All parents have dreams for their child.  Often these include living a happy life, being healthy, getting a good job, marrying well, and perhaps even having children of their won.  Many foster a love of learning: from books or from experience.   

            Back in the early 1940s, it was possible to support a family and live moderately without a high school diploma.  College was often seen as only for the rich and the leisurely.  I was raised to believe that my only function in life was to marry early and have lots of children.

There’s a basis for this way of thinking.

My mother completed eighth grade, after three attempts. With her limited education, she was able to find, and hold, several, very different jobs. The one she loved the most was as the head telephone operator for the federal offices in San Francisco.

She came up with suggestions to improve service as well as helping disabled workers find success. The story she loved to tell was about a legally blind operator.

At first, my mother was miffed that he’d been hired. Back then, calls were connected by colored lines being fit into colored slots. Obviously, he couldn’t see either.

On her free time at work and at home, my mother experimented with various simple-to-make devices until she came up with a workable idea. Because of her ingenuity, the man succeeded and she won a cherished financial award.

While her limited education excluded her from high-paying positions, her ingenuity got the approval of her boss.

            My father graduated from high school but was unable to find a job. He finally got hired to work in a bowling alley where he’d jump from lane to lane, setting up pins. It wasn’t satisfying, but he earned enough to move out of the family home.

When World War II started, he enlisted. He seldom got off the ship, so although he sailed all over the world, he had no idea what was out there.

He did learn to be a machinist, a valuable skill that he used in his first “real” job, assembling machinery for National Cash Register in Dayton, Ohio. He soon grew tired of the job, landing next in a company that printed newspapers. He was a good speller, which came in handy as he set type into place, from back to front.

He loved being a typesetter, but by the time we moved to California in 1964, more and more printing jobs were being done by giant computers. From there he tried all kinds of jobs, including being a nighttime security guard, driving rental cars from one location to another, delivering phone books, and doing odd jobs at construction sites.

While we were never rich, except for when we moved from Ohio to California, we had shelter, food, and clothes. My parents placed some value on education, demanding good grades and excellent behavior. Bu they never visited the various schools we attended or talked to the teachers.

Neither of them seemed to value education beyond high school, primarily because they had succeeded without any advanced courses.

My brother and I had different ideas. While they readily accepted that my brother, who they believed was a genius, should go to college, they saw no need for me to do so.

In their eyes, my brother would succeed and go on to a high-paying career. 

For me? I was supposed to marry young and begin reproducing immediately.  That wasn’t what I wanted, and so even when they died, I was a disappointment.

            I dreamed of being a teacher because school was the one place where I felt safe. Many of my teachers were mean, several using physical punishment to reprimand disobedient students. I was smacked with a ruler several times, sat in the corner on a stool, and the most terrifying, clicked at by the nuns. My sins? Lack of attention.

After I became a teacher, I realized that I would have been classified as ADD, Attention Deficit Disordered. While I could sit all day, my mind drifted off here and there, so I often missed lectures and descriptions of assignments. My grades weren’t as good as my brother’s even though the old IQ tests placed me higher than my brother, who was a genius.

After having kids of my own, I finally had the opportunity to earn a teaching credential. I taught a whopping thirty-four years. During that time, I met parents with limited education who ushed their kids to stay in school, wishing that their children wouldn’t have to struggle to survive.

There were parents whose only hope was that their kids find work so as to contribute to the family income. These kids often went to work in a family-owned business, earning minimum wage. In California, such low income meant that the kids were stuck at home.

            On the opposite end of the spectrum, I met many parents who set unrealistic goals for their academically disabled children, wanting them to earn a college degree when reading texts would be nearly impossible without tremendous support. Nothing short of a college preparatory program would do, so they chose challenging courses such as AP Biology or AP English. When the inevitable low grades came in, the parents chastised the teachers.

            Over time I began dividing parents into three distinct types: over-involved, under-involved, and just right. There were some who wavered between categories, putting on bursts of energy at strange, incomprehensible times, and then disappearing for months.

