I'm Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down

A friend of mine is going to a parent-teacher conference. Nothing bad, just to keep the parents informed as to not only what their child is going through, but also what is going on with the school and the classroom. As a student, I was never a big fan into them, but as an adult, I understand and respect the need for conferences like this and am now a supporter.

Back in the days, though, those open house meetings, report card conferences, progress reports, all of 'em were conduits for teachers to turn into a tattle-tale. I was blessed with parents that cared about my academic progress, but at the time, I was mad with 'em, trying to hide the notices and everything. My parents WENT to the PTA meetings, WENT to open house, WENT to the report card conferences. I was a rather showy kid in elementary school. I was smart and did the work, but MAN, if I wasn't a talker and a misbehaving youngster. Open house equaled to ratting me out, because many of the parents didn't show up. My parents had a good rapport with my teachers, and they would let the dirt FLY. Stuff I did WEEKS ago were brought up. The one time I threw a paper airplane across the room, the one time I was caught talking (well, maybe a few tens of times), the time I did this, the time I did that, it ALL came out.

Of course, it would all end with a silent car ride home and me being told about myself. My parents are wonderful people, but they don't play that "misbehaving in school" bullcrap. They had words on top of words on top of words for me. Their post-conference "pep talks" prompted a week of angelic school behavior. On the other hand, the days leading I was extra helpful to the teacher, super polite with pleases and thank-you's, everything I could think of. I possessed the naive notion that if I was extra nice, they would ignore any of my transgressions over the past 9 weeks. It never worked, but by the time the next conference rolled around, I forgot and would try it again.

It's crazy that now, I can look back on it and laugh, but when it was happening, man, I was a bullet-sweating somebody. I tried softening up anybody I knew, switched conversations when school came up, faked signatures (c'mon, you know I'm not the only one!!), everything. I would change from a mild-mannered child to this:

You see, what had happened was...

Those were the days...

-B