What to do (and NOT to do) if you bump into your child's teacher in public

NerdyTeacherMom broke a self-imposed rule at Target yesterday. I bumped into my 8th grader's English teacher and chatted away for nearly five minutes. That was four minutes beyond the time I allow myself to chat with my kids' teachers in public places.

No, I didn't ask anything about my daughter or her class. It was more teacher-to-teacher talk, like how awesome my principal is and will we finally have school on Monday after so many snow days. Even though she seemed to be enjoying the conversation, I felt so ashamed of myself! 

My school is less than a mile away from my house. While it makes for a amazingly awesome commute, this proximity often doubles the length of errands intended to be quick. Let's look at a trip to the grocery store, for example.

Before we get to Harris Teeter, let me interject that I am rather social. My husband says I go out of my way to speak to people. It's part of my make-up, I guess. I'm a preacher's kid. I was a cheerleader and class president in high school. I majored in journalism and Spanish. I spent a dozen years working in public relations. 

When I go to the neighborhood grocery store, I always see somebody I know: my kids' friends' parents, other soccer moms, Girl Scout moms, people from church ... And, undoubtedly, I see somebody from my school: students working the registers or shopping, coworkers grabbing a coffee, and students' parents shopping.

Most parents, I must say, are respectful of my time and location. But, there's always the occasional one who just doesn't get it. And you never quite know when you're going to bump into him (okay, typically "her"). Usually, the encounter is after I've already spent time yapping it up with someone else I know and my kids are calling asking when I'm going to come home with food 'cause they're starving and I really, really have to go the bathroom but am trying to hold it 'til I get home.

One parent kept me hemmed up in the soap aisle for nearly 15 minutes -- and I had taught her child two years prior. She talked about how her son was doing at community college and how real life had kicked in. Now, to be fair, I did engage in the conversation. I even showed genuine enthusiasm. I honestly do appreciate opportunities to talk with parents and especially hear about how well former students are doing. I also know that some people just need to vent (or brag). I'm totally understanding of that. In this case, though, it was afterwards that I realized that the conversation had gone way too long.

I've come up with a few strategies to help me avoid those parents.

1. Wear ear buds and, if necessary, pretend I'm talking to someone.

2. Avoid eye contact. (Okay, this is extremely difficult for me and rarely works.)

3. When I really need to concentrate on saving money (on couponing trips, for example), I drive a few miles to a different grocery store.

Uh, yeah. That's pretty much all I've got. (Teachers, feel free to comment with your strategies.)

Parents, don't avoid me. I mean it. And don't feel like you have to be overly apologetic. Do speak to me and your kids' other teachers when you see us in public. (Just don't ask about your child's grades or behavior.) Watch our body language. If we're backing away or our eyes wander past yours in search of the organic 2% milk, then we're probably trying to keep it moving.

Snow day task: Write a letter

My all-time favorite snow day assignment to my children is to write a letter to an older family member. I typically recommend ideas to include. However, the more they do this, the better they seem to get at coming up with things to say.  It’s so important to me that they not only learn how to write a personal letter, but also connect with family members they don’t see often.

I'll be truthful. There's usually a bit of groaning about this. But I think that's because they simply don't want to be told what to do. Both girls typically tackle the letter early (to "get it out of the way"). I don't quibble with them about when they do it, the paper they use or any of the small things. I don't edit, either. I just look at it to make sure it's written neatly and represents the family well.

In Spanish 2, I teach a unit on running errands (which includes vocabulary words like “mail” (el correo), “letter” (la carta), and “mailbox” (el buzón). I always conduct an informal survey asking how many students have actually handwritten a letter. The responses are typical. In my honors classes, about 70% of the students say they’ve written a letter. In my non-honors classes, about three students raise their hands. I then go on a mini-rant about the benefits of writing a letter every now and then:

• You’ll look smart and more mature.
• You’ll improve your writing skills.

And the most compelling to the high schoolers, (at least I think) …

• You’ll become that favorite niece, nephew or grandkid to an older person who feels left behind by fast-moving technology. They’ll write you back (you’ll get some mail), and they might even sneak a few bucks in their reply letter.

At home, this task doubles as a lesson on how to properly address an envelope. That may sound ridiculous to my generation and older. But it’s not. Trust me.

I’ve seen first hand that many high school students are clueless about what to do with an envelope. Each year, as a member of a faculty committee, I review applications for the National Honor Society. In the application, students must include a self-addressed, stamped envelope that will be used to return their decision letter. Believe me when I tell you … some of the envelopes look crazy, to say the least: stamps in wrong places, no return addresses, commas after the spelled-out state name …

This week I had an opportunity to explain to my little one the reason for postage stamps (another fact I’d assumed kids just simply absorbed): nothing is free; mailing a letter costs money.

