Parent Teacher Conferences

I never officially taught in America, but I did do half a semester of student teaching back home in Indiana, and so I ended up having to suffer the psychological torture that is known as parent teacher conferences. My teacher adviser was a great guy and did so much to train me, encourage me, and to build my confidence as a teacher. Two hours of parent teacher conferences was just about enough undo all of his work.

I remember sitting there trying to fight back tears and keep my chin up as irate parents scolded me for their child's failing grade. Irate parents who wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise about what we could do to help their child. Irate parents whose child hadn't turned in a single homework assignment that semester. Irate parents who didn't pick up the phone any of the times I had tried to call them that semester. Irate parents who refused to get their children tested for learning disabilities - even after multiple school staff recommended it. Irate parents who just wanted someone to blame.

After it was over, I went home and cried and wondered if it was too late to change my major. It was my senior year. So yeah, probably too late.

At any rate, I ended up at a small international school. The first time we had parent teacher conferences here, I braced myself. I was ready to play their blame game. But it never came. Instead, parents hugged me and told me I was making a difference and asked me lots of personal questions because they genuinely wanted to get to know me. And they told me that I am as much a part of their work as they are, because if I wasn't here doing what I do, they couldn't be here doing what they do. No matter what grade their child had, the parents who came to talk me were nothing less than caring.

I was in shock. I think that was the first time that I really realized how amazing this whole community we have here is. And it was the first time that it really clicked for me what it means to be part of The Body.

Yesterday, I had my 12th parent teacher conference. And as always (minus that first one back in Indiana), the parents were so loving and encouraging. The mother of one of my AP Calculus girls told me, "You know this isn't a required class. I actually encouraged her to drop it - she has so much on her plate as it is. But she likes you. She wants to take this class because YOU are teaching it."

That was so special to me. But what happened in the last conference of the day just about made me cry. Cry good tears.

After we discussed their child - and right as I thought the parents were getting up to leave - they suddenly asked me, "How can we pray for you?" And then they did. They held my hands and they just prayed over me. They prayed that I would have patience and health. And they prayed that I would have eyes to see my students' needs. And they prayed that I would have wisdom to meet those needs. And I forget the rest after that because I was focusing on taking deep breaths.

It's not all sunshine and ponies - I'd say that approximately twice a week I just want to throat punch everyone in sight. But days like yesterday are good reminders of how blessed I am to get to live in this country, to work at this school, to serve these families, and to be a part of this community.

Writing this has also been a good reminder that I will never ever ever be a teacher in America. You can sing that to the tune of Taylor Swift if you like. Sorry for the extra syllables.