Back to School
I don't have a kid left in elementary school. Subsequently, I no longer enjoy a cheery familiarity with any of my kids teachers. These days I only stop in at the middle school or the high school, or, as I like to call them, the factories.
Elementary school's the last place you get any semblance of a one on one feel in education. Your teacher knows you and your kid. You get to meet face to face with the teacher. Possibly, an administrator or two knows who you are. Other teachers know your kid. It's the last concierge level in education.
Now we ship them off to the factory. The factory jackhammers the education into them. You bring them home. Inspect them for defects. Send them back to the factory. Like a Buick. Most times any defect is the fault of the Buick, in which case you smack the Buick, like you would a real Buick. Follow?
From 6th grade on your kids got 6 or 7 teachers. Your lucky if half of them learn your kid's name by Thanksgiving. If an administrator knows you or your kid, it's a bad thing. Basically, the goal at this point is for parents, teachers, and administrators to never see each other again. If you do bump into one of them, it's uncomfortable. Sort of like an ex-girlfriend.
I miss the familiarity. I know I'll never get it back. I do, however, have a plan. This week starts the open house season. At the factories it's a cattle call. They herd parents from room to room where they get approximately 11 minutes to hear a 10 minute & 45 second dog & pony from each of your kids' teachers. Then you go home. That's it. It's like a peep show without the $1 tips.
There's little to accomplish in those 11 minutes. First, you focus on the teacher and try to pick up clues to their background. Focus on terms like medicinal, micro-anything, and
insert your term here. Then you scan the room and take inventory of the other parents. Now you'll make a mental note to lock your car more frequently, apply for a concealed weapon permit, and to watch this week's episode of America's Most Wanted. Outside of that, little productive value occurs.
That is until now. This year I'll be introducing what I like to call, this year's plan. Nothing's really required of you as a parent during those 11 minutes except to sit there quietly. Sure, some people manage to interject their personality. There's always the Happy Affirmative sitting there cluelessly shaking their head yes while smiling from ear to ear. In the business world we call this a kiss ass. If the teacher screws up, and only runs their presentation to 9 minutes, there's always an available supply of idiots to burn those last 2 minutes with stupid questions. Idiots always rise to fill the void of any useful time. The idiots and the affirmatives have at least succeeded in using those 11 minutes to make themselves memorable.
That's the goal of this year's plan, to make myself memorable, and, perhaps, notorious. The plan is to do something obsessive/compulsive for 11 minutes straight. Not weird-hyper ocd like a squirrel examining and burying a nut, but scary ocd. Make your eye twitch, or slowly and deliberately scratch your armpit. Anything that resembles a suppression technique and hints at a closet full of insanity.
What will this accomplish? Maybe nothing. However, it might give your kid's particular class in that particular period
benefit of the doubt/tie goes to the runner status through the end of the year. Say your kid's on the bubble for a grade. The teacher knows one thing. 4th period is where Twitch or Armpit Guy is. They don't want a conference with them. Guess which way the grade falls off the bubble.
Some may take exception to this approach. The system has rendered me anonymous. I have acted to shade that anonymity. They don't need to know who I am. They just need to know I'm out there.
