Showing posts with label idiots. Show all posts
Showing posts with label idiots. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Because hitting people is unacceptable

Our 9 year old, gifted son is having difficulty in school.  Last year he was being picked on relentlessly by other students.  This year, he has a personality conflict with a particular teacher after he rolled his eyes at a homework assignment.  I attended a meeting with his principal and teachers to discuss an incident where The Middle Boy was removed from class for telling the teacher that "[he'd] be able to see the board better if she moved her arm".  He lacks social skills almost entirely.  He has a very blunt, direct, broadsword way when it comes to communication.  (I have no idea where that comes from).  His educators agreed that they would have him meet with a Gifted Student counselor as this is a common trait among children with higher intelligence.  This is not an excuse for this comment.  But clearly, he has needs that surpass his understanding.  It's easy to forget that even though he has the intelligence of a teenager, he has the maturity level of a 9 year old.  The two parts of him did not develop at the same rate.  Throwing him out of the classroom without explaining what he did wrong when he clearly didn't understand the issue doesn't exactly teach him anything.  There was no connection made between cause and effect.  He followed instructions and left the class without argument.  The teacher informed me that she consulted the superintendent prior to meeting with me to make sure she was not in any trouble with the way she handled the situation. 

During my meeting the teacher told me "This may not be politically correct for me to say but my life would be so much easier if you withdrew him from this school."  I appreciate the jobs that teachers do.  They put up with so much and work so hard.  But the parent in me had to refrain from physical violence.  I nodded and smiled and participated in the conversation as a grown up should.  Then I came home, had some time to think, and wrote this letter to the teacher and principal: 

First, I want to thank you for your time and efforts over the last few months with our son.  Teachers don’t get nearly enough credit for the amazing jobs that they do.  After we met Tuesday morning, I came home, discussed the meeting with his father, and had time to reflect on the conversation.  We’ve spent several hours talking and I’d like to take this opportunity to share with you the thoughts and conclusions to which we came.  I apologize for the delay in sending this – our household has been suffering from an incredible cold. 

Since the beginning of the school year my husband and/or I have met, in person, 3 times.  We have had several phone calls as well.  One trend we noticed was the continued reference to the “eye roll” that occurred in the first few days of school, literally each visit and all but one call.  It is our belief that this incident has become a catalyst for the rift between teacher and student.  We feel that it has been taken as a personal slight that seems to be one which there is no recovery.  While we do not condone [The Middle Son] behavior in any way, shape, or form we also do not feel that this poor choice on his part should continue to be an issue two months later.  From that point on, the personality clash between you and [The Middle Son] has grown considerably.  We feel that this has amplified everything  [The Middle Son] has done from that point forward.  The old adage that “you never get a second chance to make a first impression” has a great deal of truth in it.  It also bars it’s adherents to a place where forgiveness is impossible.   Thus, teaching both parties nothing of interpersonal growth. 

You stated to me that [The Middle Son] is the only student that you do not have a connection with out of the entire class.  You also stated to me that your life would be easier if I withdrew [The Middle Son] from school.  These confessions weighed heavily on me, as a parent.  This situation promotes further social detachment.  Children are sponges, as you know.  They are intuitive, sensitive, keen observers.  When they witness, whether verbal or non verbal, an adult authority figure disconnect from something they have a tendency to follow suit.  [The Middle Son] has an already difficult time with making friends.  I have to wonder if your indirect/non verbal indifference to him is not being picked up on and harbored by the other students.  I’m not sure it’s really possible for him to be more emotionally isolated than he already is.  I fail to see how this is helping him develop social skills.  Being an outcast is not a skill one strives to accomplish.  No child, including [The Middle Son], wants to be disliked.  You mentioned that you had difficulty sleeping in anxiety over the meeting and can’t stand the thought of not being liked.  Well, that’s every moment of school for our son.  I won’t deny that he bears responsibility for that fact.  I will also reaffirm my belief he’s not cognizant of it.  This is not an atmosphere where learning can be fostered.  There are means to correct his rudeness.  There are not means to make you care.  There was much talk of his lack of empathy.  There was none expressed for him, either. 

We feel very adamantly that parents and teachers should be allies in pursuit of academic achievement.  When a teacher, a person we are to trust with our child’s life, expresses indifference for that child – well, to be honest – it does not provide motivation to continue that alliance.  It carries the same weight as stating that you do not care.  That is not acceptable.  He is not just part of your job.  He is a person.  I cannot imagine how that would motivate him in his studies or to be respectful, if he knew.  Something tells me, he already does. 

Our extended family and circle of friends include numerous teachers and administrators in and out of the district.  Of the people we spoke to about the meeting and its outcome, all were flabbergasted by this statement.  Never have I heard any of them say this in casual conversation about their students, let alone to a parent that they are supposed to work with on a regular basis.  Imagine if your spouse, child, parent, family member or friend told you that their life would be easier if you weren’t there.  The relationship between teacher and student is just as important to a child. 

