On Getting Involved

Does it ever strike you that most of the options for "getting involved" with your child's school doesn't involve your child at all? Usually when the PTA or the school administration comes around, encouraging your involvement, it's always usually at least a few degrees of separation from your own child's experience in school. Can you volunteer a few hours at a holiday event? Serve on a committee? Staple and copy in the office? Cook for a teacher luncheon? Sell wrapping paper to family and friends?

Or maybe it's your child's teacher who asks for assistance: Can you send in juice boxes? Valentines? AA batteries? Now, I usually try to do my part in small ways for no other reasons than guilt and shared responsibility--I'm supposed to carry my weight. These motivators mean I'll sign up to send in something for the class party, but only if the plastic utensils aren't taken yet. I'll sign up to volunteer at an event, but only if my kids are jonesing to go to it anyway.

I've been on the school administration side of things, and I have to tell you, schools appreciate the little things parents like me do, but they largely RELY on a much greater involvement of the very few: those few parents who take on responsibilities that cost them a lot of time and energy and stress.

Most of the time, those parents are involved in the PTA. I'll let you in on a secret--as an administrator, I experienced the PTA as a force to be reckoned with...to be channeled towards fundraising and community building and away from efforts to get overly involved in what and how we were teaching. Admittedly, I worked in an affluent private school, but in my experience, the people who sought out positions of power in the PTA were also the parents who tried to exert that power to get special privileges in the classroom.

As a parent, I'm not too interested in the PTA. I don't have any great desire to be dubbed "involved." I don't need the social network that comes from participating. And I don't want to give up large amounts of time to involve myself in events or committees that have nothing to do with my kids. Don't get me wrong, I know PTA funds can benefit him by improving school programs. I pay my PTA dues every year, and I send in checks for this and that. But when it comes to spending my time, on a gut level, I want to feel like my investment in some way improves my child's experience at school. At the very least, I want my involvement to serve the purpose of helping me understand my child's experience at school.

So my favorite way to become involved--and this option will only be open to me while my kids are little--is to volunteer in my children's classes. I had the opportunity to volunteer weekly in Thomas's kindergarten class last year. I got to know all his classmates' names. I got to learn the class routines. Most importantly, I got to see how my son acted while he was in school. Honestly, I didn't love everything I saw. But at least I saw it.

This year, I've figured out that not knowing what's going on in the classroom is worse. I am teaching full-time in another county and don't have the flexibility to volunteer in Thomas's or my kindergartner Danny's classrooms. And it's killing me. Because neither of my children seems to be having a banner year. But I don't know much about who they really are or what they really do when they are at school. So I don't know how to help them.

Throughout my children's preschool years, I always worked at the same school that my children attended. I always knew what it was like in their classrooms. It occurs to me, that this year, I am feeling like how most parents feel.

Like I don't really know what is going on.

Like I have to rely on the bits and pieces of my children's reports about their days.

Like I have to rely on the single parent/teacher conference and hope for the best in the deafening silence in the months that follow.

Like I have to go with my gut if there's a problem that seems worth addressing.

And otherwise, like I just have to let it go.

Because maybe the best way to "get involved" in my children's education, is to just "get involved" with my children. At least it's all I can do right now.

On Holding Back

I had Danny's conference and I'm beginning to suspect that his teacher thinks I should have held him back. If you are a mother of a child with a birthday near the age cutoff for kindergarten, you know this stress too well.

"Ready or not, here I come!" That's what entering kindergarten used to be like when most of us were children. These days, parents have taken a new worry upon themselves: "my child is old enough, but should I send him or her to kindergarten?" Parents of four-year-old children across the U.S. worry about a decision that they will have to live with for the rest of their child's education...and school hasn't even started yet!

If you are struggling with this issue, I can guarantee I will not be the first person to give you advice. People have very strong opinions on this issue. Even the language we use to describe this decision is hopelessly loaded: think for a minute about "holding back." Like your child is a horse at the gates, chomping at the bit while the others break forth, leaving him behind. And "promotion" is no better, as if your gifted little executive has made a great impression with the higher ups and is on his way to bigger and better things.