Today is snow day #4. We’ve written and mailed one letter each so far this break.  Time to pick another relative.

Urban News Report

NerdyTeacherMom found yet another way to trick her kid into reading and sneak in a quick lesson about journalism.

In our house we have a "no-electronics-at-the-table" rule. Well, really, it’s a “no-electronics-at-the-table-when-other-people-are-there” rule. Since I was the first one downstairs today, I set up the iPad to see what was going on with Snowzilla. Before I could even pick a news site, my 11-year-old had joined me.

“Let’s see what’s going on with this snowstorm,” I said, navigating to my folder of news apps. Before I knew it, she’d clicked on CNN. “You can’t find local news on CNN,” I chided. “Let’s check out the AP.”

“AP? What’s that stand for? That sounds boring,” she said.

“It’s the ‘Associated Press.’ They have the best news. They report it, and all of the newspapers, radio stations and TV stations get their news from them,” I explained.

I started reading aloud. By the second paragraph, she asked, “Why are you reading like that?”

“It’s my newscaster voice. I used to want to be a TV newscaster, you know.”

“Well, it’s okay if you sound normal,” she said.

With that, I shifted into my non-standard-English voice – the one I’m most comfortable with having grown up Black in one of the poorest cities in America. “Maryland” sounded more like Murlin. “Thundersnow” came out like thunduh-snow. My added definition of “intrepid people” came out as “people who wusn't scurred [scared].

My little one, quite gifted with impersonations (if I may say so myself), was ready to take her turn. She went through a couple paragraphs so impressively that I wondered how she learned to talk like that growing up in the suburbs. We even started some ad lib, passing the “mic” -- a wooden bridge turned centerpiece that she’s made out of colored popcicle sticks -- and commenting on what we were reading.

When she correctly pronounced “treacherous,” albeit with a twang, I told her I didn’t know she knew that word. “I just sounded it out,” she said. I suppressed my proud-mama happiness. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Apparently our laughter was louder than we thought, as big sis had stumbled down out of her 13-year-old slumber (or texting session?). She, too, was laughing.

When I got up to clean my cereal bowl, my little one pointed out that we hadn’t finished.

“We read the important stuff,” I said. I explained to both of them that in journalistic writing, the important information is always written first. I explained that back in the day, when newspaper articles were typed, then cut and pasted into the newspaper, the bottom of the article would often get chopped off if there wasn’t enough space.

Their expressions were telling me they were surprised I knew all of that, so I reminded them that both mommy and daddy were journalism majors in college. “That’s what we learned in college,” I added.

I grinned, but not too much. I didn’t want them to know how excited I was that they were actually listening or how proud I was to have created a teachable moment that was hilarious.

Snow Day Reading - Rich Dad, Poor Dad & "The Road Not Taken"

My 5^th grader walked into the room with a copy of Robert Kiyosaki’s Rich Dad, Poor Dad * and asked if it would help her become rich. I encouraged her to read the first chapter and to persevere if it got boring. When she started to complain, I urged her to read the tough parts aloud.

I’m proud to say that she made it through the first chapter. I had promised her a “quiz,” so I asked her a few questions to see if she actually understood:

• ·         Why is the book called Rich Dad, Poor Dad?
• ·         What were the differences in each dad’s thoughts about money?
• ·         What did Kiyosaki say was more powerful than money?

Being the NerdyTeacherMom that I am, I felt a rush when I saw that Kiyosaki had included the poem “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost at the end of the chapter. I know, I know … my English teacher colleagues tell me that the poem is so overused that they’re nearly sickened by it. But perhaps it’s the nostalgic part of me that loves the poem. I’d memorized it in 7^th grade, the same year my mom and I would read literature together, when works by Edgar Allan Poe’s and other had kicked my butt. She’d even read aloud to me. And even though I was in middle school, I secretly enjoyed every moment. When the opportunity presented itself today, I seized the moment, hoping to make a few memories for my own daughter.

My little one didn’t really get the poem at first, but she was patient enough to go through it line by line with me until she did. Then, I re-read it aloud with inflection and feeling. When I opened my eyes (okay, I still remember the last few lines) and realized she was still in the room, I figured I’d take things a bit further.

“Can you think of a time when you took the road less traveled by?” I asked.

“Can you give me an example?” she countered.

“Like a time when you may have done something that might not have seemed cool.”

“Oh.  Yeah. Like in the cafeteria one day,” she said.

She went on to explain how one day at lunch in the cafeteria, despite her friends’ inviting her to their table, she went over and sat with a girl who was alone and had few friends.  We talked about how that action was taking the road less traveled and how it could have made all the difference.

She’d gotten it. And I was thrilled. Will she read the rest of Kiyosaki’s book? I don’t know.  But I’ll make sure we check out a few children’s financial literacy books from the library. 

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