This week I had parent-teacher conferences with the teachers
of both girls. It just worked out that way, scheduling-wise. Both girls are
doing well. Both have things we need to work on. (Alice doesn't eat at lunch.
Why? She’s a picky eater and she chats too much and runs out of time.) I
learned a lot about their days in the classroom and how I can help them succeed. But most of all, I learned
that parent-teacher conferences is now a task that belongs to David.
I cried.
I’m not sure why. When I started while talking to Alice’s
teacher, the topic was mundane day-to-day things. But it
somehow made tears sprang to my eyes and I couldn't stop them. It didn't take
much to turn into full-on weeping.
I got a tissue. I attempted to keep the
conversation flowing. The teacher really likes Alice. She’s a great kid. I
swell up with pride and weep some more.
Leah’s teacher was via phone, thankfully, and I
was able to keep the tears at bay, though I felt the bubble in my throat a few
times. Leah gets along with everyone. She's confident and bright. *sniff*
What is it about these conferences that get me sobbing? That
they're little independent people out in the world making an impact on
strangers I'll never meet? That this teacher knows my kid in a different way?
That any criticism of my girls by a teacher cuts me like a knife?
Regardless of where it came from, one thing is clear. Next semester, David will be taking these meetings.
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