Yoga Mom Does Parent Teacher Interviews
09.11.09
Well, it is that time
of year again: parent teacher interviews. I have
attended more than my share of these, because my son
sometimes (well, often) has difficulties. He has been
designated as "gifted". As far as I can tell, he
inherited these traits from his father. That means he
is "regifted."
But, I digress. As a veteran of many many many meetings with school officials, I have learned what approaches work and what don't.
This time I am not going to recommend throwing shoes or stomping around in a bathrobe. As satisfying as that might feel at the time, it really does not accomplish much. It may get you right out of mandatory school meetings, but put you smack dab into sessions with social services. Not good.
No, there is a better way to handle school meetings. The secret evolves from a principal I learned doing yoga: Be Here Now.
Trust me on this. I spent the first 5 years of school trying all kinds of approaches: rehearsing what I would say to the teacher, bringing in supplementary material ranging from doodles he had done at home to extremely expensive and official looking psych ed report. I spent as much time dressing as I would for a job interview.
There was the Power Mother option. This entailed pulling my only pantsuit out of mothballs, hastily scribbling over the moth holes with a dark black felt (those balls didn't work, duh), and toddling in on high heels, as if I just come from a one-on-one with Hillary Clinton. I tried the Pitiful Mother option, if I thought throwing myself on the teacher's mercy would work. No showers, tousled hair, and I practised a stutter so she would see that as bad as my son is, his parents are worse.
Did those techniques work? I can't tell you. I never managed to pull them off.
No matter what I planned to do, no matter how hard I practised, how determined I was, I'd blow it. The second I trotted up the concrete steps, swung open the heavy door to the school and the funk of chalk, wet jackets and boredom hit my nose, all preparation would go out the window. I would instantly regress to my own childhood. I could not longer be an advocate for a student, since I was now felt like one myself.
And I've seen it happen with other parents, too.
There are signs that tell you when you've regressed. These largely depend on what kind of student you were.
Were you a suck up?
If you were, you find yourself constantly agreeing with everything the teacher says -- even if he or she seems to be describing a child with of completely different learning temperament, race, and possibly gender. You nod vigorously at everything and gleefully accept the "assignment" of doing 6-8 hours of homework with your child, per night.
In this case, don't nod. Give your head a shake. And you may remember that you are, actually an adult with your own life and agenda. If you spend what amounts to an eight hour shift every evening "helping" with homework, then you are doing the teachers job.
So, in a gentle but firm voice, point out that you are willing to put that 40 hours per week into "coaching" but only if a portion of the teacher's salary was divvied up to you. After all, you're doing his job, why not get some of the pay? If you think that is too much you could suggest that you would divert your share to the charity of his or her choice.
There are other indications you were a suck up. Like, when the teacher asks you to sit down and points out a student's desk that might be a snug fit for a Christmas Elf, you actually try to wedge yourself in.
At this point you remember that you can't assert yourself when your knees are shoved up around your ears. And there is more than a slim chance that the teacher knows this too. Don't view this as an antagonistic act of a sadist, though. Just view it as an opportunity to Be Here Now. Remember that you don't have to sit in the itsy bitsy teeny weeny desk. You can sit on top it. Better yet, sit on top of the teacher's desk. Looming might help, too, even if that is a little aggressive. I wouldn't worry about antagonizing him or her. The kind of teacher who plays this kind of game is not really going to give ratshit about Johnny's anxiety issues.
If you were a rebellious student, you also might automatically sit in a child's desk ... but one in the back row. Then you will rummage through the storage space, searching for some child's geometry set so you can use the compass to carve your own initials underneath the "Mrs. So and So Sucks" engraved on the surface. That is not a good idea, since you may, as an adult, actually be held liable for damage to school property. And of course, if you are carving initials, you aren't really listening, are you? There is a chance that the teacher is actually a good one, and may offer some helpful insights.
Stop.
Be Here Now.
Put down the compass/felt pen.
Listen.
If you have deeply regressed, you may find that you cannot distinguish vowels from consonants in the teacher's speech. Everything he or she says will suddenly flow out as a seamless "oommm" or possibly "blahblahblah." Kind of like the teachers in the Charlie Brown Christmas specials.
Or, if you do understand the words, you will find yourself blurting out the contradictions and errors in the teacher's arguments, possibly using Inappropriate Language.
You might be right (you probably are) but that is behaviour from the past. And remember how well this worked in elementary school? Do you really want the next teacher conference to be held in the principal's office?
