This week I had a parent reduce me to a sobbing, blubbering mess minutes before students walked into my classroom. I honestly think this is only the second time in my entire life a parent has undone me to this level. And the first time I was young, just barely out of my teens, and working in childcare.
For the 1997-1998 school year I was working a split shift at the before and after school daycare at the same school I had attended for my K-6 education. It was my "gap" year between my undergrad college experience and the fifth year teaching program required by the state of California, where I lived until I was married.
There was a lice outbreak midyear. Kids were being sent home right and left from the school and daycare alike. We discovered a first grader had lice shortly after school got out one afternoon. The daycare director called her mom and informed her that she needed to come pick up her daughter ASAP. I don't know what occurred during the phone conversation, but the director was under the impression Mom would show up soon. She didn't. The director was a college student herself, and ended up having to leave for class before the parent arrived. Before she left, she pulled me aside and asked me to show Mom the "no nit policy" in the daycare contract when she showed up. The director even asked me to try to talk to the parent outside of the child's presence.
The parent finally arrived at her usual pick up time, just as we were setting up for our evening snack. I asked the first grader if she wanted to have snack before she left, and she joined the line at the snack table while I walked with her mom to the other portable to pick up the little girl's backpack and convey the message from my boss. She appeared to take the message well, and left with her daughter as soon as she skipped in with her Dixie cup full of Goldfish crackers.
But as soon as she settled her daughter in the car, Mom came back over to the portable where the remaining five kids, my co-worker, and I were winding down for the night. She yelled at me from the doorway, in front of everyone else who was still there. I don't even remember what she said. But I do know I had to lock myself in the bathroom after she left because I started sobbing as soon as the door closed behind her, and could not regain control of myself. My co-worker offered to close up and let me leave early, but I had walked to work, and wanted to stop sobbing before I left. I wasn't successful, and ended up having to walk home through a blurred vision because my eyes would not stop leaking.
My skin is thicker now, more than twenty years into my teaching career. I can think of several times when I've been frustrated, upset, even emotional about interactions I've had with parents. But reduced to an uncontrolled, emotional disaster hadn't happened since. Until now.
In this COVID crazy year, we have been working online quite a bit. My students know how to get ahold of me via Google Hangouts, Google Classroom messages, and email. They had individual meetings with me over Zoom, both scheduled and impromptu, before we came back into the building four days a week, with asynchronous Fridays. I had three "evidence gathering" assignments for a literary essay assignment last week. Two of them were digital and I told kids I would check them off on Saturday, giving them the entire asynchronous Friday work day to complete them before I even looked at them. On Saturday I sent blanket emails (bcc'd of course) to kids and their families who hadn't turned in one or both of the digital assignments, "Dear Fourth Graders, if you and your parents are receiving this email, it means you still haven't completed..."
I had a parent email me some point after that, with the message, "X said he messaged you asking for help??" I saw her message as I was packing up my computer on Sunday night for the next morning. I checked Google Hangouts and saw that her son had in fact sent me a message on Saturday. It was time stamped at 10:37am and asked for me to Zoom with him at 3:00pm.
I wrote back on Monday morning reminding the parent that I was not available to help students on Saturdays. She replied asking for a phone call. Knowing that she wanted to talk to me to complain, I cc'd my principal and offered up several times I was available. She said she would be sure to be able to take my call at any of the times I mentioned. I tried to call at the very first time I offered, 7:30am the following morning. I could not get through. I got two different errors, depending on whether I dialed 9 + area code + phone number or 91 + area code + phone number. We recently had a new phone system installed, so I tried several different phones in the building, including those that I was pretty sure had already been used for external calls, before the front office staff arrived and unlocked their space. With our rolling drop off to allow for COVID health screening of every individual before they enter the building, the front office officially opens at the same time students start arriving. As students started arriving for the day, I sent an email telling the parent I had tried to call, but apparently needed a tutorial on making external calls from our newly installed system. I promised to call the next morning. She wrote back thanking me and promising to be waiting for my call.
That afternoon I asked for a tutorial from the front office on our phone system. My story made the school secretary believe the new phones were not functioning as expected. She put in a call to the company that had installed our phones and told me she didn't think the problem was "operator error" on my part. The next morning I decided to try calling my own cell phone from the phone in my classroom. I discovered that with the 91 + area code + phone number option, I had no trouble getting through. After checking our Learning Management System I discovered the parent had mistyped her phone number in her message requesting a call. Using the phone number from the LMS, I called at the agreed upon time. The call went to voicemail. I left a message, hung up, and laughed out loud.
On the third morning we finally connected. Her tone of voice was pleasant, her demeanor nonconfrontational. But the attack was long and personal. She believes I am better suited to teaching older grades. "All the parents" at "practices" agree that their students are afraid of me, and they refuse to ask me questions because they know I will yell at them. In fact, apparently, I yell all the time. I refuse to give parents and tutors information needed to help their kids at home. Her child cries every day after school because of my class. The days when he doesn't see me (I only teach him one class) are the only ones when he is happy after school. He's relieved on the days he doesn't have to see me.
None of this is my lived experience with my students. In fact, during the one class I teach in my partner teacher's room, I run around the entire work time, answering questions from kids who raise their hands over and over. I sometimes have to ask those with their hands in the air to be patient while I check on the progress of the kids who aren't raising their hands. The child in question does sometimes ask for help, and I also check on him when he doesn't because I know writing is challenging for him. During remote learning he and I had a regular weekly 1-1 meeting scheduled to discuss writing, and he frequently sent messages asking for additional 1-1 meetings.
I held it together while I was talking on the phone. The parent told me she was going to contact our Learning Resource Center Director and principal and request that her child be removed from my class since I make him so uncomfortable. I know the principal and LRC staff have my back, so I encouraged her to contact them both. I told her I understood her concern and shared it, if her child was crying every day after school.
When the call ended my team, who knew I had been trying to contact this parent for three days, asked how it went. I dissolved into tears. I was still sobbing as the rolling drop off began. I knew the child of one of my co-workers was probably already in my room, but I couldn't stop crying. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. It got the sobbing under control, but my eyes were still leaking intermittently, for hours. I couldn't even talk to the first several students who arrived. (I usually cheerfully greet everyone by name as they walk in.) By the time I had to actually start teaching, I was finally breathing easier. The presence of my students had brought me enough joy that I was finally able to regain most of my self control.
Even though I have observable evidence to refute most, if not all, of what this parent accused, even though I know I am good at what I do, even though I know my administration has my back, this interaction hit me like a ton of bricks.
It's May, the second May during a global pandemic. Parents are stressed, but that's still no excuse. Teachers are stressed too. We are not punching bags. I do expect kids to learn - do work and turn it in. To do work, turn it in, and even do better on this assignment than the last one. Isn't that my job? Of course, it is! And I know I'm good at it. I love it too. But sometimes it's really hard.
Mean people suck.
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