actions don’t always speak louder than words because growing kids are so self-critical they long for the adults in their lives to say aloud their affirmations.

I only remember one parent who refused his child’s request. I called and Dad said, “That kids got to earn it. I’m not writing anything till he does.” I tried to explain part of our mission was to encourage and model the kind of behavior we wanted, but no-go.

So I wrote his letter myself, saying that I saw his son’s truthfulness, his capacity for friendship and his ability to lighten up a serious discussion. Dad graciously called to thank me. He said he hadn’t understood where we were headed.
Many fine teachers claim we should simply shut our doors and teach, but it seems to me that very few of the conferences I benefited from were about learning style; most were about maturity, self-control and cooperation.

It’s amazing to me the struggles I’d have missed and the help I couldn’t have given if I hadn’t bothered to reach out to parents.

Through it all I learned that a child will respond better if he’s spoken to with respect. We may not be teaching morality in public schools, but we are setting an example by being caring and responsive to the needs of children. It seems to me that’s how we raise young people who can control themselves and function as responsible citizens in a free world.