It's been a gray day in Streeterville. Got that haircut I alluded to yesterday. Got my eyebrows and ear hair trimmed as well. Left my nose hair and back hair alone. Went to work. Came home. It was 44 degrees with light rain at the Mini when I returned to the Hood. Lawyers and princesses in $200 running shoes were still active on the running path. The current view out the windows on the 14th floor is, well dark. The usual lights are active at Navy Pier as well as those blinking ones that tell boats that there is a concrete barrier here, so steer clear you drunken idiot.
Today was a special day at The Outpost. It was Parent-Teacher Conference Day, aka Report Card Day. Many of my colleagues are sorely bored on these days. When kids get old enough to reach High School parents sort of stop coming to Report Card Pickups to speak with their kids' teachers. Teachers of Freshmen get the most parents. The numbers drop off by year so that teachers of Seniors get the fewest visits. Hope those guys have plenty of little chores to keep them busy for the duration of the day.
As it happens, many of these colleagues are continually amazed by the numbers of parents who show up at my room to speak with me about their children. I have a secret. I fail lots of kids. I have standards. A great many parents show up when their kids are failing. Invevitably, the kids who are used to lesser expectations get the message, from me, and from their parents about this time of the year, "Put out some effort or you're going to be paying the cost in Summer School." Most figure it out and get their butts in gear enough to at least get a D by the beginning of summer.
Of course the real trouble kids, well their parents never show up. That's part of the issue with many of them. The kids have issues. Their parents have issues as well. The "at home socialization" is how the kids got their issues in the first place. We can try to serve as a surrogate at school, but for many, they are lost by the time they get to high school. It's always sad to see it. Their futures are dim, and getting dimmer by the minute. With those in a gang, there are really two options for their future, 1. Death by violent means, or 2. Prison. For many of the girls it means 1. Children by age 16, 2. Single motherhood, and 3. A life of poverty.
For a teacher the difficult part on Parent-Teacher Conference Day is learning how to diplomatically approach the bad news that you have to give to parents. How can you say to a parent, "Well the problem is that your son is a member of a gang and he is involved with drugs and guns and shows up for class high as a kite if he shows up at all."? How do you tell a parent that her daughter is failing because she spends all her time cutting classes with a boy who is a gang-banger with no future and she's probably pregnant? For that matter, how do you tell a parent that her daughter is in love with another girl who is a member of a lesbian gang who sometimes sexually assault other girls in the bathrooms?
Reality? The above scenarios are very real, but extreme cases. Most kids are really good kids. Most of the parents who show up for Parent-Teacher Conferences are the parents who are actively involved in their kids' lives and care, and as a result their kids do really well. Most of the parents of the above kids, rarely show up. Some do occasionally, and let me tell you that it can be awkward. Today, I had to tell a mother of a young man who is in an Honors Class, who is making a D, that his problem is that he is a member of the Black Disciples street gang and all of the ramifications that go with that are why his grades are slipping. I was worried when I told her. I have confronted some parents in the past about the affiliations of their children, and had those parents respond with angry, vehement denial. This particular woman responded with an "I know. I work so hard. I try so hard, but the neighborhood is taking him." It breaks your heart to see a mother, her own heart visibly breaking, trying her very best to raise a son, and trying to save him from himself and the thugs on the corner who want to own him, only to have the thugs on the corner win the battle.
It's also hard to tell a parent who has come to the school, prepared to be enraged by an unjust teacher, that the reason their child is failing is that their child has spent the previous ten weeks flirting with the boy or girl across the aisle in the class and hasn't turned in 3/4 of the required work. It's hard to tell a parent that their beloved child spends large numbers of periods hanging out in the halls, hiding in the bathrooms, doing anything but going to class, and then clowning and doing their best to disrupt the class for the good kids when they get caught in a roundup and are made to go to class. It's hard as hell to have to tell them that. It's hard as hell for a parent to have to hear that about their child. Every parent comes into this thing with high hopes for their child. It's incredibly difficult to find out that your child is another of those kids that have been swallowed up by the poverty, by the low expectations, by the gangsta mentality, by the endless bullshit that causes poverty to continue from one generation to the next, instead of putting the fucking stop on it so no more kids have to live angry, poverty-stricken existences with no hope for the future. In this, the parents and the teachers share a great sorrow.
Then when all seems darkest, there comes a moment to brighten your day. An older brother of one of my students came to pick up the student's report card. He came into my room and told me that the mother was pretty sick and couldn't make it to pick up the grades. He was checking up on his little brother. The older brother was probably in his late 20's or early 30's, and acknowledged that he had two little sons of his own and was doing his best to guide them on the right path, and now he wanted to see that his little brother was doing the best he could. I had to tell him that his little brother "is easily the most capable, hardest working student I have seen in the entire Freshman class." I had to tell him that his brother is the nicest kid I have met in a long time and I want to personally see to it that this kid gets everything he works hard for. He has a bright future, and if he keeps up the hard work, great things are in store for him. We talked about scholarhip opportunities. We talked about AP classes and outside opportunities at community colleges and internships that pay money while providing teaching opportunities. I thought the gentleman was going to cry. He was so happy to see that his little brother had a bright future and people were there to help him achieve, and that people care about him. That was one of the moments that makes it all worth it.
It's funny how emotions work. You just want to cry because so many young lives are being squandered and lost in the sociology of poverty culture. You just want to cry because some kids manage to rise above it all and soar anyway. It all comes out at the Parent-Teacher Conferences. (Haven't had an irate parent curse me out in many years now. Knock on wood. Maybe I've gotten better at dealing with it all.) The love for their children is what brings the parents there. The love for the children in general, and the endless hope of the future generations, that's what brings the teachers there. Together, we try to make a difference.
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