I have several thousand clients at once.  Some have simple cases – cut & dry and finished in 9 months.  Some have time consuming, intricate plans that require detailed work that takes up to 5 years to complete.  Sometimes one person’s case can rearrange my entire day and night (including my family and home life).  I cannot imagine feeling or expressing indifference for any of them, especially to them.  It’s counterproductive, not to mention unprofessional.  In all fairness, maybe it was a simple case of miscommunication with unintended implications. If that’s so, then perhaps the same consideration should be given to a struggling 9 year old boy.  However, any doubts we had about our decision to pursue the [deleted for safety] have been extinguished. /end

 
I received an apology from the principal where she explained that the teacher was trying to tell me that she wanted [The Middle Son] to stay in this school.  She just chose the wrong words.  

yeah.  And I'm the Queen of England.  Either way, we have begun the process of enrolling him into an alternative educational program endorsed by the Ohio Association of Gifted Children.  Hopefully, this will put him on the path toward the greatness he is destined for and not one with tragic results.   


Monday, December 20, 2010

Teaching Manners

While on a recent trip to the grocery store I discovered a product available in the Frozen Foods section - "Muffin Tops".  This sparked my sometimes prevalent Runningoffthemouth syndrome that I have been plagued with all my life.  Instantly, before I could control myself, the words just flew out of my mouth - "Your father must get these while his girlfriend is away at college to remind him of her."  My dear Middle Son (7) and Youngest Boy (4) are little sponges.  They will tell on anyone at anytime for anything.  Once, I forgot to strap Youngest Boy in his booster seat while coming home from the grocery store.  It was a 2 mile trip at best and nothing happened.  But everyone we know and several that we don't are privy to this information.  Because he doesn't have a mute button.  Telling him not to repeat those things is not an option as I do not teach them to be deceitful.  And if I'm going to teach them "personal responsibility" then I must, in turn, lead by example.  I threatened to eat his soul once and he told his pediatrician.  I must be accountable for my actions.

I dig myself deeper and deeper into a hole.  On Christmas Eve they must spend a wretched 8 days with their estranged father and his homewrecking teenaged girlfriend.  Though, we have a hearing on the 27th that may (let's pray) result in their immediate return home.  I've talked this up to be a phenomenal experience for them in spite of my sheer and utter terror.  But I'm still human.  I still have anger.  So I went on.  I provided a list of things that my children should not say to or about the Pop Tart (totally void of nutritional value and there's a reason they come in two packs).  I know, I know - I should be teaching respect and love and all that happy horseshit.  But let's get real - the bitch thinks it's funny that he left me pregnant.  I ain't Mother Theresa kids.  I have a Mexican temper.  And a big mouth.

The list consisted of the following:

1.  Do not ask her when she fought Godzilla.
2.  Do not point out that even at 9 months pregnant my behind was smaller than hers.
3.  Do not tell her that you can hear her arteries screaming.
4.  Do not offer her a breathmint.
5.  Don't mention that she may or may not turn you to stone with a single glance.
6.  Those unfortunate marks on her face are called pimples and pointing them out is rude.
7.  Don't ask her if she should be eating those particular pastries.
8.  Do not make beeping noises should she be walking backwards.
9.  Do not tell her that you don't speak that dialect of Whale.
10.  When she asks a question do not respond by barking.
11.  Do not throw water at her in hopes that she melts.
12.  Don't ask her what happened to her face.  It's called make up and some women need a lot of it.
13.  Don't tell her that she reminds you of something you read about in a Percy Jackson book.
14.  If she falls do not tell her that a little more of California just fell further into the ocean.
15.  Do not point out her resemblances to RuPaul.
16.  Also do not point out that manatees cannot live out of water.
17.  Don't suggest that she buy bigger pants.

So now that we have those bases covered I think we're safe, right?

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

It's Just Like Starting Over

Last Thanksgiving I spent with Ex Douchebag.  Boy was it a doozy.  I had received a call from his mistress' father informing me of his 18 year old daughter's affair with my husband just the day before.  I was still a little shaken up and hurt.  I had already known but hearing from the girls dad was just a little more than I was expecting.  But I spent the holiday with this gut feeling that it would be our last.  We conceived our daughter that night though.

Fast forward to a year later, 2010.  This was my first holiday feast prepared for on my own, without my husband.  Don't get me wrong - I had help if I wanted it.  My sister, my friends and the few slivers of family I have left all offered to help.  This was something that I just had to do myself.  It was empowering.  Little by little I have been taking back the control of my life.  Owning Thanksgiving was therapeutic.  I needed it for me.