This category of parent drove teachers nuts, for you never knew which parent was on the other end of the line. 

            I began my career as a preschool teacher for children ages two to four. I loved the kids and found teaching them songs and academics fulfilling. What was difficult, however, was dealing with over-involved parents.

I understood that it was hard to leave your child at the door with a stranger. Even after class began, for the first few days of class, a small group of parents peered in the windows, to making sure that Johnny and Maria were safe.

Over time, I began to think of “involvement” as a line on the floor.  If you’re standing on the line, you’re in perfect position to guide your child through academia. On either side of the line, and things don’t always go smoothly. The over-involved parent would smother the child, while the under-involved left the child to drown.

            At the high school level, an over-involved parent might demand college-level course outlines for every class, yet couldn’t be bothered to utilize the online program that helped both parents and students keep track of upcoming assignments. Such parents felt it was the teacher’s problem when the son didn’t bring his trombone home, or when the daughter forgot to complete her Algebra homework.

            I worked with parents who demanded weekly meetings to track their child’s progress. It came off as a highly effective form of intimidation. They challenged every grade on every assignment, wanting to know precisely why Timothy didn’t have straight As.

Then there were parents of intelligent college-bound students who wanted their child labeled as having a specific learning disability. They believed that being identified as ADHD or OCD would get then preferential status on college admissions. They’d spend thousands of dollars dragging the child from specialist to specialist until they found one who applied the desired labels.

            For some parents, failure is not an option, even when the child has chosen that path. This type of parent will blame the teacher if the student sleeps through class, turns in no work, and fails tests. Or it’s the administration’s fault if the student cuts class and walks off campus to spend the day at the mall or the cinema. My favorite was casting blame on anyone who might have come in contact with their child, saying that dear Thomas was only holding his friend’s marijuana, knife, or cigarettes.

            Excuses, excuses, but never place the blame where it truly belongs.  If Bill can’t stay awake during the school day, move the computer, phone, and television out of his bedroom.  If Tess isn’t doing her homework, ask to see it every night.  If Phoung is leaving campus, hand him a lunch bag in the morning. If your child doesn’t feel safe walking to school, drive them or join a carpool. 

There are always solutions, but they require parents taking responsible action.

            Under-involved parents are a real puzzle, especially when the child has a learning disability that makes reading and writing challenging. Many of these parents are evasive, not showing up on Back-to-School Night or on Report Card night, and eve at the child’s annual Special Education meeting.  They never return calls or check grades.

            Where are these parents when their children need them?  My students often shared that their parents worked three jobs in order to pay the rent. There were a goodly number of parents who didn’t speak English and were uncomfortable dealing with school. And in this group, quite a few were illegal immigrants and who were terrified of being deported.

I had parents who were currently incarcerated, addicted to alcohol and drugs, or involved in illegal activities such as ferrying undocumented workers across the border. I spoke with a handful of mothers who struggled with agoraphobia, and fathers who returned home after the child went to bed, are who were asleep when the student left for school in the morning.

            At the high school level, it seemed that “just right’ parents were few and far between.  I understood how hard it is to not be too involved, yet concerned enough to pay attention to the child’s academics. It would especially difficult when your child struggles with decision-making, organization, impulsiveness. 

Do you let the child fail as a learning lesson, or step in?  I only intervened when my child believed that an injustice had occurred, or that the work was confusing, or on those rare times when the teacher was truly wrong.

Every child has to learn to walk independently, for the parent isn’t always going to be there. 

The best metaphor is potty training.  The child has to have accidents now and then in order to understand how unpleasant the results feel. The chaffing and burning teach the child to get to the commode in time. If the child never experiences discomfort, life lessons are not learned.

While I’ve been retired a number of years, I often wonder what things are like now. I’d like to believe that all parents maintain just enough involvement to ensure that their child does the best he/she can.