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 "You don’t know,” she kept saying. “You don’t have kids."
She happened to be a single parent speaking to me and another teacher. The two of us had more than 30 years of teaching experience between us, and the other teacher had been a high school principal. But that didn’t phase this 25 year-old. “You don’t know. You don’t take them home.” What I wanted to say was, Honey, I do know, and here’s what it is. I know about Shaun, who could do back flips from a standing position in the front of my classroom, who in the throes of enthusiastic thespianship, stuck his neck through the slats of an old wooden chair and couldn’t extract himself, and who could play the role of a 50 year-old man on stage. He couldn’t do homework, but he could do all that. I know about Ariel, who told me she hated me one year when I turned her in for plagiarism and came back to apologize months later. I know about Tammy, who fought the powers that be to form her own religious club to meet before school, and whom I backed when she faced a waffling independent school administration that disliked anything with a whiff of Christian. I know about Tabitha, who had a child at 14, and who could sing, and write, and perform like nobody’s business. I know about Dean, who wrote me when he was in college to say, “You know how you told me once I was smart enough to be President and I should have behaved better than that? Well, I just wanted to tell you: you were right.” But I suppose none of these kids count because I relinquished them every day at 3, 5, or sometimes 8 pm. I took home student souls on paper, their journals begging for their parents to ease up, lay off, see them anew. I took some home when their parents wouldn’t, and I begged some to let them be in that play. I took home their stories and retold them till I got some sense of control of their out-of-control lives. Many times I could only spectate, but I waited and prayed and intervened and got in trouble and tried again. As many parents will say, I did the best I could with them. It’s so tempting to demonize someone who says you’re ignorant, who disregards all the years you spent teaching because you “don’t take them home.” I’m going to try not to do so in the course of this rant, I mean, essay. Too late: you’ve made me really mad. Here is where certain parents who haven’t taught but are beleaguered by children are missing some information. Let’s get at the crux of what’s being said. The conversation began in a discussion of badly-behaved children in restaurants. The parent had this point: my child is going to act up. He is a spirited child and sometimes he is impossible to control. I said, “Well, that’s fine, as long as he doesn’t go to restaurants or movies.” Movies she would give me because she had given up taking him, but not restaurants: she felt that restaurants, like the rest of the public sphere, were her territory until her child deemed it time to go to sleep. My response on this point could write another essay, but that’s another day. The conversation might have gone better if like old-school bartering at a swap meet, she had said, “Listen, I’ll give you the expensive sushi restaturant if you give me airplanes.” And in a heartbeat I would have said, “Done.” Shazam! World peace. What I couldn’t swallow is someone telling me I don’t know anything about children. Here’s her view of teachers, and if it were the first time I’d met this prejudice, I wouldn’t be half so mad as hell. (Let’s also note for the record that she didn’t count my stepson who visits but doesn’t live with us. Apparently the fact that I’ve known him since he was eight is trumped by the fact that I never had him as a toddler.) The view: if you don’t take them home at night, your 40-person classroom never counted. I would like to see some of these people who claim inability to control one, two, or three children is somehow excusable when I had to get 20 – 40 students every day for 15 years to listen to me. Certain parents will argue that the classroom doesn’t count because I had detention and principals at my fingertips. Um, those were my very last resorts, thank you very much. Yet let’s imagine: I were not able to control a classroom of 40, all of a sudden I would be highly responsible if not liable. For sure I’d be on the local evening news that loves its mayhem and scandals. The same mom who lets her kid run amok in the coffee shop, the library, the $40 a plate restaurant, the fitness center….she is never liable. She will always trump arguments with, My child is a toddler, my child is spirited, I’m tired. Meanwhile, me on a field trip with 40 crossing the street…? Funny how that works, that double standard. It gets better: did I mention the random attacks from what I’ll call Stranger Moms (Moms I Do Not Know Personally) on Facebook? A very nice friend of mine, childfree by choice but also a stepparent in a similar situation, posted a sheepish confession of how she had asked the neighbors above to keep their kids quiet, and then her fire alarm sounded while cooking. Here’s