Not a Clue

    Ron throws temper tantrums. Everyday. Screaming, crying, moaning, whining. No days off. I've talked to the mother in hopes that she'll knock some sense into the kid, but nothing has changed. She came early to pick him up on Thursday. My perspective on teaching has never been the same.
    I was wrapping up a story with the kids when the door swung open and the mother charged into the room. Or rather, her four-year-old, twin girls charged into the classroom and she followed closely behind, pleading with them to be quiet. In a matter of seconds her screaming twins turned my classroom into a scene of chaos — a domino effect across the carpet. Whining and running and screaming and slapping kids, they grabbed any and every toy, banged it for a few seconds, then tossed it to the ground before finding something else. The mother stood in the doorway and sighed
    Ron lost it completely when one of the twins slapped his homework to the ground. I pulled Ron aside and bent down to look him in the eye. I was not going to let this boy make a scene.
    "Ron, look at me so I know you're listening. LOOK AT ME." Ron looked at me. "See what you're doing right now? That's called whining. That's exactly what I've been talking about." 
    Ron yanked himself away and within 5 seconds was whining and screaming all over again. What shocked me, however, was what happened next. The mother pulled Ron aside and bent down to look him in the eye, just as I had done.
   "Ron," she said, "Ron, look at me so I know you're listening. LOOK AT ME."
    I was shocked. The mother was imitating me! What did I know about parenting? I was a teacher! I watched as the mother corrected Ryan with my same language, my same tone of voice, and my same gestures. The truth dawned on me in horrible colors. Children were not my only students.
from September 23, 2012