The Parent-Teacher Meeting That Changed Everything

By Kathryn P. Haydon

Nancy paused outside the school entrance, holding the hand of eight-year-old Al. It was only yesterday that her youngest child had come running home shedding tears that he could no longer hold back after three miserable months in Mr. Engle’s classroom. A former school teacher herself, Nancy allowed her mind to wander back to a year earlier when she looked forward to sending her inquisitive, precocious son to school to further satisfy his curiosity. She was always patient with his mile-a-minute questions that invariably began with “Why?” and “What if?”

What a delight to teach a child so hungry to learn, and with such a memory for the responses to his inquiries—and song lyrics, too!

Despite his mischief, Nancy had enjoyed Al’s growing up so far, reading books together, discussing his questions, looking at his drawings, and helping to find materials for his experiments. He loved to observe the way things work and he’d been an eager learner since the beginning.

Now Nancy tightened her grip on Al’s small hand and pursed her lips as they stepped into the school. Just a few paces forward and she would be face-to-face with this teacher who apparently had said aloud that her son was an imbecile and incapable of learning. She knew he had been punished earlier for asking questions the teacher didn’t like, but yesterday’s scene was the last straw. But, being fair-minded and knowing that children can speak from a narrow viewpoint, she wanted to give the teacher a chance to clear things up.

As mother and son approached Mr. Engle, he looked up sternly through his glasses. “Come in. Please have a seat,” he said. It was courteous enough. Not one to waste time, Nancy cut directly to the chase. “Sir, yesterday my son came home very upset. He overheard you saying he is stupid and that he’s barely worth teaching. Is this true?”

Mr. Engle showed no trace of emotion. He looked squarely at Al. “This child is either gazing out the window, squirming in his seat, or asking far too many questions. He is a disruption to the lessons and a distraction from the important information these students need to learn. It is strange for a boy his age to ask so many questions, and suggests a severe lack of intelligence.”

The first eight years of her little boy’s humor and intense curiosity flashed again through Nancy’s mind.

She knew that the questions children ask propel them forward into exploration, experimentation, thinking, and deep learning. At the same time, her fierce and protective mother-love came flooding into her being, mixed with anger and astonishment that the school teacher sitting in front of her sought to shut down the very life force that made her child who he was. Asking questions, to her mind, was one of Al’s greatest strengths. It fueled his learning. She knew, as only a mother could know, that to demand that Al cease questioning would destroy an important part of who he was. She instinctively did what she had to do.

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