The district had this thing, this stigmatism, about failing elementary students. My school in particular, had all sorts of red tape and hoops of fire to navigate if a teacher were to give a kid a failing grade on their report card. Forms have to be filled out, phone calls have to be made, questions have to be answered. Did you introduce the material in a manner that is conducive to all learning styles? Were appropriate modifications made? Could the assignment have been shortened or excused? Did you offer tutoring? Was extra credit given? Did you call the parent? Did you document the parent contact? Why didn’t you have a parent conference?
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s just not worth it to fail a kid, and I try to avoid it all costs. Which brings me to Kyage.
Kyage was very short, even by 5th grade standards, where the boys are always lagging several inches behind their female counterparts. His round little face was topped with carefully styled brown hair which he often brightened with highlights. He had a twin brother who though not identical, looked very much like him. Because of Kyage’s girlish tendancies and his extreme affinity for the color pink, the powers that be among his 5th grade classmates designated Kyage as the “gay twin.” Not to be confused with his brother, Kyle, who was known simply as the “dumb twin.” Elementary trademarks these brothers will probably bare all their lives.
As the labels would suggest, Kyage was the smarter of the two brothers, but he was also lazy. After turning in virtually no homework, his average was deep in the red-zone. I made him sit out of recess for days while he did make-up work, but after he bombed yet another spelling quiz, I had had enough. I sent Kyage home with a progress report to be signed by his mother.
Every day for the next week Kyage returned to class bearing excuses, but no signed paper. First he told me he had left it at school, then he forgot to tell her about it, then he lost it and I had to give him another copy.
I decided to ask my older and wiser colleagues during lunch one day what I should do. “That’s easy” Leslie said over the chili-covered baked potato she was hacking into pieces and shoveling into her mouth. She had been teaching for longer than I had been alive and though she was great with the kids, she was also pretty strict. She also liked to cuss a lot, which made working in an elementary school inconvenient as this is a practice usually frowned upon in the presence of children. With only 30 minutes for lunch, she seemed to be trying to fit as many of the profane words in, like a smoker hot boxing a handful of cigarettes.
“I’ll tell you what you need to (f word) do,” Lesley said, her words finding their way out though she continued to shove in chili-soaked mounds of potato.
“You whip out your (f word) cell phone right there in the middle of the (f word) class and call his mom. Not only will he never (f word) lie to you again, the rest of the class will think twice.”
She put down her fork, which meant the next part was going to be important. I held my breath and looked up at my mentor, expectantly.
“If they know you’ll call home, especially in front of everyone, they’ll take you (f word) seriously.”
Now that, I thought, was brilliant.
So right after lunch I asked Kyage for his progress report which we both knew he wouldn’t have. He went on to tell me a truly ridiculous story that he had given it to his mother and she told him she did not have time to sign it.
“Really, Kyage?” I asked, my voice skeptical, sounding eerily similar to a detective I watched grilling a murder suspect on Law & Order one time.
“Yes, really,” he replied, as if this was a perfectly plausible explanation.
“You mean,” my volume rising as I warm to my subject, “that your mom didn’t have time to do this.” I grabbed the pencil from his hand and scribbled my name down. My face tilts in an angle of mock surprise.
The child shakes his head, “she just said she didn’t have time.”
“Well, then you wouldn’t mind if we called her right now, would you? Just to get this little misunderstanding worked out.” The detective tone continues, but I can’t help it.
“Um, ok.” He seemed guilty. Really, really guilty.
Most of what I say goes unnoticed by the attendees in my classroom, but this was getting interesting. All of the little mouth-breathers let their jaws slacken even more as their beady eyes followed my every move. Perfect, I had an audience, and they were about to get a front-row seat in a courtroom drama that could rival Judge Judy.
I grabbed my phone and asked Kyage to dial the number for me. I cleared my voice and prepared to speak in a very loud voice. True, they were already watching me, but I wanted to make no mistake. Watch out world, I will absolutely call your mother in the middle of class and hash it out right here in front of the whole class.
After about four rings, my confidence began to waver. Leaving a message wouldn’t have nearly the same impact.
“Hello,” a haggard voice abruptly came across the line halfway through the sixth ring. I was usually very nervous calling parents, these adults are usually at least 15 years my senior. However I felt extremely confident and relaxed during this conversation. I was on the attack.
“Why hello Mrs. Parker. This is Kristin Wilson, from Lee Elementary.” My voice is airy, poised.
“What? Who is this?” the voice was muffled by a great deal of background noise. I couldn’t tell if she was in a cattle yard or an active construction site.
“Kristin Wilson. I’m Kyage’s reading teacher.” I say a little more quickly & quietly, trying to validate myself.
“Oh, oh right.” Her voice signals recognition but there is no trace of eagerness to talk to me.
I forged ahead, determined to take control of this ship which seemed to have wandered into rocky waters.
“Well I am calling you because there seems to be some sort of misunderstanding with Kyage’s progress report. I sent it home to be signed at the beginning of the week and he still has not returned it. He’s been telling me-” I pause to add a little chuckle and look Kyage right in the eyes.
“He’s been telling me that you didn’t have time sign it.” My fake laugh and sardonic emphasis clearly implies that we both know that this is clearly ridiculous.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to do that. I’ll try to get that in next week.”
Something called humility slapped me across the face as I realize my full-proof plan has not only failed, but back-fired in epic proportions. I make a mental note to kill Lesley before I put all cylinders in reverse and begin damage control. The students in my class have not even taken a breath. This soap opera went from intriguing to sensational.
I draw myself up with whatever pride I have left and say in my best authoritative voice, “I would appreciate it if you would please have Kyage bring it to me tomorrow. Thank you and good bye.”
“Well, I guess that takes care of that,” I say to Kyage, determined to act like I still have the upper-hand.
“I told you I gave it to her.”
“Can it, Kyage. You shouldn’t have failed that stupid quiz anyway.”
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