1/10/08
I watch her lower lip tremble and her anger is as palpable as a strong pulse point. I feel so much empathy for her. Her precious little boy that she strained her guts out to give birth to will not be happy until he gets substantial afterbirth from her heart. She wants to know why her child is being suspended from school when it is not his fault. Her shaky voice declares he is home crying his eyes out because he doesn’t understand why he cannot be at school with the other children. I attempt to speak soothingly to her but she snaps at me like a broken rubber band and declares she did not tell me I could speak to her. I remind her in a firm tone that this is my classroom and I never need permission to speak in it to anyone. She is momentarily taken aback because I have tried so very hard to be patient and kind to her. She then rallies and in growling desperate undertones wants to know what I meant when I told her in an earlier conference that I understood the culture of the children in my classroom. I do not answer her because she does not really want me to. And, I know she wants to get in a racial debate to make this problem with her son become something about my being white and him being black. But, I refuse to go where there is no truth with her. I gather her son’s assignments for her to take home and explain to her what he is to do. She takes them from my hand and stomps away as she angrily and harshly says, “You have a blessed day!” I quietly reply, “May God bless you too.” I really mean it. I watch her walk away and just want to cry. Not because my feelings are hurt but because I recognize in her a desperation for answers and not knowing where to turn to, to find them. In our short conversation today she has gone from it is the teacher’s fault to it is the principal’s fault to it is a racial issue to it is God’s fault. Really, whose fault is it? I don’t have her answers. I wish so much I did.

You know my teacher assistant told me this angry parent referred to me as “the thing” when she asked if I was here today. I am always here. I know that this is not about me. It is about this son she loves and wants to protect and does not understand. He is so happy after we have heated confrontations and conferences in the principal’s office with his parents. He returns to the room so happy he has gotten all the attention he thinks he deserves from the adults in his life. I just want to drag him out of the class room and shout at him doesn’t he see what he is doing to his mama who loves him so much. Of course, he is not my child. I have limited rights to him. I get to teach him and he is a bright student. I get to try to set an example and not let him get away with anything. He gets the same consequences as every student for their behavior. But, he somehow thinks he should be the exception to the rule; that he should be able to get away with things the other students cannot. But, I cannot let him win in this even if it means his mama gets hurt. What a rotten part of this job.

If he ever returns to my classroom, I am determined to have some alone time with him to ask him what he is thinking and how does he feel when his mama gets so upset about his behavior at school. Who can guess what he will say?

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