Possible Retention

Today I am feeling a sense of relief. All but one of my report cards have been distributed. All the news upon which my fourth graders' holiday wishes hinge has been issued. Many parents came away proud and happy. An few left feeling that I had horribly misjudged their child and their accomplishments. Still others finished the encounter with the same sad, shameful face as their kid. Anyway you slice it, report card time is a stressful time. Even for teachers.
A few years ago, our principal introduced us all to the idea of doing parent conferences with every report card. I felt, as I often do, much like Lothar of the Hill People - saying "It is a good idea, but it is new, so naturally we fear it." Sitting on the stage in the "cafetorium" for a whole day, ushering parents and kids in and out, all the while speaking high-minded platitudes about the importance of fluency practice at home and the need for early intervention for children who have no discernible awareness of multiplication.
Now that I've been doing it for three years, I can't imagine another way to hand out the good and bad news that comes at the end of every trimester. For our school especially, it creates the unavoidable collision between school and home. It's always a satisfying moment when a mother sits down across the table from me, and we discover that we have a very similar chore. Fourth grade is a lot about gaining independence, and for many kids this translates to "ignoring responsibility." Suddenly confronted with a united front, a number of my students fell back on a response they might not have shared in the classroom: tears.
Friday afternoon, and I still had two report cards left. Two parents who had yet to make an appointment with me. Two parents who were probably as concerned about the contents of that secret envelope as their kids. Both of these were parents I had not met over the course of almost four months of school. I thought about going home and starting fresh on Monday, but something made me try the number one more time. I got the first mother at home, and decided, given her circumstances, to make the connection I could over the phone. We talked about her son's potential, and I felt sad that I seemed more interested in his progress than his own mother. When I hung up, I felt drained, but emboldened by the success. I called the other house, expecting to leave yet another message. After a moment of confusion, I heard a man's voice, "Mister Caven? Are you still down at the school?" I told him that I was just finishing things up, but (pause) I would be there for a few more minutes. "Great. I'll be right down."
To his credit, he showed up after only about a ten minute wait, with both of his young sons in tow. We took a few chairs down off desks, sat down and talked about ways we could improve fourth grade for his son. His son sat quietly and patiently nearby, nodding and wincing slightly at the specifics of the grades that he had earned. When it was all over, dad told me "There will be improvement," and with a look at the boy, "Isn't that right?"
We shook hands, and he walked off into the early evening. I went back to my room, filed all the copies and folders, got my jacket and a folder full of papers to grade over the weekend. A new trimester begins.