Meet the Teacher

Today we meet the teachers for the forthcoming school year.  It will, however, be a short and sweet meeting, since the official meet and greet overlaps with the two hours of exercise class I teach on Friday mornings.  We'll be driving straight there to make it on time.  I'm sure my crotch sweat will make the best impression.

Our school has a "system" by which you can request specific teachers based on the child's behavioral or mental needs. This is not a "system" that is advertised to the parents. Parents find out through the grapevine.  It's a total farce.  The form specifically states you are NOT to request a teacher by name.  However, everyone does.  It is typically composed in some form of, "My child, Jenny Smith, is a very sensitive child who would excel in a classroom with a teacher who is caring, patient, and has great methodologies in reading comprehension like Ms. Callahan."

As the school year comes to a close, parents (who've not been in the front office all year) start filing in whispering, inquiring for "the form."  The receptionist always knows.  She stops the parents mid-sentence with a smile and a nod and hands them the lilac colored application.  The parent looks surprised and relieved, and then rushes for the door.  

Room mothers spend most of the official academic year with their ears to the walls of other classrooms, trying to figure out where to place their babies for the following school year.  I can't say I'm much different.  I may not be the room mom, but I know the power of having one of the better teachers.

Requesting for this forthcoming year was difficult. I had not spent as many hours at school. There is a new principal in power. There weren't as many stand out choices.  For the record, there are very few BAD teachers where my children go to school.  So for me it comes down to trying to avoid who's not made my grade. This is clearly subjective.

Some find this practice of requesting to be pretty controversial. After all, growing up we all suffered through bad teachers.  It's part of childhood.  Every year I tell myself this and resolve to roll the dice-- let my children get what they get.  Then, at the last minute, I slink into to the front office and snag a couple of lilac-colored forms just in case I change my mind.  I usually do.