And the saga continues. . .

I’ve written and rewritten several emails tonight – first to Audrey’s teacher with a c.c. to the principal, then one just to the principal explaining our concerns after Rick and I discussed how upset Audrey has been at the thought of us talking to her teacher. My last email was a scaled down email to the principal. I ended up erasing all of them – after all, we know our concerns won’t be heard. They won’t do anything. They haven’t all year – quite the opposite, actually. The principal had the tenacity to assign a Professional Development School intern from our department to this teacher’s room. I guess she was trying to teach us a lesson.

What’s more disturbing was the conversation we had to have with Audrey this afternoon – the first of many like it, I’m afraid. We finally crossed the threshold. Up to this point we’ve tried very hard to stick with the narrative “Good people make bad choices.” Today we finally had to have the talk: “Sometimes, honey, you’re just going to get bad teachers and you’ll have to endure it. This is one of those years.” There was no point dancing around it any more. Done. We used the “B” word explicitly and with elaboration regarding what we meant by it. I’m sure a number of people would argue that we’ve crossed a line we shouldn’t have crossed. To our defense, that big smelly elephant has been in the middle of all our nice and safe conversations up to this point, and tonight there were so many issues that had hit the fan that we just couldn’t talk around it any more. Rick went on to ask Audrey, "Since you want to be a teacher, think about how you felt today. What would you have done differently if you had been the teacher?" This isn't exactly turning lemons into lemonade because it's still a lesson no seven-year-old should have to learn, but it's all we've got.

Where do I begin? That the reading score appears to be based upon her Scholastic reading log – that thing that she’s been encouraged to read as fast and as many books as she possibly can. Heck, she got a lunch at the food court for reading so many. Of course, feverishly reading as many books as possible means that comprehension may go down – thus the 89% average and the B grade on the report card. Then there were the rewards for a computerized/standardized math test. I assume the awards went to those who showed growth because those who were typically higher in their achievement (and yes, why should I know this? Why, because Audrey knows) didn’t get the reward. Those who hit a plateau or perhaps went down but still achieved mastery and are above the mean didn’t get rewarded – and there was a big show of who did and did not get rewarded. Ultimately we told Audrey that this was a lesson in empathy: now she knows how all the kids feel all the times she gets prizes and they don’t. Now, lest you think that I’m just trying to defend my child and say she’s perfect (she’s not), I will add that she did get an A for writing. I’m not sure how, though, since there has been NO writing instruction this year and no opportunities for the students to engage in creative writing or any other writing more than a sentence on a spelling test.

So, instead of a letter, I’m sending the report card signed – along with a copy of Alfie Kohn’s Punished by Rewards that Rick didn’t let me give her at Christmas (yes, that would have been a tacky Christmas gift, but for Valentines’ Day, hey. . . ). Rick has now taken on the task of writing the email to the principal. I think he can reign in his sarcasm a bit more than I can reign in my fury at this point.

So, parents, help me out. What do you do when you feel there are no options? The central office will not listen to us unless we first go to the principal. The principal will smile, nod, and offer half-hearted assurances all the while knowing that she sees nothing wrong with this teacher (or worse yet, does see what’s wrong but feels it’s more important to teach us a lesson than provide a meaningful experience to a future teacher). When it comes to being engaged parents and advocates for our kids, we seem to be failing miserably.