My First Experience At Parent's Day

Do you remember parent-teacher conferences as a kid? The nervous feeling you got in your stomach before your mom walked in to meet your teacher. Hoping and praying that the teacher wouldn't tell your parents about how you can't pay attention, you rather count the tiles on the walls, or kick your friends under the desk, or draw flowers on your test. That terrible bench outside the classroom where you had to sit with your classmates as your parents were just on the other side of the wall talking about you. I can distinctly remember my mothers face as she exited the meeting each year, only to hear as we reached the car "Your teacher says your a bright student but you talk to damn much."

Yesterday was Parent's Day at my primary school, the equivalent to parent-teacher conferences in the States. It was the first time I have met most of my students parents, and it was an eye opening experience. I walked into my classroom to see my counterpart, the grade 1 teacher, lecturing the parents on proper techniques for getting your child to do their homework. Technique #1: beat them. See what I'm working with here? haha.

Each of my students has a different story. They all paint a picture in my head. Such jovial, happy children on the outside, but inside they are hurting, fighting for life, struggling in a society that has the cards stacked against them. Their only escape from reality is school, where they are allowed to be children, to run, to play, to love. But I know these kids stories are ones I can't even imagine reading, and they are only a quarter of the way written.

• Little Jonathan with his bright eyes. He tries his hardest, yet is so far behind. His spirit lights up the room and his kindness penetrates through his classmates. He struggles to keep up on his school work because he rather let his eyes and mind wander the world around him. I meet his father for the first time and he shakes me hand with a smile, one just like his sons. He is trying his hardest with his son, but he lets me know he can't read himself, so he has bought posters and books for Jonathan so they can learn to read together. 
• MaQuace, the second youngest of 10 children. He has a brother or sister in each grade above him. He is the smallest in the class, but shows the most fight. He is well behaved in class, does his work, but struggles to maintain friendships. He kicks, bites and hits to survive, the youngest child syndrome. His mother comes in late, physically tired looking. This is her last conference, her 8th for the day. I can't burden her with the truths of her sons academic performance. Instead, I kindly suggest she work with him on his reading. 
• Mr. Junior, the leader of the class. His infectious smile hides his truth, "me mudda dead". Junior loves to learn. He says his mom told him he would be the Prime Minister one day. I believe her. His father attends our conference, one child on each arm. He beams with joy as we explain how well Junior is doing in Grade One. You can tell he is determined to raise up this child. I smile as he leaves the meeting because if I hear just one success story, I'm doing something right. 
• Beautiful little Hope, whose willingness to learn is often forgotten through her shyness. She doesn't say much, but I know she has so much she wants to express. I try to get her to smile every time I'm there, some days are successful, some are not. I know her families story, as its well known throughout the teachers. Her mom sells her only daughter to feed the family. At just 6 years old, Hope knows nothing different. The self control it takes for me to sit in front of her mother and update her on Hope's academic progress is one of the toughest things I've had to do in Grenada. As I bite my tongue and squeeze my leg, I let her know Hope is doing wonderful in school.
• Rambunctious Andre, whose in charge one minute, and tears the next. He brings me a wilted flower everyday to school, proud to show off his treasure. His homework is always complete and he is well dressed. In walks his grandmother, a hunched over, very aged lady. Andre straightens up the minute he sees her, he knows she is in charge now and he proclaims "Oh God" when she approaches. Grandma tells us she hasn't heard from his mother in months, she just dropped him off one day, never to return. Bless this woman's soul. 
• And little Cordel, whom we call rolly polly. His square shaped head and bowed legs makes for a cute little guy. He is well behind the rest of the students, but you would never know with his sense of urgency and commitment. He watches from the corner of the room as each student sits in the meeting with their parents. When I ask why his mommy or daddy hasn't come, he replies, "dey at wok, dey be here just now". They never come. 

Disclaimer: Students names have been changed for privacy of the individual. 

I could tell you 20 more of these stories, as each student has a unique story to share with the world. If I give these students of mine anything, I hope I give them a chance to be themselves without worry. They deserve more than this world can give to them, each and every one of them. Everyday is a struggle for them, but I can guarantee that I will never give up on them, I will give them a safe space to learn and have fun, and I will always be one hug away.