Troublemaker, part II

So. I wrote that, and I thought, "I wonder how it will end." Stories finish, they get wrapped up neatly, and even in real life things like this come to some sort of conclusion, and it's funny to know you're in the middle of one and have no inkling how long it will go on for and what the outcome will be.

I woke up this morning and wondered whether it had all been a massive overreaction and if I should just leave well enough alone and let Monkey fend for himself with his new teacher. If he'd get used to her, and she wouldn't be so bad, and that I really shouldn't be so judgemental. And then I remembered how we'd both felt yesterday, and I knew that phrases like "I have to advocate for my child" had to remain in my vocabulary, and that even if he gritted his teeth and bore it, I didn't want his year to go this way. I want him to have a good year, a great year, to have fun and love school and have a lovely teacher who inspires him to learn and put all his massive amounts of curiosity and energy to good use. The teacher we met yesterday was so far from the idea you might have of a kindergarden teacher that it wasn't even funny.

I felt insulted, really, by the school that seemed to think this was okay, that maybe it was because we didn't know anyone in the school, or hadn't pulled any strings or known the right code words to use to request a good teacher; because we're immigrants, even - that they thought they could just brush my kid under the carpet with a classful of other nice, non-complaining types and a substandard teacher.

The school office was closed today so I couldn't call them, but at about 8.30 while B was still at home to watch the kids, I snuck off and drove up the road to see how the land lay. I thought maybe I could snatch a quick word with the principal. I wasn't sure I'd even be able to get in the doors, and I drew the line at banging on windows. That wasn't really the impression I wanted to give.

As luck would have it, I arrived at the doors, glasses steaming up in the bizarrely misty early morning that precedes another hot day, at the same time as a sixth-grade teacher whose name I already knew. She ascertained that the principal wasn't yet in, and gave me some helpful advice, suggesting that I follow up with an e-mail asking for an appointment to discuss things. She almost single-handedly restored my faith in the school then and there, just because she was so darned nice.

So I sent my e-mail, included two phone numbers, and took the kids out for the morning. I asked Monkey how he was feeling about school, and when he said he was feeling a bit better about it and thought he'd be able to give his teacher a chance, I was so proud. He's far less judgemental than I am. But this wasn't about how he feels: it's about what sort of teacher I think he needs. If I had merely been afraid he'd be upset for three weeks because he was shy of the teacher, I woudn't have started this campaign. My tactic was to be a thorn in the side of the principal for as long as it took to have my voice heard and my opinions taken seriously. An ever-polite and diplomatic thorn, of course.

By the time we got home Mabel had missed her nap, and I decided it was too late to do anything but forge ahead with the afternoon, being extra conciliatory to her whims to make it through the rest of the day and get to the hallowed early bedtime that should, by rights, await. If that meant letting her watch the dreaded Baby Songs DVD, well, so be it. The phone rang, and I hoped it might be the principal.

Better than that: it was a friend calling to let me know, via the grapevine, that the teacher in question has been let go. On Monday morning Monkey's class will have a "very capable" substitute, and a new teacher will be hired. I knew at least one other parent had complained, but it seems we weren't alone. What it seems may have happened is that the county took the opportunity while our school was without a principal for most of the summer (the present incumbent has just taken up the job, which was part of my difficulty because nobody could really tell me how best to approach her) - the county took their chance to perhaps offload a few teachers who were hard to place, let's say, on our poor undefended school. It's even possible that the principal hadn't actually met the teacher before yesterday - the latter arrived late to orientation.

Whatever the reason, I'm impressed and delighted by the school's swift and decisive action. I don't even have to feel guilty about the other children who would inevitably have been left behind or even switched into the class if we had managed to move Monkey out. (B feels sorry for the teacher, but he's a soft touch. I don't deserve him.)

Once I had called the school to confirm the news, I told Monkey. He was quietly happy, but I think he was even more happy to hear that I had been trying to switch him out of the class because I didn't think the teacher was right for him. I do want him to know I'll always advocate for him (yes, I said it), but at the same time he has to understand that parents can't always just swoop down and fix things when life gets a bit tough. Sometimes you do have to just deal with it.

Just not yet, not like that, not being stuck with a bad teacher for the whole year. That's something I had to try to fix.

So there you have it. The story wrapped up in one day, and a happy ending to boot.

 

Boom, baby