The photo at left was taken in Chicago in August, 1997. Greg had just turned 5 in July and would soon start kindergarten. In October, 1997, we attended our very first parent-teacher conference. Yesterday we attended our very last. I'm proud to report that I have a perfect attendance record for parent-teacher conferences! Steve may have missed a couple over the years when parent-teacher conferences at his school conflicted with Greg's. But I've been there every semester for the last thirteen years.
In the early grades, it was absolutely necessary to attend. Greg was a bit of a discipline problem back then -- an energetic little boy who had trouble staying in his seat and hadn't quite mastered the concept of "personal space." Eventually he settled down, and we had a couple of "breather" years in elementary school when his teachers happily reported that behavior and grades were all good. I have fond, fond memories of 4th grade -- that was definitely Greg's best year in school. Memo to young parents: 4th grade is usually a wonderful year -- 9-year-olds are old enough to do things for themselves (unsupervised), but they haven't yet developed an attitude (that will come in 5th grade). Savor it. Take lots of pictures. Take trips. Spend as much time as you can with your sweet, adorable, personable, delightful child . . . next year you probably won't want to!
Sliding grades were the leitmotif of Greg's junior high conferences. 7th grade delivered a super-sized culture shock to Greg. The boy who never turned in a late paper in 6th grade (thanks to a teacher who constantly reminded him) suddenly couldn't turn in an assignment on time to save his life. Worse, he often forgot to do his homework! As the fall of 2004 marched on, we found ourselves taking away more and more privileges. First it was playstation, then hanging out with friends -- ditto skateboard. By November the only thing Greg had left was the t.v.; he was in "grounding limbo." Parents often say to their kids when they're handing out restrictions, "Believe me, this hurts me more than it hurts you!" Well, that year, I think it actually hurt Greg more. But seven weeks of being grounded made an impression -- by 3rd quarter his grades were on the rise.
Still, junior high school was Greg's purgatory, a teenage wasteland filled with stifling rules, intense peer pressure, and a band director who made Freddy Kruger look like a Red Cross disaster relief worker. Every conference with every teacher in junior high focused on the same three deficiencies: Greg needed to 1) put forth more effort, 2) ask questions when he didn't understand something, and 3) get his work done and turn it in. Ask questions/more effort/turn your work in/ask questions/more effort/turn your work in/ask questions/more effort/turn your work in . . . I'm sure we sounded like a scratched CD to Greg.
Yet somehow the message sank in and took hold. Greg truly did an about-face in high school. His sophomore year started a little shaky, but his grades were all As and Bs by second semester. By junior year -- straight As. Senior year? Straight HIGH As! We were still hearing the same comments, over and over, from each of his teachers, but the difference is, they were all positive: "Greg's a nice, quiet kid, and a good student." Scratched CD or iPod blip, I don't care -- I don't mind hearing that message again and again. And the coolest remark of all last night -- from his Algebra 3/Trig teacher, no less -- "Greg's a real studmuffin at math!" Seriously? This is the kid who used to make Ds in math in 9th grade, who hated math with a passion! Now he tells us it's his favorite class!
So let me amend my earlier remarks about 4th grade. Yes, fellow parents, do savor that 4th grade year -- it will likely be one of the best years of your child's (and your) life. But, if junior high resembles The Nightmare on Elm Street, don't despair. Kids do grow up. They gain maturity and actually become (gasp!) responsible. They really do learn to be self-motivated. And, if you just have a little faith in them -- and take away their iPods now and then -- they, too, may blossom into mathematical studmuffins.
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