100 Posts in 100 Days
This is the second post in a mini-series about lessons learned from working with parents.
My first teaching job was in a Title I school, primarily serving low-income, disadvantaged, and immigrant families. It was a neighborhood school, so attendance was determined by address and proximity to the school. Within our attendance boundary were 9 single family homes and several apartment complexes, many of them subsidized. At times, enrollment in our school changed monthly because a family living in an apartment within our boundary couldn’t make the rent, so they would move across the street to a complex having a “move-in” special. Simply crossing the street meant crossing the boundary line, thus it also meant changing schools. It wasn’t unusual for a student to be back 2-3 months later, when their family had crossed the street, yet again.
The lived experiences of my students and their families were so different from what my experience had been growing up. Life wasn’t always easy for my parents and our family. We moved across the country multiple times during my childhood when my dad was subjected to lay-offs as the Bell Companies deregulated in the 1980s. I myself attended 5 different elementary schools. If we ever lived month-to-month or with subsidy, I didn’t know it. Our family’s basic needs were met and my sister and I were able to do things like take gymnastics and play soccer.
As a bright-eyed, 20-something teacher, I made a lot of assumptions about my students and their families. I recognize now that I believed a number of stereotypes about what it meant to be poor, immigrant, or black in America. Looking back, I would even say that I initially approached them with more sympathy than empathy. Then, an important thing happened. I started to get to know my students and their families more. Little by little, each interaction began to teach me something and help me see life differently. Getting to know them began to dismantle my stereotypes and illuminate their humanity.
One such example is the story of an 8 year old black boy and his mom. He came to our 2nd grade classroom regularly and was generally quiet and respectful. His schoolwork was often a struggle to complete, but he always put forth effort and maintained a positive attitude. He had friends in our class and in the other classes. Working with him was a pleasant experience.
But, engaging his family for support with his learning was proving to be a challenge. Our school had a “Wednesday Folder” system where student work and written communication between home and school was collected all week long and sent home on Wednesday. Students were to return their folders signed by a parent on Thursday, along with any information we were expecting back from the family. In this case, the folder didn’t always make it back. If it did, it may or may not be signed, it may or may not have any documents or information requested.
Attempts to call his mother were also unsuccessful. I had called home several times and left voice messages, to no avail. Letters in the Wednesday folder were also unanswered. When I asked my student about his family, he said he only lived with his mom and younger sister. Reaching out to his emergency contacts had yielded any better results.
As I noted earlier, I was beginning to make assumptions and conjecture about what was happening. I didn’t understand why this mom seemed to have so little interest in her son and his schooling, I wondered if she was even able to read, and I wondered if there were things she was trying to hide from the school.
Until the day came when I did meet her. It was a parent night and she came. Along with her son and with her toddler daughter perched on her hip. She was quiet and respectful, and attentive and interested. “He’s just like her”, I thought to myself.
Every teacher knows that parent night is not the ideal time for a family conference. But this was my chance to talk with this mother. I asked if she knew that I had been trying to contact her.
Yes, she knew I was trying. But, my messages were on her home phone (this was, after all, before cell phones and e-mail). By the time she received them, the school day was over and she couldn’t call back. She offered a solution. If I could tell her a time to call the classroom, she would ask her supervisor for a break and call at the scheduled time. Her plan worked. She called at the planned time and we were able to go a step further. We were able to find an afternoon that was off from work and could come to school to meet in person, as long as both children could be with her.
My vision for the meeting was that I would share about her son and his progress in 2nd grade and explain all the things she needed to do at home to assist him. What really happened is that I listened to her story and I learned just how hard she was fighting to give her children everything that she could.
She was a single mom without close family or a support network. Their family of three lived in an apartment with rental assistance and her toddler daughter attended a day care also with assistance. Her childrens’ father wasn’t able to live with them or provide financial support because he was incarcerated. Even though visited him periodically, she wondered if that was the right thing to do. Accepting assistance for housing and daycare was difficult, but her job as an attendant in the drive-thru at the local Burger King didn’t pay her enough to take care of everything on her own. She felt fortunate that the school, her work, her apartment, and her daughter’s daycare were in such proximity to each other because she didn’t have reliable transportation.
She wanted to help her son with his school work, but keeping up with everything that came as a bundle to her kitchen counter on Wednesdays was too hard. She was juggling and providing everything for all 3 of them on her own. And, after standing on her feet all day, she was tired. I couldn’t help but think, “This mother is no older than I am” and I know, without a doubt, that I could never have done what she was doing.
We came up with a new plan. My teacher lunch break in the middle of day was 40 minutes. On alternating days, my students went to PE right after, extending my break to a full hour. If I could get the PE teacher to pick my class up from recess, I had enough time to go through the drive-thru at Burger King. Once every couple of weeks or so, I would do just that. I would arrive at the kiosk with the speaker, place my order for a soda, and announce that it was me. When I pulled up to the window, she would be waiting. (Some days, the car behind me must have wondered how it could possibly take so long to fill an order for a soda. 😆) I would hand over the “Wednesday Folder”, highlight the most important information, and share some positive news from school. Inevitably, the folder would come back to school with her son in a day or two, including any extra practice work that had been provided.
This experience taught me that I had been wrong. What I initially attributed as a lack of interest, a lack of education, or shady behavior couldn’t have been further from the truth. I’m embarrassed to admit that those were the things I was thinking.
What I learned was that this young mother was sacrificing and doing everything that she could to provide a home, food, clothing, and schooling to her children. Her entire being was focused on giving her young children a good life. I learned to withhold assumptions and judgment about the reasons a parent is or is not behaving in a certain way. I learned the lengths a mother will go to in order to help her children have a better life.
There is one thing I was right about, though. “He’s just like her.” Quiet, respectful, hardworking, tenacious and memorable.