School, Hell, and The Boy
Yesterday I had a conversation with The Boy, my 11-year-old son, about his handwriting. It’s not the worst - hell, I’ve seen four adults huddle over illegible handwriting trying to figure out what lifesaving drug and in what dose the doctor is prescribing - but it’s difficult to read some words.
“Take more time and care. Your thoughts are important, what you have to say is important. You made the effort to write something. Make the effort so that we can read it,” I said.
He understood and said he’d work on it. Good enough.
Wouldn’t you know he came home with a paper he’d written that his teacher wouldn’t grade. Her notes said that she couldn’t read it and, therefore, couldn’t grade it. It was sent home for my wife or me to sign.
Truth is, the handwriting wasn’t as bad as his teacher is making out. Sure, there are several words that take some effort to make out. But who can read any 11-year-old boy’s handwriting?
My wife, however, does not like this teacher. Not in the least. This was more proof that this teacher is “just being hard on him. She doesn’t know how to teach him. She can’t challenge him. He’s too smart. She’s already told us that he has to come back to the class, that she can only go as fast as the slowest among them …”
She went on. I agree with her. The teacher is at a loss when it comes to dealing with The Boy. He’s tough. He’s smart. He likes to learn at his pace - which is fast. And he likes to learn and move on. If you won’t go fast enough, he’ll go forward by himself. He doesn’t care what you think - it doesn’t matter if you are parent or teacher.
In the past month he’s gotten in trouble at school for reading after a test (which he aced), for completing an assignment before it was assigned, and for correcting the teacher publicly (and being right).
I don’t think his teacher knows what to do with him. She either doesn’t have the appropriate mix of talent, time, or patience to work with him. Who knows, maybe she doesn’t even like him.
Regardless, it seems to me that she’s trying to mold him in her image of the prototypical student. So be it. I know the little man, you can’t break him. This will only make him stronger and, perhaps, more difficult for me to deal with.
This grade will pass.
Back to the paper: My wife didn’t want to sign it.
“Please, Mommy. Just sign it,” pleaded The Boy. “If you don’t sign it, I’ll get a month of detention.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what to write on it,” she answered.
Don’t piss off my wife. Please. Especially when it comes to dealing with The Boy. She knows he’s different and has to be handled in a different manner than other people.
But, goddamn it, she’s his mother and she’s going to defend him to the very end. She will chase you to the Gates of Hell if you cross her when dealing with The Boy - I know, I’ve had to hop the fence into Hell a few times myself.
“Please. Just sign it …” was the last thing I heard before leaving for work.
Please. Just sign it.
If you liked that, maybe you will like this:
- Bully
- Nonsequitors for 2008-05-16
- The Idiocy of Boyhood
- 3 Bad Habits & the Family Meeting
- Nonsequitors for 2008-10-06
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