“Can I call you Miss Rachael?”
“No, but you can call me Dr. Rachael if you want.”
“Wait, are you a real doctor?”
“Yes Beth, I’m a real doctor.”
“Did you go to college?”
“Yes Beth, I went to college.”
“Did you go to college AND medical school?”
“Yes Beth, I went to medical school.”
“O.K., you went to college and medical school… so why don’t you do the things a REAL doctor does?”
This is where Beth gets the look of resignation with which her parents are well schooled.
Let me say that most of the folks we’ve dealt with at my daughter’s school have been wonderful. They’ve been kind, patient, understanding, and caring. All the same, next year my daughter will be going to a different school.
Why is she going to a different school? It’s a long story, one I don’t have the energy or inclination to tell right now… but here’s the abbreviated/censored version: Beth’s third grade teacher. Every one of the conditions these kind, patient, understanding, and caring school professionals carefully laid out for Beth to succeed in school were conditions that Beth’s third grade teacher either ignored or outright contradicted. We had our last meeting at Beth’s old school this morning, and the staff (sans Beth’s teacher – per usual) acknowledged Beth didn’t get what she needed from her teacher. One of them said she was sorry.
There’s just one problem with being sorry… it doesn’t change anything that’s already happened. I just wish someone was sorry six months ago when we wanted to switch teachers. I just wish someone was sorry when we pointed out time and again the teacher’s failure to abide by the school’s policies. I wonder if someone will still be sorry when they review this teacher’s performance in the future. Is it standard procedure for teachers to ignore counselor’s and paid consultant’s recommendations? What’s the point of having guidance counselors, psychologists, and social workers on the payroll if their advice is ignored?
I’ll bet I know what you’re thinking. “With all of those people involved, I wonder what’s wrong with this kid? I wonder what her parents have done to make all of this necessary?”
You know what? I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve seen misbehaving kids in public and I’ve wondered the same thing about their parents. If you’ve done any reading here before, you know I’ve blamed myself many times. All I can say is I’m trying.
Dear God I’m trying.
Is it too much to expect the same from her teacher?
To be fair, this is the first problem we’ve had with a teacher at this school. Her other teachers have been wonderful. But it’s a sign the administration is a gutless shill for the teachers – good or bad.
We won’t be around for another roll of the dice.
On evenings past I have stumbled around in the dark looking for a flashlight that mysteriously wasn’t there. On these dark, perilous journeys through veritable minefields of wheeled children’s toys, I have wondered if the addictive effect of a flashlight on a child is similar to the effect of heroine. Sure, there are a few kinks to work out… like the fact that testing the theory will get you a 6 x 6 room to share with a man who seems way more interested in underwear than would seem normal. Just what is it about a small, battery-powered bulb that so fascinates the youthful mind; and why are adults immune to its habit-forming effects?
I find myself having to hide my emergency flashlight from curious young fingers, making it that much less handy in the event of an actual emergency. Perhaps it is yet another sign of my failure as a parent.
“Dad, I don’t want you to drink coffee.”
Beth and I were leaving Tae Kwon Do and I heard the sound of sudden submersion behind me. I looked back and saw Beth up to her shins in water.
(Defensively) “Dad, I stepped in a puddle by accident!”
(Angrily) “Beth, that’s the only puddle in the parking lot and you had to walk about ten feet out of your way to get to it. The only thing accidental about it is you didn’t mean to get soaked half way up to your knees – because you didn’t expect it to be so deep.”
(Sheepishly) “How did you know dad?”
(Honestly) “Been there, done that, Beth.”
If you walk up the stairs on the third level of the St. Pete Times Forum, you will find two seats right at the top, looking down the stairs from either side of the center handrail, seats 3 and 4, row S. This was where Beth watched her first live hockey game.
Her first impression was, “there are a LOT of people here dad.”
“Yeah, it’s great, nothing like Rays games, is it?”
On a related note, it was quite a bit louder. It turns out that 20,000 people can make a lot of noise, if they really want to. Throw in a horn and a solid roof to bounce sound off of; and suddenly Beth’s voice isn’t loud enough anymore.
A while back, my wife went to a candle party. For the uninitiated, a candle party is a gathering where middle-aged wives get together to buy candles from a traveling salesperson, picture a Tupperware party with a lot of open flames. Anyhoo, Cheryl was surprised to see Beth’s first grade teacher present. Cheryl was further surprised to learn that Beth’s teacher, two years removed, remembered so many details about Beth.
“So Cheryl how’s Beth’s aunt from New Orleans?”
It seems that Beth made an impression, in one way or another. Say what you want about my daughter, but she’s certainly not shy.
I feel compelled to blow a little sunshine, where it don’t normally, particularly after my last post, my ode to self-pity. Lets just say that the last Xbox game I bought was the best twenty bucks I’ve spent this fiscal quarter. Beth and I have been blowing away Imperial scum like a couple of Rebel bad boys. We’ve been playing Star Wars Battlefront. We’ve played it a lot, but most importantly, we’ve played it together. I know video games are not exactly right out of Norman Rockwell, but it’s someplace our divergent tastes have crossed, and I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth.
We were in a rush trying to get to the car and head out on our way, when Beth decided to pause, take off her shoe, and dump out the accumulated sand.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t been standing in the middle of our living room at the time.
There’s a saying in fantasy lawyer land (as seen on T.V.): don’t ask the question if you don’t already know the answer. The same can be said for real life parenting. This evening I asked my intrepid daughter if she wanted to play an Xbox game with me. She replied, “I’d rather play the ‘Fairly Odd Parents’ with mom than ‘Star Wars’ with you.”
That hurts on so many levels I don’t know where to begin.