After a struggle to get The Middle Son & The Youngest Boy to their dads (as in I struggled to get him to actually take them) I made a quick run to the store. After that I made it home to watch the parade and prepare the kitchen and the feast. The Oldest kept a watchful eye on a snoozing Mini-Me while I prepped the 22# bird we nicknamed "Evil Dr. Porkchop".  Naming the turkey has been a tradition of ours for years.  I feel that we should become acquainted prior to me shoving a hand up its carcass.  Sometimes we give him a back story too.  This year I made the mistake of purchasing an aluminum roasting pan from the Dollar Store.  A mistake that would prove to be near devastating later.  I plopped Evil Dr. Porkchop into the pan and gingerly placed his mass into the oven. As I slide the pan back onto the grate the cheap pan rips and I failed to notice until AFTER I started pouring in the water.  Well shit.  Water all over the inside of the oven.  Go me!  Here comes trip #2 to the store.  I purchased some oven roasting bags as a solution to the pan problem.  In my head I just figured I would throw the turkey in the bag and place it in the ripped pan.  It's not like the bag would explode or anything, right?  HA!

The Oldest and I watched his idol, Alton Brown, atop the turkey float dressed as a pilgrim.  It was fantastic.  I was a bit off schedule.  Normally, I would cook the turkey over night.  Unfortunately (or fortunately) I shut my alarm off at 1 a.m. and opted to wait til morning.  We did the veggie prep, made the deviled eggs and started working on the house cleaning as well.  I knock at the door revealed my biological mother (a paranoid schizophrenic) and her boyfriend, (a Romanian refugee) had arrived early to assist.  After several hours of prep and another trip to the grocery store it was time to poke Evil Dr. Porkchop.  I explained to BM's BF the joys and wonders of a roasting bag as he had never seen one before and he was intrigued.  The bag appeared to be full of juice and Evil Dr. Porkchop was smelling tasty!  The bag was so full that it was hanging over the side of the pan.  As I shut the oven door it happened.  Just then the bag touched the oven wall and melted.  The juices, containing butter, hit the heating element in the bottom of the oven and burst into flames.  I quickly turned off the oven and intercepted BM's BF carrying a large glass of water just before he tossed it onto the flames.  After several minutes the flames rose up thru the oven vent, out the door and screaming ensued.  Not mine mind you!  Finally the fire subdued and BM's BF & I managed to extract the turkey without incident.  To my amazement, damage was minimal and Evil Dr. Porkchop was done!  Imagine what would have happened had I done that in the middle of the night?

Honestly, I felt like I could overcome any obstacle in my way after that.  I went on to complete a meal for 12 people and dropped the laborious stuffing into the floor.  Ex Douchebag dropped the kids off at 6 and I looked at him for the first time with new eyes.  I didn't miss him. Or long for him to hold me again.  Instead, pity replaced love.  He looked worn, sad and pathetic.  I'm not sure how, after all I've been through, but I feel sorry for him.  I think the stress is taking it's toll on him.  And for once I don't feel responsible for causing it or fixing it.  So I sat down at the table, in my new dining room, by the fire, next to friends and family and didn't give him another thought.  I just kept thinking that I'm blessed beyond measure.  It's amazing what 365 days can bring.  Liberation, freedom and a new path full of anxiety and excitement. 

The moral of the story: Don't buy pans at the dollar store.  :-)

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Til Death Do Us Part - or infidelity

I'm 32.  I have 4 children - 3 boys and a girl.  I've been with my husband for 11 years.  And 2 weeks ago - he sent me divorce papers.  Apparently, I'm not as fun as a teenager.  Grown up life proved to be too much.  He cheated, I cheated, then he cheated again and hasn't stopped yet.  He left December 11, 2009.  The boys and I have been left to deal with the ups and downs, cleaning up the messes and get on with life.  So this is me - getting on with my life.  Reluctantly.

My sons - The Oldest (14), The Middle Son (7) and The Youngest Boy (3) have been my reasons for carrying on and have provided solace when I didn't think it was possible.  The 4 of us have formed this little tribe - unbreakable and delicate at the same time.  In August 2010 we welcomed Mini-Me- my daughter- into the world.  So go- do the math.  Yep - he left 8 days after the "+" sign.  But hey - we're not the first ones to go through this and we surely aren't the last.  Together we have faced some interesting and frustrating obstacles.  I don't know where I'd be without them. 

My friends have been there for me at all hours of the night.  Helping me analyze every text, call, email, visit and communication over the last 10 or so months.  Up to now I'd never been the type to cry.  Let alone cry uncontrollably.  Definetly not the type to cry uncontrollably on people.  Oh and never in public.  Boy how things change.  Used to be a time where I was always right.  My gut was never, ever wrong.  It's been an adjustment!  Not only is my gut wrong but I've been more wrong than I have ever thought possible. 

Anyway - my family, friends, therapist and even soon-to-be ex husband always said I should write.  It's always been my dream.  I don't want to pen the next Angela's Ashes or anything, nor do I want fame & fortune (at least not until the divorce is final, haha) - I just want to get it out.  Sometimes it's funny.  Sometimes it's angry.  Sometimes it's torn, confused, hurt, tearful or astounded.  It's always something.  Maybe somewhere someone else will find this in the vast internet and get some inspiration.