29 September 2006
teacher letters
One of my least favorite things in the world is finding a "Dear Mom, MOM!" letter in a kid's backpack. That moment standing there just before reading the first word is a very long one. Not quite as long, say, as the moment when I realized that Two was about to fall out of a very tall tree (when she was 6), but long.
So this one was from Six's homeroom teacher. The first sentence reads "Six is off to a boisterous start here at [Six's School Name here]!"
Gulp.
The next sentence reads, "He is one of the most kinetic people I've ever met."
Where did I put those smelling salts? Where's the dang chocolate???
But wait! It's not one of those letters!
The rest of the letter explains the various ways the school is meeting my child where he is starting from--which is a sweet, generous, kind, wanting to please place combined with, well, tremendous kinetic energy. In one month they've figured out what the previous school didn't know after a year: how to engage him, how to avoid even accidentally telling him that he's wrong (wrong in his essence that is, that his kinetic-ness is wrong/bad), how to find the special treasures of sweetness and intelligence lurking in that whirlwind blur of boisterousness.
Wow. "Kinetic" is not code for "we want to medicate him." It's not code at all.
This letter, this teacher, this school--they just mean what they say.
Some days, it really isn't the knell of doom to hear "Mom, MOM! I got a note from my teacher."
Who knew?
So this one was from Six's homeroom teacher. The first sentence reads "Six is off to a boisterous start here at [Six's School Name here]!"
Gulp.
The next sentence reads, "He is one of the most kinetic people I've ever met."
Where did I put those smelling salts? Where's the dang chocolate???
But wait! It's not one of those letters!
The rest of the letter explains the various ways the school is meeting my child where he is starting from--which is a sweet, generous, kind, wanting to please place combined with, well, tremendous kinetic energy. In one month they've figured out what the previous school didn't know after a year: how to engage him, how to avoid even accidentally telling him that he's wrong (wrong in his essence that is, that his kinetic-ness is wrong/bad), how to find the special treasures of sweetness and intelligence lurking in that whirlwind blur of boisterousness.
Wow. "Kinetic" is not code for "we want to medicate him." It's not code at all.
This letter, this teacher, this school--they just mean what they say.
Some days, it really isn't the knell of doom to hear "Mom, MOM! I got a note from my teacher."
Who knew?
