The School was new and so was the environment. The change was tremendous for my boys who had been used to the company of mum and familiar faces. I was taking a break from work and had delivered my third child. The campus was huge and we had paid a heavy fee for the School’s upgraded facilities and equipment. The admission process had been smooth but the school began abruptly without any Orientation Day to help children familiarize themselves with their classrooms or teachers.
The School Van arrived and the children left. I had written an introductory note to the teacher in both my children’s diaries as I felt it was important for her to have some information about my child as a new child. I especially informed her about my younger son and his sensitivity to change and expected problems regarding settling in. It was a general note that would help erase doubts and confusion and save time on part of the teacher.
My children returned from school with not much to say. I asked them about their day and they said, “It was ok.” I checked their diaries but found no acknowledgement of receiving or having read the note.
A few days went by with lots of confusion regarding text books and note books. We were new to the system and therefore, each time there was lack of understanding on my part, I would write a note in the diary considering it the most important tool of communication between the school and myself. At times, it would be signed just to let me know that it had been seen, but sadly with no solution given.
After a month, my son began to lose his enthusiasm for school and often argued with me during the homework sessions where I found him lost in his thoughts and dis-interested. One day during the afternoon study, I found him leaning on his elbows, staring at the H.W with his pencil in his hand. “Why aren’t you writing?” I asked him patiently, although my mind was in a panic by now. “I don’t know how to do this.” And tears rolled down his face. He was a creative child and making sentences for him was not much of a problem. I sensed some hurtfulness. Maybe, I was pushing him too much and he needed to relax. As it is, the school was new and level of expectations had changed.
I decided to visit the school and meet with the teacher to understand his behavioural changes better. I was taken to the Principal’s office who was an educated and sophisticated lady on appearance. Before she called in the teacher, she asked me a lot of questions regarding my son and his previous school. She came across as an intelligent woman who collected all relevant information about my son and expressed her compassion, understanding the many changes my son was facing.
The teacher came in a little worried. She didn’t know why I had come to meet her and didn’t feel that my son was having any problems. “He is settling in. He is social and hard working. He needs to improve his writing speed though. And all the time he wants to go to the toilet. Fixing his hair! I mean he is only in Grade 1!” I listened to her trying to grasp the actual problem. “So, maybe it is his slow pace of work that is giving him much anxiety. I think that the change of system is too drastic for him. In his Kindergarten he was used to being taken care of and here I suppose, he’s expected to manage on his own. If you could give him a little time to settle in without this panic, I’ll be so grateful!” I asked her for a little attention and she nodded without too much commitment. “Please if there is anything, I would like you to let me know about it through the diary. It’s very important to communicate in this matter.”
The meeting ended and I felt a little relief having met the people in-charge of my son’s life for almost half the day.
It had not even been a week and my son started to come home with soiled pants. The frightening part was that he would be unaware of the smell and had probably been in it for a while. My children used the school van and that made matters worse. Every day, he entered home with this problem and I began to lose my patience cleaning him. I made him sit down and asked him if there was anything he was upset about. He shook his head but his eyes looked pretty sad. On his third day, I wrote to the teacher asking her to at least get him cleaned before placing him on the van. I asked her if there was anything that was bothering him in class. If she had spoken to him about it?” The note never got signed.
I took an appointment again to meet with the Principal. She was unaware of the situation and when the teacher was called and asked about it, she too expressed her ignorance on the matter. “I had actually written a note to you two days back,” I informed her keeping my anger from showing. “Yes, I saw it but he never asked me to go to the toilet. And he also didn’t tell me that he had soiled his pants!” She answered rigidly. “I don’t think any child would be that brave Ms. X! Plus, it’s so unhygienic! I’m alarmed at your casual approach to such a worrying matter!” In my heart I had started to sense her dislike for my child. Her words repeated from the last meeting, “All the time he wants to go to the toilet. Fixing his hair!” She had probably been stopping him from using the toilet.
