Mrs. Rigourous

I knew we were going to be in trouble the first time we met my youngest's pre-kindergarten teacher at Open House. My "I know what I want when I want it" 5 year old was going to stand out...and not in a good way. In 5 years, I had grown accustomed to this driven, dogged, single-minded little being and although he needed structure and a firm hand, he also needed a flexible and nuturing teacher who allowed the personality of these 'grownups in training' to reach their potential with kind words and a kind spirit. A positive outlook. The glass half-full kind of teacher.

But what I still saw in this direct, polyester dressed, hose-wearing, high-heeled shoe pre-K teacher led me to believe, this ain't gettin' it. My instincts were right.

I taught church pre-school myself in the early 1990's. My feelings about teachers who teach this age-group (3's, 4's, 5's) were adults of patience and loving kindness; teachers dressed for interaction with the kids. That means, getting paint on you sometime during the day (who would wear a nice dress?) Wearing flats, not high-heels, to run after a child who has fallen on the playground. No cumbersome hosiery and skirts, but slacks to sick crossed-legged on the floor for story telling. But not our teacher. Not Mrs. Rigourous.

Mrs. Rigourous, as we called her, might have smiled occassionally, but it was through a hard exterior and it was almost sinister. She smiled, but it was like she was happy to share the "bad" news about your child. At least that was the way I felt. And we always got bad news.

And she'd write the bad news in notes...EVERY DAY! You tell me what pre-kindergarten teacher with 20+ kids all under the age of 6 has time to write notes home to parents (or maybe it was just ME) every day about something a child did. Nobody could believe the time she'd take to write notes. Think of the lost one-on-one time with my child (or others...were there others?) she could have had with her students...instead she was writing notes!

Here are some examples of her notes: "John stepped on Andrew's shoelaces in the hall today." (Who cares?) "John must be diabetic as he asks to get water several times a day." (He's figured out to get out of his seat, he must have a 'purpose' to do so - getting water or going to the bathroom is as good as any) "John needs occupational therapy as his penmanship for his age is 2 years behind" (What? He's 5 and writing like a 3-year-old with one of those BIG, THICK pencils?) "John ran from the teacher assistant when called to come in from recess." (I think I can guess why...who wants to go back to that classroom where all eyes are watching you step one toe over the line) There was always something. I am not making this up.

Oh, and we'd have parent conferences for her to tell the same things different ways. She told me once he reminded her of her brother. I was so put out by this time, that I asked her, "Do you even like your brother?" Another time, I asked her if she was used to boys in a classroom (she, herself was a mother of an only child - yep, you guessed it - a girl - {I can say this, because I was an only daughter}) and of course she said she was used to boys - but she was a Special Education teacher before switching to pre-K - and I might add, a special education teacher to WHEELCHAIR BOUND BOYS. Think about it. Used to boys, my ass.

But this was the clincher:

I am getting fed up with this conference tattle-telling and note writing by now that I got some gumption myself (prozac helped) when the last note came in and I was prepared.

"Today at lunch, John put his corndog stick up his nose."

Alllllllrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiigggggghhhhhhhhhttttttttyyyyyyy then....

"Dear (not) Mrs. Rigourous,
At least it was HIS corndog stick and HIS nose."

I went to the the principal, for the first time, told him this story (along with the others) and gave him a copy of James Dobson's BRINGING UP BOYS and asked, no, I think I told him to put it in his professional development library for some (Mrs. R, especially) of his teachers to read before the next school year. He did.