But folk wisdom is usually pretty clear on this issue. Your well-meaning, fellow parent friends will say something like this:

"You have a boy? Hold him back!"

or "You have a girl? What are you worried about?"

Now wouldn't it be nice if the decision was that simple?

There's some truth to the gender bias here: many preschool girls gravitate towards quiet or pretend forms of play that they will be engaged in during kindergarten as well: coloring, puzzles, pretend play... they might even play school! Many parents and preschool teachers overestimate little girls' maturity levels because these play preferences make them start to look like good little kindergarten children when they are as young as three years old.

On the other hand, many boys seek out more active and loud types of play that parents and preschool teachers shudder to think of making their appearance in the kindergarten classroom. As a result, young boys' abilities to sit still or follow directions tend to be underestimated if the boys haven't had a chance to demonstrate these behaviors in structured preschool settings.

But the truth is, there's no simple rule to follow about kindergarten entrance. The decision must be made for your child and your child only. If you are lucky enough to have an educator who knows your child give you advice that you actually agree with, read no further. But if you don't agree with your child's preschool teacher or your child's future elementary school, or if you don't have the benefit of an educator's opinion, read on.

The first thing I want you to remember is, it's not about you. Look deep in your heart and be honest with yourself...do you want to hold your child back because you want him to stay your baby just one more year? Or do you want to promote her because you will take great pride in saying that all her teachers thought she was just so darn qualified, even at the tender young age of four?

The truth is, parents tend to overestimate the importance of academics in making this decision. The logic goes...if my child is reading already, doing addition and subtraction, has been in preschool for years, etc., she is more than ready for kindergarten, and she will be (gasp!) bored if I hold her back.

On the other side of the fence, parents put too much weight on the academic advantage in later years, that this could be the difference between going to Harvard or the local community college. Part of this overemphasis on academic factors is that parents assume school will be one-size-fits-all, and they should try to stack the deck in favor of their child so that he or she will excel in comparison with her peers, while not being so bored she doesn't check out on schooling altogether. And I won't pretend that there aren't teachers who teach to the middle, and who might have difficulty challenging an advanced reader, or supporting a struggling one. But most schools these days are engaged in efforts to meet each child where they are and teach to his or her strengths.

The other truth about this issue is, teachers tend to overestimate the importance of social and emotional maturity. One favorite euphemism for educators on this topic is giving "the gift of time." But sometimes the behaviors teachers will cite for needing this time are not necessarily going to "work themselves out" with another year of growth.

If your child is the oldest at home and tends to be bossy or controlling when playing with his peers, do you really think he will become less so if he is given a year to get older and bigger and stronger than the other kindergartners? Perhaps your child is shy or quiet and you're hoping the extra year will help her grow in confidence and assertiveness. But if your child is allowed hours of quiet, solitary play at home or in a small day care setting, will the shyness or quietude work their way out of her modus operandi? No, the extra year before kindergarten is not in and of itself a gift. It is only a gift if it is used well. If your child has challenges with social skills, they won't get any better unless he has some instruction and practice in making them better. And sometimes, the very best place for developing those social skills or maturity levels is in kindergarten.

While academic accomplishments are great, and socially competent, mature children are a delight to have in class, I think decisions on this issue should hinge mostly upon two factors: attention span and impulse control. If your child gets up from your lap and wanders away from a highly engaging children's performance, how do you think circle time is going to go? If you wouldn't even consider telling your four-year-old to "use your words" for fear that they'll come out as expletives during the assault on a child who has just taken his toy, it may be a sign that your child is not in control of his or her impulses. Much of the kindergarten day will require listening--thus, the need for an attention span--and waiting--thus, the need for impulse control.

If you have a child with both of these in place, you may well have a child who is ready for kindergarten.

Teachers Play Favorites

I hate to be the bearer of uncomfortable news, but here it is...teachers play favorites.

As a parent, I hope you never find this out by experience. The truth is, you might not believe me unless your child is not among the favored ones. Or you might notice if a teacher tells you something about another child that you'd shudder to think she was saying about yours.