Don't blurt. Breathe.
Remember, Be Here Now.
You have to make this work because the only other option is home schooling.
Namaste
But, I digress. As a veteran of many many many meetings with school officials, I have learned what approaches work and what don't.
This time I am not going to recommend throwing shoes or stomping around in a bathrobe. As satisfying as that might feel at the time, it really does not accomplish much. It may get you right out of mandatory school meetings, but put you smack dab into sessions with social services. Not good.
No, there is a better way to handle school meetings. The secret evolves from a principal I learned doing yoga: Be Here Now.
Trust me on this. I spent the first 5 years of school trying all kinds of approaches: rehearsing what I would say to the teacher, bringing in supplementary material ranging from doodles he had done at home to extremely expensive and official looking psych ed report. I spent as much time dressing as I would for a job interview.
There was the Power Mother option. This entailed pulling my only pantsuit out of mothballs, hastily scribbling over the moth holes with a dark black felt (those balls didn't work, duh), and toddling in on high heels, as if I just come from a one-on-one with Hillary Clinton. I tried the Pitiful Mother option, if I thought throwing myself on the teacher's mercy would work. No showers, tousled hair, and I practised a stutter so she would see that as bad as my son is, his parents are worse.
Did those techniques work? I can't tell you. I never managed to pull them off.
No matter what I planned to do, no matter how hard I practised, how determined I was, I'd blow it. The second I trotted up the concrete steps, swung open the heavy door to the school and the funk of chalk, wet jackets and boredom hit my nose, all preparation would go out the window. I would instantly regress to my own childhood. I could not longer be an advocate for a student, since I was now felt like one myself.
And I've seen it happen with other parents, too.
There are signs that tell you when you've regressed. These largely depend on what kind of student you were.
Were you a suck up?
If you were, you find yourself constantly agreeing with everything the teacher says -- even if he or she seems to be describing a child with of completely different learning temperament, race, and possibly gender. You nod vigorously at everything and gleefully accept the "assignment" of doing 6-8 hours of homework with your child, per night.
In this case, don't nod. Give your head a shake. And you may remember that you are, actually an adult with your own life and agenda. If you spend what amounts to an eight hour shift every evening "helping" with homework, then you are doing the teachers job.
So, in a gentle but firm voice, point out that you are willing to put that 40 hours per week into "coaching" but only if a portion of the teacher's salary was divvied up to you. After all, you're doing his job, why not get some of the pay? If you think that is too much you could suggest that you would divert your share to the charity of his or her choice.
There are other indications you were a suck up. Like, when the teacher asks you to sit down and points out a student's desk that might be a snug fit for a Christmas Elf, you actually try to wedge yourself in.
At this point you remember that you can't assert yourself when your knees are shoved up around your ears. And there is more than a slim chance that the teacher knows this too. Don't view this as an antagonistic act of a sadist, though. Just view it as an opportunity to Be Here Now. Remember that you don't have to sit in the itsy bitsy teeny weeny desk. You can sit on top it. Better yet, sit on top of the teacher's desk. Looming might help, too, even if that is a little aggressive. I wouldn't worry about antagonizing him or her. The kind of teacher who plays this kind of game is not really going to give ratshit about Johnny's anxiety issues.
If you were a rebellious student, you also might automatically sit in a child's desk ... but one in the back row. Then you will rummage through the storage space, searching for some child's geometry set so you can use the compass to carve your own initials underneath the "Mrs. So and So Sucks" engraved on the surface. That is not a good idea, since you may, as an adult, actually be held liable for damage to school property. And of course, if you are carving initials, you aren't really listening, are you? There is a chance that the teacher is actually a good one, and may offer some helpful insights.
Stop.
Be Here Now.
Put down the compass/felt pen.
Listen.
If you have deeply regressed, you may find that you cannot distinguish vowels from consonants in the teacher's speech. Everything he or she says will suddenly flow out as a seamless "oommm" or possibly "blahblahblah." Kind of like the teachers in the Charlie Brown Christmas specials.
Or, if you do understand the words, you will find yourself blurting out the contradictions and errors in the teacher's arguments, possibly using Inappropriate Language.
You might be right (you probably are) but that is behaviour from the past. And remember how well this worked in elementary school? Do you really want the next teacher conference to be held in the principal's office?
Don't blurt. Breathe.
Remember, Be Here Now.
You have to make this work because the only other option is home schooling.
Namaste