When I was a child, your parents found a school you could cycle to, or which was accessible by public transport, or failing both, you and 15 other children from your neighbourhood were ferried to in a cycle rickshaw, stacked precariously like Jenga blocks. Your parents came on the first day of school to sign you in, and then never cast their shadow on the premises again.
Today however things are different. I sometimes feel like I attend as much school as my children do. Celebrations of their learning (apparently not something I can do from afar), creative writing publishing sessions (Penguin send your rep. Some of the grade 1 children’s repeated rhyme stories are post modern bildungsromans.), PTMs (Parent-Teacher-Meetings) that coincide far too often with PMS, forcing me to smile as I listen to other people gently berate my children (something I have exclusive rights to) when all I really want to do is behead teddy bears and eat chocolate.
But what is a delightful fall out of these school visits is the conversations one overhears. Purely by coincidence. If standing alarmingly close to a group of people you’ve never met before, writing down what they say for your weekly column is a coincidence. Here are the kinds of parents one sees and hears in the PTM line.
Nitpickers. They read their child’s report card with the same thoroughness one would usually reserve for scanning their ‘George Clooney’ Google alert. “See, here you say his written work is impeccable. Impeccable according to the Oxford Dictionary means ‘without mistakes or faults’. Then he should get 4/4 no? You have only given him 3.2. Can you explain this to me?”
Note makers. Unlike SOME parents who use the report card to decoupage the toilet seat, there are others who take multiple copies, annotate them and then approach each teacher with a set of questions. “How can I help my daughter be more intrinsically motivated to develop an ear for rhythm in her music and movement class?”
The ones who think they can do a better job. “I mean how hard can it be ya? It’s just maths no? Add, subtract, divide, multiply. Not like they’re doing rocket science.”
The ones who don’t know what they want. “I think maths is too easy. This she can do with her eyes closed.”
Same mother: “The math test was complicated on purpose. It’s almost like they WANTED the children to write wrong answers.”Same mother: “What did they do all of the last term? K kept saying she had free periods and no class.”Same mother: “Children need more free play. I watched an interestng TED Talk about it.”
The ones who should put their partners in a rat-infested cellar. “He says these marks are my fault. That I am at home all day, and what other work do I have than helping our son score better marks in subjects.”
Dear Amma, seeing how you got to skip such delightful encounters during your own years as a parent of a school-going child I feel it’s only right you attend the next few school events. Should you decline, I am willing to accept a lifetime supply of chocolate, and your offer to sew back on GoGo’s head instead.
Menaka Raman
@menakaraman
The writer’s philosophy is: if there’s no blood, don’t call me