Unlike the whole "teacher's pet" of yesteryear, today's teachers are more equal-opportunity. Teachers don't just have one or two favorites, they usually have several. And there are very few that they find, well, less likable. Remember, teachers are only human. They are just as drawn to friendly, attractive, bright children as you are. The only problem is, as a parent, you automatically find your own child to be friendly, attractive and bright. So it wouldn't even occur to you that your child's teacher wouldn't immediately love your child, too. However, when a teacher surveys a class of 25 children, he or she simply doesn't see them all the way their parents do.

I have to deal with this uncomfortable fact this year. OK, painful fact. You see, my first grader, Thomas, is simply not one of his teacher's favorites.

I can tell. I can tell because at his conference she asked me if he pestered me with questions the way he pesters her. I can tell because the only anecdote she told me about him was that he asked her, "are we going to read this book all year?" I can tell because the only work sample she highlighted was the shortest entry in his journal. I can tell because when I asked her how he was doing socially, she said he was an elitist. When I asked her what she meant, she said that one time he was reluctant to help out a struggling classmate who couldn't read as well as he could. (When I asked Thomas about it later, he said that the kid was mean to him on the playground).

But I can mostly tell because of what she didn't say.

She didn't have specific stories about him, she didn't smile when she talked about him, she didn't have much to share at all. And when I mentioned he had a playdate with another little boy in the class, she lit up and said, "Oh, now HE'S adorable!" and she actually (I still can't quite believe it) got up and ran to her desk to show me a picture this OTHER KID made for her. And a book that the OTHER KID wrote that he dedicated to her.

I can tell.

I ended the conference with the desperate, sinking question, "Are you enjoying my Thomas?" Of course she said yes, but the sinking feeling was still there.

I know that she's wrong about him. I know my son's not an elitist. I know when he asked if they would read the book all year, he just wanted to know what to expect, he wasn't saying he didn't enjoy it. I know when he pesters her with questions, it's because he's feeling nervous, and if she gave him a reassuring word he would settle down and work. But she doesn't know all this. And I won't waste my breath telling her. She won't believe me anyway. She needs to see for herself.

Teachers draw conclusions about kids based on a few examples of behavior early in the year. I can hope that my son's behaviors will reveal who he really is in time. I can hope she'll change her mind about him. I can hope he'll win her over. I can hope.

Or I can act.

I know she has drawn conclusions based on my son's behaviors. So guess what I did? I swallowed my disappointment. I swallowed my frustration. I swallowed my pain. And talked to my son.

When I came home from the conference, I told him he was doing great. Because he is. But I also told him to change some of those behaviors. I told him it is annoying when he asks the same questions again and again, whether he's asking us, or his teachers, or anyone. I told him people will think he doesn't like an activity if he asks if it will be over soon. And I told him that when a teacher asks him to do something, even help another child who he doesn't like, he should do it, just like he should help his brother when we ask him to. And I am repeating these lessons whenever they naturally arise.

Why would I go to such lengths? Why ask my child to act differently, just because his teacher drew the wrong conclusions about him? Why make it my son's problem that his teacher doesn't have a soft spot in her heart for him, at least not yet?

Because when I was a teacher, I know there were a few kids who made my heart smile. And there were other kids that I had to remind myself were somebody's babies. But I didn't think I played favorites. I taught each according to his or her needs. The children who were disrespectful, or angry, or sullen, still got the best I had to offer as a teacher. But maybe, just maybe, they didn't get the best I had to offer as a person.

You see, in teacher-speak, playing favorites stems from a process called building rapport. You try to build a relationship with each of your students ... get to know their likes and dislikes, their strengths and weaknesses, what makes them tick. And in this process, you get drawn to some kids more than others. Kids who remind you of yourself, perhaps, or of your own kids. Kids who work harder than others, or who seem more polite or kind than their peers, or kids who have the sweetest smiles you have ever seen.

And what teachers don't realize, and what I didn't realize when I had my own students, is that the human connection you make with these kids makes you praise them with a little more enthusiasm, encourage them with a little more patience, comfort them with a little more empathy.

