Schooltastic

“Oh, you’ll be such great parents!  You’re both teachers!”

My wife and I heard this many times when we were expecting our first.  I told everyone I really didn’t think so, that parenting was its own thing, but I secretly hoped I would have an advantage.

In my classroom, on a good day, I’m a technician running a clinic.  I work with clearly defined objectives for academic progress and expectations for civil behavior.  I put carefully targeted work into getting students to achieve the standard.  When things don’t go right, I practice a kind of academic or social forensics, picking over the corpse of a lesson to determine the cause of death.

At home, forget it.  I’m not so much a technician as a rodeo clown, using tricks and gags to lure two toros into homework, chores, and tooth brushing.  When things don’t go well, I’m not an analyst.  I’m a marshmallow.

A student who approaches me with, “I can’t find my book!” will often hear, “I can’t find it either, sorry.”  It might sound cruel, but the expectation is that a third grader will problem-solve by performing his/her own search.  I’ll assist with strategy as far as that goes, but I won’t look for it myself.

At home, my daughter needs only to make a certain face, The Saddest Face Known to Mankind, and I’ll probably go look for her lost treasure.  I freely admit that I’m a pushover that way, and also that I’m a complete sucker for the expression of sheer joy she makes when I find the thing.

When I report to parents that their child is a model student in class, sometimes they respond with disbelief: “I wish I could get him to do that at home!”

I know how they feel.