I was a teacher before I had kids. I loved the kids I taught, especially the quirky ones. ..the boy who only wrote about cheese until I had to enforce a "cheese ban," the one who created a superhero eggplant series, the shy girl who stayed after class to talk about books we both loved, and the boy who yelped, "Oh geez, Mrs. Rodriguez! Too much information!" when I told them I was pregnant.
Although I was compassionate and devoted to my students, I was also young and inexperienced. My life was in order. My papers were in order. At the end of the day, I could sit at my desk and check off which students had given me which papers. I loved my record book. My book had systems with tabs and columns and highlighting. So, while I tried not to judge, I am ashamed to say that sometimes I did. Why did I have to send home four copies of a permission slip to Mrs. S. before I'd get one returned? Why did Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So lose the packet I gave them on back-to-school night? Why hadn't I received any of the volunteer forms? I got tired of having to remind the parents of classroom happenings.
More than anything in the world, I dreaded back to school night. The tension was palpable. I worked in an affluent town, and I could feel people weighing my words, wondering if I were good enough for their children. Some parents perched on the edges of the tiny chairs. Some eyed me with skepticism. Some asked specific questions, "What's your turn-around time for correcting papers?" "When will you be starting the research project?" "Why do they make posters-that seems remedial"... and so on. I knew that parents wanted the best for their kids and that's why I taught; I wanted to give them that experience. Most parents were gracious and supportive, but there were parents who, from day one, were suspicious of me. Instead of having faith in my teaching, they came to make demands.
But now six years later, I am the mom. I am the one- at home, trying to get organized enough to make sure my kids get to school with clothes on (preferably for the right season), a snack (other than Pop-Tarts), a lunch (something they'll still like by noon that day), a water bottle (BPA-free, of course), and their soccer stuff (hopefully washed). I have no record book. I have no desk with boundaries that I can sit behind. I have no tabs or highlighting system, and if I did, my daughter would take them for her artwork. Last night, I spent two hours going through forms for the beginning of the school year: health forms, picture day, book orders, PTA activities, extracurricular sign-ups, requests for donations, two class newsletters... And yet, when I reached the bottom of the pile, my daughter handed me a blue sheet: the emergency contact form. "Mama, Miss McDonald hasn't got this from you yet. She wants you to fill this one out and send it back with me."
I cringed. I could not believe I had become that mom...the mom who needs multiple copies, extra time, and friendly reminders from the teachers.
It dawned on me that teachers and mamas everywhere are struggling with similar issues: keeping themselves together, fostering the growth of their little ones, and somehow managing to get their mountains of paperwork in order. We could all benefit from the same things: Assume both teachers and mothers are doing the best we can. Recognize how hard each other's jobs are, and see each other with compassion and gratitude. Give each other time, and err on the side of acceptance.
In many ways, I am lucky. My children's school is incredibly supportive. Thank goodness. Because no matter how independent a child is, sending them to school for eight hours a day is hard on a mama's heart. Yet even with a wonderful school, I am sitting here- trying not to cry because my daughter is afraid to eat in the cafeteria, and my son sobs and says, "Don't leave me, Mama" when I drop him off at pre-school with his teacher, Miss Ames. Yes, I want my kids to learn. But, as a mom of elementary school students, I am focused less on academics. I want them to love the learning process, feel good about themselves, experience passion, humor, and fun; compassion and empathy. I want a teacher who will wipe away tears and who will appreciate a good superhero eggplant story. If they can fit some math in there, too, that'd be great.
So, Miss McDonald and Miss Ames, no worries if you're behind on correcting papers or starting the rainforest project. Feel free to ask me to help in the classroom anytime. And please forgive me if I am late with the book order form. Know that I am trying my hardest, but I've got a lot to learn.
I wrote this last year after the first month of a tough start to the school year. It was originally posted as a reader response in Literary Mama. I hope it reminds parents and teachers that we are all on the same side.