So that's why I coached my son to be a bit more attractive to his teacher. It may not work, but I have to try. Because I know how she feels about him will make a difference. Whether he knows it or not. And whether she knows it or not.

I know it.

Two Perspectives, One Child

When you look at your child you can see back in time, to the baby and young child he or she once was.

As a parent, you care for your child as if he or she is the only child in the universe. You focus on teaching your child to be his or her own person, develop self-esteem, build on strengths and overcome weaknesses. Even if you have more than one child, you still want these things for each of your children. Above all, you love your children. You love each child as an individual, as a unique person. You try not to compare them to each other or peers, and you try not to judge them, but to accept them for who they are.

Teachers see your child in another light. They see the young adult he or she will become.

Teachers help your child grow as a participant in the social world. Yes, good teachers strive to see students as individuals, strive to develop their strengths and their confidence. But their focus is external. They determine what is best for your child in light of what is best for the group. They focus on teaching children to take their places in the social world. They teach what it means to be part of a community, to be one of many. They are also required to evaluate your child. Teachers see how your child compares to the other children they teach or have taught. They see how your child’s performance measures up to their instructional objectives or to social standards for behavior.

Now, you might argue that you, too, care about your child’s behavior and social skills. You want them to share and take turns, act with love and kindness, and have healthy relationships in their lives. And you want them to be academically successful, and a contributing member of society.

But you mostly want these things to make your child happy. Teachers mostly want these things to make the world happy.

This key difference explains why you feel a sense of tension when you conference with your child’s teacher, when you find out your child has misbehaved, when you feel your child is somehow overlooked in the classroom.

The school sees a different child than you do, and that is not bad news.

It is the push and pull between these two interests—home and school, individual and social—that helps your child become a successful adult.

If you see yourself as the primary caregiver for your child’s internal self, and teachers as the primary caregivers for his or her external self, together you can help your child be both successful and happy.

But pushing and pulling don’t sound very pleasant, nor very collaborative.

Even though you look at your child with different eyes than teachers do, you can learn to speak their language when you talk about your child.

This blog gives you an insider’s view of the world of school, and gives you tips for dealing with a variety of situations that could get ugly. So the next time you feel like charging down to the school to defend your child’s best interests, don’t go into battle unarmed. With the tools offered on this blog, you can tear down the barriers to communication between home and school. It will help you broaden your perspective, so you can speak to the teachers’ point of view, and better communicate your own.

On When a Teacher Expresses a Concern

I had my five-year-old son's hearing tested by an audiologist yesterday for the third time in the past 2 years, even though I was 99% sure it would come out normal. Again. Do you know why?


When a teacher says something is wrong with your child, she is right. Even if she's wrong.

Let me explain.

Teachers have to get to know 20 to 30 new students every single September. Within a few short weeks, teachers have to get to know each child well enough to describe their strengths and weaknesses so they can actually teach them something. They have also been taught to believe in early intervention: if there's a problem, catch it early, so you can do something about it. Talk about pressure.


So the first thing they do is look for patterns of behavior. With just a few short weeks to get to know a lot of kids, they tend to label a repeated behavior a pattern after they see it just a few times. Now, we parents know that some patterns are short-lived, and others are lifelong. In my son Danny's case, the teacher nailed the pattern: he doesn't respond right away to verbal directions, and sometimes needs prompting to do what he's supposed to do. But she didn't have to be right about the pattern, because my son is also a little nervous in new situations, and could have just felt shy the first few weeks of school. How is a teacher supposed to know the difference so early in the year?

Then teachers interpret your child's patterns of behavior by making comparisons. They compare your child's patterns to the other children in the class. They compare your child's patterns to other children they've taught in previous years. And they compare your child's patterns to what a student at that grade is supposed to know and be able to do. (Reading and math assessments also help with this one.) In Danny's case, the teacher was comparing his behavior to her own daughter's behavior. She said her daughter acted the very same way when she was little.

