I was raised to be aggressively nice in person--and then to seek my revenge in prose.
Sitting through the pre-K Parent Night was like being asked to ingest a large bucket of nails. It went on and on and on. It didn't start until 7 pm; I was reprimanded for yawning. My daughter's teacher is lovely but slightly insane; she talked nonstop for over sixty minutes. Her topics were non-topics. She took time to explain that, if you don't want a "hug" greeting in the morning, you can request a fist-bump. At one point, she detailed her "art" curriculum. "If the child wants to draw a trapped kitty, I might explain how to create a ladder." Then she turned to the white board and slowly drew parallel lines. She connected the lines with transversal-rungs. One. After the other. After the other. After the other. After the other.
As I silently prepared to crucify this teacher, another parent demonstrated a different approach. Her approach was direct confrontation.
Ms. Y explained, "When children are in conflict, I present them with a little booklet of possible solutions, and they choose their own solution...."
The parent next to me was visibly incredulous. "My kid is three. Does that booklet actually work?"
Later, Ms. Y was describing "class yoga time."
The antagonist-parent again raised her hand. "Do the kids ever just start screaming? I mean, do they ever just shed their skin and take on non-human forms? So it's like you're trying to herd monkeys at a zoo?"
I admired this mom. She seemed well-adjusted. I suspected that she would *not* go home to write a nasty blog post about what she had witnessed.
Ah, well. Food for thought.
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