I Love Parent/Teacher Conferences

WARNING! BRAG ALERT! DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU CAN'T TOLERATE A DAD SPEAKING WELL ABOUT HIS KIDS!

I can honestly say, without hesitation, that the bi-annual Parent/Teacher ritual is a blast. Last night we attended another - and probably our second-to-last - conference. We tried something new: We took the whole family.


Everyone came -- Linda and I, April (27), Jeremy (24), Gary (22), Jon (17), and Grandma B (91) in her wheelchair. We waltzed into each of Jono's classrooms and greeted the teachers. We made people groan, thinking the lines were much longer than they were. We got comments from the principal. We made teachers laugh and smile and look at us weird. It was the most fun I've ever had at conferences.


As we paraded down the halls at Freeland High, I thought about the joys of conferencing over the years. Sure, there have been a couple of rough moments, but the vast majority of these visits have been so pleasing, so satisfying, so fun, that I barely remember any little negatives. Our conferences have been blessed because our kids are great.


I take very little credit for that. Whatever brain-development-DNA spun its mysterious fabric in my kids' gray-matter did not come from Dad. Which leaves Linda, who is the smartest person I know. Everything I ever learned about learning I learned from her. Our children have acquired their amazing capacity for knowledge from their Mom.

We have smart kids who are good kids. The combination makes for quick, light-hearted, and breezy conferences. We have heard these words over and over through the years:

"Well, [BK - Benson Kid] is doing great. [He/She] is a pleasure to have in class." Glances at grade book without really needing to . . .  "Looks like a solid 'A.'  I wish every kid in class could be like [BK]. Do you have any questions or concerns about [BK]?"

Well, hardly ever. And thus ended another conference. Delightful.

Every once in a while, in a grand attempt to make sure we didn't get such big heads that we'd end up stuck in the door on the way out of the room, clogging up the entrance, a teacher would say, "The only thing I would like to see from [BK] is a little more talking and participating in class."

Actually, one year in elementary school (Linda would know the year), one of the teachers (Linda would remember her name), said about one of the kids (Linda would remember which one), something like this (Linda could give you the exact quote - I said she was the smart one!):

"Frankly, I wish [BK] would get into some trouble once in a while. It would be good for him/her to break out just a little bit."

Never thought we'd hear that from a teacher. I know my parents could only dream of a teacher saying such things about little Ronnie.

And that is why I'm thankful for my kids. Like all children, they have their "ish." But God gave Linda and me the gift of good kids. And when they all come home, and we gather around for a meal, and the banter and opinions and laughter starts flying, I marvel at the grace of God sitting at my table.