I looked at the Principal for some support. She asked the teacher to be a little more vigilant in my son’s case as he was quite obviously struggling to settle in. After she left, I asked the Principal out of curiosity, “How do other parents convey their concerns to the school Ms. Y? Maybe I don’t know about it?” She looked a little embarrassed. “Well, they call or come and meet us. But I promise to keep in touch regarding your child. The teacher is usually quite vigilant but she has been careless in this matter.”
Once again, I left school, this time a little concerned about the remaining term. The teacher had some issue but I couldn’t quite make out.
It took about another week and a lot of patience from my side to help stop the soiling of his pants. I would talk to him about it being an upset stomach problem and gave him medicine to psychologically disperse the issue.
The real torment was seeing his dull eyes. They once sparkled with plans and the confidence of knowing himself. His Mid-Term report was an expected depiction of his situation and his Art teacher had given him an F grade. I had no confusions in my mind now. He was a gifted artist who had held the pencil at the age of two.
I started to consider the plan to take him out of the school when one fine day he came home jumping with joy! I really wondered what had happened. “Mum, see this!” He handed me a circular. The school was holding an Art Mela for the entire school and the theme was Spring. The children had been asked to prepare themselves for the day by drawing and painting at home.
It was a beautiful few days we shared together, drawing various pictures before deciding on one and painting it. He was happy and a complete chatter box. On the day, as he left home to get on the bus, I gave him a kiss wishing him luck and lots of fun.
The bell rang and there was crying. I rushed out to find my son enter in tears. As soon as he saw me, he collected himself. I hugged him and asked him the problem. “I didn’t paint today. The teacher asked me and another boy to stay in class! The whole school was outside painting!” I couldn’t understand and asked him why? “I don’t know. She made the children line up but asked me to stay in class.” Tears were running and he threw his bag in anger.
I was left helpless as it was a weekend. I waited for the week to begin. This time I was not ready for any nonsense and therefore called the Reception to inquire about any criteria to participate in the Art Mela. As expected, it was meant for all children and apparently had been a huge success with everyone. That’s when I informed her about my son having been left out for no reason at all. She said, “I don’t think that’s possible because all the teachers were out with their classes but I could ask the teacher for you.”
She told me that she would ask the teacher to call me. I waited with my heart overwhelmed with my five year olds tears. The teacher came on line. “You know what happened. He came out with me and then wanted to go to the toilet. He then sneaked out to the class and probably that’s why he wasn’t there!” I was angered by her lie. “So, if I do believe that, my son was missing from his place for two hours and nobody noticed?” “How could we have known about it. We were all busy painting!”
I was not going to let her go that easily. I got in the car and drove off to school. I had made up my mind. My son was not going to be with this teacher anymore. She was the sole cause for his pain and hurtfulness.
I informed the Principal who was completely numbed. She called her assistant and asked her to investigate the matter by asking the other child left in class with my son to see if the matter was as put down by my son. She came back to confirm that both these boys had been left in class without any reason. Even the helpers who had gone in to clean the class had asked them why they were not out with the rest. There were enough witnesses but for me, my son’s broken heart was the greatest evidence. Every day he drew and painted a picture depicting the season of hope Trying to prove to all that he had the ability and would have created a masterpiece with a little faith.
The Principal made her plans to deal with the teacher. My son was shifted to another section which proved a little better but the year was completed with many heart breaks.
To this day, I wonder what had instigated that teacher to dislike my child to the point where she became absolutely personal with him. Was it the notes in the diary which aimed at keeping in touch or could it have been my son’s inquisitive nature to ask questions and accept statements only through logic.
As a teacher, I welcome Parental involvement in school as it helps identify areas that need to be worked upon as well as develop new strategies to handle new challenges. I feel schools that have a parent’s say in its running, benefit far more than schools that want the parent to accept their set programmes and get offended by varied opinions.
My friends told me that I had not been too wise communicating with the school that often. It left me baffled as I wondered what parents in my situation did when they saw their child suffer. It was a bad year and we left the school as soon as the year ended.
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