Conferences for the parents.

Conferencing the parent…

It’s that time of year again - time for juggling conferences for three children, across three grades. Time to remember which preferred time slot I had written on the conference appointment letter so many weeks ago. It’s time to remember to look up the grades for each kid and remember what they are all supposed to be studying. Time to figure out a strategy to manage all these conferences.

This year, I sigh with relief as I get the 2nd and 3rd conference confirmation note from the teachers and realize that I have managed to schedule them without any conflicts. However, I have the misfortune to have all appointments first thing in morning.

It was a very stressful week. Not only did I had to get up extra early to get to the schools for 7:15 am conferences, 3 days in a row, but I also had to drag the child in question, along with me. That was not a popular move.

Breakfast was non-existent and I was sure the kid would be asleep by lunchtime after missing a whole 45 minutes of snooze time.

There is one thing I really struggle with at the conferences. I determinedly feel my age. I have to recover from the shock that I have just mistaken the teacher for another student.

“Oh, you’re the teacher?” I hear myself say.

“Yes”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were another 8th grader.”

I worry that the teacher will think that I won’t respect her opinion.  I try to look serious and intent when I am feverishly thinking if I have applied my make up properly to cover my wrinkles. I hope that I look young and hip like her.

She talks about the support that my son has at home. She thinks, as a parent, I am doing a fine job.

I think of the times I have shouted because of low grades. I think of the times I have taken away as many privileges as I can take away – x-box, Wii time, allowances, friends.

I wonder if she can read my mind. I wonder if she knows that I sometimes march around the house lecturing about college, jobs, being unemployed, SAT’s, GPA requirements… anything to motivate the kids to keep going.

She talks about the work that she does during the marking period. I think about the work I do at home. I bribe. I cajole. I shout. I threaten. I lecture on doomsday scenarios that come from bad grades. “Yes!” I say. “We do support our child at home.”  

The end of March conference is the toughest. It’s the time of year with the least number of days off and students have been in school day after endless day. Summer camps plans and vacations have been made and that’s usually all we talk about. The end of the year cannot come quickly enough and here she is, the 12 year old teacher, telling us that the school year is not done yet and there is still another marking period.

By the time the third 7:15am (did I say that before?) conference has come around, I have forgotten the questions I should ask and I arrive completely unprepared. I mistake my child’s name for the other son, not once but twice. I’m sure that the teacher is starting to think I’m completely inept as a parent. I reassure her that this is the 3rd 7:15 am conference I have had in as many days. She seems to understand but I doubt that she is old enough to have one kid never mind 3.

No matter how well the discussion goes I always thinks it looks better if I have an intelligent question to ask. I cannot think of any questions. I simply smile and say thank you. I leave the last conference thinking that I did not do that child any favors. I’m sure the teacher caught me trying to stifle a yawn during the conference.  I have ruined my reputation as a caring and involved parent.

I rush to work. I will email the teacher later and say thank you. 

I realize that after 11 years of children in school, I have attended at least 48 parent teacher conferences. I have attended almost 20 open houses.

There are many more years of juggling conferences. Maybe I will figure out a better strategy soon.