All these comparisons help teachers draw some inferences about the causes of your child's behavior. The daughter's problem? Hearing loss. Viola! It must be Danny's problem, too.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Why not just ask us, the parents, who have years of knowledge about this child and can get to the bottom of this directions thing? And they might. But you have to admit: we're not always a trustworthy bunch. Don't you send your child to school in September with fingers crossed, hoping that last year's problems won't carry over to this year? I know I did. We might even know a problem is coming, but act surprised when a teacher tells us about it. In my case, we went through the same thing last year, and I got his hearing tested, but it was found to be normal. The teacher concluded that Danny just needs some extra prodding. Did I offer up this information to his new teacher at back to school night? No. I guess I could have, but I was hoping my pokey puppy would be more on the ball this year.

So, to review: teachers identify patterns, make comparisons, and infer causes. Teachers ascribe meaning to patterns that might be long-tem or short-lived, and sometimes their interpretations are accurate, and sometimes they aren't. Then what about my preposterous statement?

When a teacher says something is wrong with your child, she is right. Even if she's wrong.

Two words: self-fulfilling prophecy. A teacher has done all this work to ascribe meaning to what they see your child doing. They have convinced themselves that they see a pattern, and since the pattern is just like some other kid's pattern, and that your child probably has the same problem that the other child had. Oversimplified, sure, but they'll be excited that they noticed so much about any one child, given that they have 20 to 30 to watch every day. Encouraged that they've figured something out about your child, they'll tell you about their concern.

As Danny's teacher did, with the best of all intentions. Now, you may object on the basis that it's not a pattern. I didn't...I confirmed the pattern. Or you may object on her interpretation of the cause for that pattern. I did...I told her his hearing test came out normal. But I could tell she wasn't convinced. She told me those screenings don't always pick up everything and she started talking about her daughter. At this point I could have refused to get him tested again, knowing it was unnecessary. But that would have done two bad things: it would have hurt our rapport, and it would have thrown up a mental block for the teacher.

If you express these objections right now (he doesn't act that way at home, it's just a phase), the teacher will just think you are in denial. (Plus, there is a chance you actually are in denial.) In fact, the teacher will be so sure that she's onto something that if you don't follow up on it, she won't feel responsible if the pattern continues, because you didn't follow up on what she thought the cause is. And then she will unwittingly allow the pattern to continue or even get worse. So even if there wasn't a problem before, there will be soon enough. It's a mental block. The teacher needs to rule out the cause she thinks she has discovered before she'll be able to take up, with full confidence, the commitment to helping your child move past this pattern.

So that's why I got my son's hearing checked. Because I want her to expect him to follow directions. And she can't (and won't) do that if she believes, in her heart of hearts, that my little boy can't hear them.

That Nagging Feeling

Perhaps it’s that bout of nerves you get when you’re about to go in for a teacher’s conference. Or that burst of anger (and not at your child) when the school calls about a behavioral infraction. Then there’s the sense of injustice when your child is passed over for the gifted program. Or the flash of panic when you didn't get the “right” first grade teacher.

Maybe you worry that you haven’t done enough to advocate for your child.
Maybe you worry that you’re doing too much.
Maybe you worry a lot.

Whatever the case, you’ve probably felt it. The tension that comes from working with your child’s school. Sometimes it feels like you’re dealing with a world that doesn’t see your child for the precious gift he or she really is. The truth is, you are.

Your child’s teachers will never see your child the way you do.

Never.

Your child will have great years, years when a particular teacher is influential—even a hero—in your child’s life. You may agree with your child’s teachers most of the time. You may like what your child is learning in school, and do your best to support it and be involved. But you will never think your child’s teachers see who he or she truly is.

The reason for this?

Parents and teachers see the world--and the children--differently. And that's a GOOD thing. That's what this blog is about. I'll write about issues that stress us out as parents and translate them into teacher talk. And then I'll show you how to use this new language to get YOUR point across.

Take the posts as insider tips from a teacher.
Or as tales from the front lines of a fellow parent's struggle.
Or both. Because I have the mind of a teacher. And the heart of a mom.