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A Moment with Mary: Parents and Teachers
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August 31, 2010, at 06:00 AM
We welcome Mary Maxwell, Omaha’s First Lady of Humor, to her new space on the pages of Neighborhood News. Her quick wit and dry humor have made her a popular speaker at events throughout Nebraska and across the country for more decades than she cares to count.
I’m not so sure it takes a village to raise a child, but I do know that it takes both parents and teachers to take a five-year-old who can barely tie his shoes and turn him into a confident, knowledgeable and unarmed member of society.
There was a time when I had no children and a number of useful theories about education. That was during a brief period of time when I had a phone, a car and a bathroom I could call my own.
Then God … uh … blessed me with motherhood and soon I had five children and no theories. Anything the teachers wanted to do was OK with me as long as it didn’t mean longer vacations.
As my kids made their way through school, I became aware of “teacherese,” the language used by teachers at parent conferences. For instance, when a teacher said, “Freddy does not work independently,” that meant that good old Freddy cheats. Or when a teacher said, “Tommy sometimes neglects his personal appearance,” that meant that Tommy has been wearing the same shirt to school since September and the whole class would be grateful if you would throw it in the wash – and maybe Tommy along with it.
I was once told that one of my sons was certainly a very open child. To my horror, that turned out to mean that he had treated the entire fourth grade class to the exact language I had used when I found a fossilized La Casa mushroom pizza inside the parlor grand piano.
Parents also develop their own language. When a parent said to a teacher that Robert was a very playful child, the translation was that little Bobby was probably psychotic and the whole family was praying that year-round schooling would become a fact.
A note from home that said “Dear Mrs. Jones, George had a slight fever yesterday and I thought it best to keep him home,” when translated, became “OK, Mrs. Jones, you and I both know there is no way George could have passed that history test yesterday, but I think he’s ready now.”
If you are associated with schools, you are a volunteer. I don’t care if you’re a teacher or a parent. It’s just kind of a tacit agreement. One day you register your oldest child for kindergarten and the next day you’re a room mother. Especially if you happen to be related to a principal. You can change your name, change the locks on your door, even move out of the area code, but it won’t do you any good. There is no escape.
I was often blessed with opportunities to serve. I remember well the morning I took over the first grade teacher’s classroom while she kept a doctor’s appointment. I hung up my coat in the classroom closet only to have the door slam shut behind me and lock tightly. I know you’re thinking a locked closet is a pretty good place to be when confronted by 35 first-graders – and that thought certainly crossed my mind. But one of those high achievers went to the office and told the school secretary what had happened.
She made me come out.
One thing I learned early on from other mothers: never let yourself be coaxed into jumping rope with the children when you are on playground duty. These were grade school kids. They didn’t want to see you trip, they wanted to see you fall down and roll for ten yards right into the middle of the dodge-ball game. Next to catching the principal getting a speeding ticket, it was their greatest pleasure.
I am dismayed when I hear that many parents today can’t tell you the name of their child’s teacher. We not only knew the names of our kids' teachers, we put them in the will every time one of the kids passed a test. It was the least we could do for those magnificent human beings who took on the trench warfare of the classroom.
