They are typically unpredictable and unreliable. They have been both endearingly sweet and unconscionably disrespectful to me. They really like clothes made by Apple Bottoms and FUBU. I am referring, of course, to my students' parents.* Parent-Teacher Conference Day, with its "will-she-or-won't-she-show-up-for-her-scheduled-meeting?" tension, "will-she-hate-me-as-much-as-her-daughter-does?" excitement, and "wow-(student's name)'s-dad-looks-JUST-like-(rapper's name)" dynamic, is the most adrenaline-packed and weirdly enjoyable day on the academic calendar. In addition to enabling me to meet some interesting characters**, conference day also affords me an opportunity to gain some valuable insight into the home lives of my students. I learned this morning, however, that it is possible to have too much insight into these lives, over the course of an increasingly bizarre conversation with one of the parents.
It all started in this morning's Math class. Despite several warnings regarding the consequences of his behavior, Alonte (uh-LAWN-tay) continued to dispose of a seemingly endless cache of arrowhead erasers by throwing them with impressive velocity and remarkable aim at Kristoffer, seated across the classroom, to the considerable distress of those in his line of fire. Needless to say, all of this was to the detriment of my lesson on adding decimals, and I was compelled to ask Alonte, in comically exasperated fashion, "Why can't you pay attention?" Ever quick on his feet, he immediately countered, "Why is you so white?" in a manner that uncannily imitated my inflection on the question originally posited to him.***
Within seconds, I was on the phone with his mother in front of the class, who sat in transfixed silence. She was repulsed and infuriated when told what her son had said, and when told that he was currently next to me in the classroom, demanded to be put on speakerphone so that his peers could all hear what she had to say. In a moment largely attributable to a petty desire to exact a measure of revenge, I quickly acquiesced. What follows are a few choice excerpts, as best as I can remember, from a diatribe that could probably have gone on for hours had I not ultimately intervened:
-You is not my Valentine anymore!
-You act more like your daddy every day!
-Listen! [muffled grunting] Do you hear this!? I'm taking off my belt right now! [more grunting, followed by something that sounded like intermittent clapping] This is me slapping the kitchen table with my belt! I'm slapping the table with my belt! OOH! Just warming up for your butt when you walk in the door!
Mortified, I immediately took her off speakerphone after that last threat, and thanked her for her time. She seemed out of breath, I remember thinking. The class was silent for a while after I hung up, and many students even offered sympathetic glances toward their former tormentor. Alonte, who really is a pretty pleasant kid on most days, paid close attention for the rest of the lesson, and earned an A on an afternoon pop quiz on adding decimals. I called his mom to inform her of the grade and his improved behavior as soon as school ended.
*It would be clearly irresponsible, even in a blog that three people read, for me to label these parents as uniformly untrustworthy or immature. With a few truly memorable exceptions, my kids' parents have been generally supportive and amicable, if a bit eccentric. More on this later.
**For you English majors, there's something sort of quintessentially Faulknerian about these parents, in that there's a tragic element to their unvarnished personalities (i.e., one mom went the duration of our conference without once removing a Slurpee straw from her mouth, and another thought it apropos to have a serious conversation with me about her son's academic performance while breastfeeding her infant child) that's more reflective of their impoverished, decaying neighborhood than anything else.
***Although it's certainly possible Alonte was genuinely interested in my genetic makeup, and would listen, enthralled, as I explained the ramifications of my Scandinavian heritage, it's probably more likely that he was making fun of the whiteness of my skin. Although rarely directed at teachers, this is a common form of insult at my school, which ironically is comprised of a 100% African-American student body. This does not stop bullies from picking on their relatively light-skinned peers by calling them names like "George Washington" and "Hannah Montana."
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