how it went down: ME: Childless by Choice, and proud of it! Nothing to be ashamed of! The village must respect everyone. And as long as we apologize for our own mistakes, we can ask others to respect us, right? I love kids, and I love quiet. Both can be a reality! STRANGER MOM: LOL. I hate to tell you this, but kids are loud. All kids. Even the ones who live in village mentioned above. ME: True, but they're also quiet. I know this from my 12 year-old stepson and 15 years of teaching middle and high school. Getting 40 kids quiet all at once is possible. STRANGER MOM: Of course kids can be quiet sometimes! But not all the time. And there's a big difference between 12-15 year olds and 2-4 year olds. ME: I love children, as I said earlier. When I started this exchange with {INSERT NAME OF MY FRIEND}, I never meant to offend you, {INSERT NAME OF STRANGER MOM}. I wouldn't have spent all my life in education if I didn't love children. I never expect children to be quiet all the time (my favorites over the years were the loudest). But I also don't want people to be judged for not having children or for asking for quiet, which is why I wrote that note of support. Parenting is very hard, which is why I choose not to do it full time. And I could only last 15 years in teaching before moving on to another aspect of ed. It was a great choice but also exhausting, leaving me little time for me. So today I'm going to enjoy writing my novel, making a meatloaf, and going to hear my husband play music. I'm looking forward to a day where people don't think that's selfish but can view it as an equally valid choice to having children. MY POOR FRIEND WHOSE FACEBOOK PAGE GOT ABUSED: Peace! I love both of you and respect both of your choices! Take a note, friends: don’t ever lecture a teacher. You will not win. So, might as well practice what I preach. Obama is asking these days for empathy. Let me see if I can find some. What I think the original mom was really trying to say was this: I’m a single parent, life is tough, and my child is tough. I need a village to help me raise this child. Absolutely. I have been on that bandwagon since day one. I’m a bleeding heart liberal who also believes that as a state worker, public school employee, or even a private school employee, it was my job to help others raise the children. Let me invoke the clichéd village one last time. I accepted the job willingly, gladly. I was on board for problems and solutions, especially when I had an unruly group. And yes, there were tantrums in my room sometimes. Now granted, my students were age sixth grade and up; that is very different than me managing a class of even five two year-olds simultaneously. But then again, I didn’t choose to bring these kids who were likely to have tantrums into restaurants at night at six, seven, or even eight o’clock. (Well, my sub did bring several ninth graders one time to an elementary school to tutor and someone drew a marijuana leaf on the bathroom wall. So ninth graders can get into their own special brand of hellacious trouble.) I was a willing party and member to this village, but sadly, the mom had no interest in this fact. The best part? She is 25 years old. When I was 25, I’d been teaching for 4 years. And I could have easily taught her a few years back. I guess I don’t have any empathy. A friend advised me to be ready for this argument: that I only see the good sides of kids, since I don’t do egregious duties such as diapers. Hmmm. My friend the kindergartner teacher has seen it all. She is at work by seven and home by six every day and works weekends. And she cleans up messes of 20 kids, every day. I never did diapers but I’ve staunched blood and removed gum and held weeping children on 9-11. Does any of that count? I don’t know? I do know it is terribly hard to parent. And you chose this path, my dear, and like me the martyring teacher, must own up to the fact that it is a choice. Isn’t that the flip side of women’s lib? (By the way, may I also note for the record that these conversations only occur with mothers? Thank you, fathers, for leaving me alone.) The awful truth is this: we women do want it all today and if you happen to choose children, some other choices are removed. Immediately. That’s the facts of life. And if someone wants me to do penance for their purple hearts of toddler experience, to admit defeat because I am deficient in said experience….sorry, but ain’t gonna do it. Please check your resentment at the door. Don’t tell me I’ve missed the boat, one friend said so eloquently; deep down, you know that Childfree has the right to enjoy the cruise! But you don’t know, they will still say. You don’t have kids. Oh, I had kids. I had a lot of kids. I had thousands of kids over the years. And you know what I know? I tried to love them all and tried to help them succeed. Let me ask you something, Single Moms and Stranger Moms. You got one shot with those kids and if you want the village to help you, you better start giving it a few props here and there.
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