By Tom

I've only had to use it once, and man was I glad it was there.

It was parent conference time, a fall tradition since before chalk. I was setting the stage; grown-up chairs, regular table, student files, notepaper, pencils, and of course the obligatory Box of Kleenex.

The first conference that afternoon was with Anthony's mom. Anthony wasn't doing well. He was behind in reading, math, writing, science, everything. He even had trouble with lunch. In fact, the only thing Anthony was doing well at was art. In art he was amazing. The rest of the class would line up at his desk to get him to draw the people in their pictures. I had to put an end to it, because it got to the point where he was doing most of everyone's art.

So my plan was to begin the conference by telling Anthony's mom what a wonderful artist he was and then move from there to the trouble he was having with everything else. The old Good News/Bad News device.

Didn't work. She wasn't the least bit interested in his artistic abilities. She knew full well what his problems were and she had a pretty good idea what was causing them.
"He stays up until one or two in the morning every night," she explained, "Talking and laughing with his father."
"But I didn't think he lived with his father," I wondered.
"He doesn't. In fact, Anthony's only met him once. I flew him down to Phoenix. We met him at a park. They talked for about five minutes and then his dad walked away. That was it. But ever since then, he has imaginary conversations with him while he's laying in bed. I can't get him to stop."

That was it. I cried like a baby. I cried for Anthony. I cried for every kid who doesn't know both of his parents. I cried for every parent who doesn't know his or her own kids. And I cried for awhile. So did Anthony. And so did his mom. And we all used the Box of Kleenex.

That conference taught me something. You don't really know a kid until you've met the parents. I thought Anthony was just your run-of-the-mill, slip through the cracks, under-achieving third grader, and I was going to address his problems with solutions I had worked out well ahead of time. I was going to suggest he read more at home (He was already reading an hour a day to his grandmother.)and do some additional math practice. (His grandpa was already working with him on math.) But what Anthony really needed was a dad. Short of that, he needed some counseling. Which is what we arranged.

My parent conferences are a lot quieter now. At least on my end. My conference plans boil down to this: Establish the fact that I know this person's child. That's pretty easy. I show a few artifacts, tell a couple anecdotes, and I'm set. While I'm doing this, I also make it clear that I like their child. That's real important. And it isn't too hard, since most third graders are pretty easy to like. And then I listen. And learn. And only then do I decide what we're going to do.

You'll be glad to know that Anthony improved. The counselor was able to get him to work through his issues with his dad in a way that didn't cut into his sleep. That helped a lot. And by the end of the year, I was able to get his mother to accept the fact that Anthony was indeed exceptionally talented in art. Just like his dad.