We’ve all heard of helicopter parents, though the newest term is bulldozer parents. These are parents who are so entitled they think their children (and themselves) should receive whatever they want, pretty much whenever they want. For a teacher, this is nothing new. But sometimes, the requests and demands are so outrageous that you must step back and marvel at them. Then you can go ahead and cry.
NOTE: All of these tales were taken from the book What It’s Really Like, a collection of real teaching stories from around the country.
A More Loving Teacher
My 5th-grade class had been working on a book report for a month. Two weeks before it was due, I got a visit from the principal. “Herbert’s” mom wanted to know why I made her baby cry. She said it’s been happening all year, though he is always happy and has never cried in class. The principal told me to do whatever I had to do to make him happy.
The principal emailed me a week later, saying, “Herbert couldn’t do his work because you refused to let him have a pencil in class. Is this true?” I explained that, of course, it was not true. A week later, another email said, “Herbert’s mom feels you are prejudiced against red hair. You wouldn’t single Herbert out because of his hair, would you?” At this point, I was just laughing because the accusation was so ridiculous. Coworkers told me the principal was weak and afraid of confrontation with parents.
A week before the report’s due date, Herbert’s dad came to my room with his son after school. He asked if we have a book report due next week. I told him we do. He says his child doesn’t have a book because I didn’t allow him to get one. I explained that he had a book. I issued it to him before Christmas. Herbert said he read it over the break and had it in class while working on his draft.
The dad looked at his child, who turned red and began apologizing for lying. Dad said, “You had mom and I thinking your teacher was some mean old hag.” We talked about everything: Herbert having pencils daily, my liking his red hair, and how he never types more than two sentences on a given day, etc. I thought we were on the same page.
On the day the rough draft of the book report was due, Herbert entered with a complete, immaculate, typed book report. I said, “Wow, this is great! You are so lucky to have parents who care about you. I’m so glad they helped you practice typing your book report.” We begin typing and editing final drafts. Herbert was done with his 5 paragraph paper (with perfect grammar and spelling) in 10 pecks of the keyboard. It was a replica of the first.
I manually checked his Google documents, and lo and behold, his mom had emailed him a copy. I explained to him that he had to do this on his own. Class time was over. However, I gave him another chance to work on the paper during recess.
Herbert used his iPhone to call his mom at recess instead. Soon after, the principal appeared in my doorway. He was cackling and wringing his hands together. He wanted a play-by-play of what took place with Herbert. He replied, “Be more proactive with the parents!”
After school, I called Herbert’s home. No answer, so I left a voicemail. I called the second number. Dad answered. I asked if he had a moment. I began to explain the situation and why it was important for Herbert to do his work independently. I also told him that if it weren’t completed by the end of the week, it would result in a zero. I volunteered to stay and help Herbert if they could pick him up an hour later.
Dad calls me a f*cking b*tch, a manipulative c*nt, and a motherf*cker. He told me that I would give his son the grade that paper deserved because he and his wife” didn’t read that f*cking book and stay up all f*cking night doing that report for nothing!” Then he threatened that if I didn’t give his son an A, he would come to the school and “take care of me.” (Note that he was on speakerphone in front of the secretary and the counselor.)
I hung up. I had done nothing wrong. The principal was gone and unreachable, so I typed up what happened. The following day, I found that the student had been moved to another class. When I asked the principal what happened, she said Herbert needed “a more loving teacher.” She also said that Herbert’s dad apologized for using profanity, but he wants you to understand that he and his wife worked too hard on that report for you to fail their son. I want you to reconsider changing his grade. After all, he was trying on the draft.” I declined. He responded with, “I want kids to love coming here. If they don’t want to write, stop forcing them, stop cramming it down their throat! Keeping parents happy keeps our school functioning. We love our students. We don’t fail them.”
I did not change that grade. I did not lose my dignity. My only sadness is that Herbert will be a non-productive member of society in 7 years. Maybe by the time his parents need assisted living, he will have learned to put down the controller long enough to wipe his own butt and will have gained a few friends on Fortnite to take care of him.
Popsicle Disservice
While teaching kindergarten, the class had “earned” a whole-class reward and had voted to have a Popsicle party. I went out and, of course, spent my own money on these popsicles. On the day of the party, a few students had been having a rough time making “good choices,” so I told them I would pick what color Popsicle they got.
One student, in particular, told his dad I didn’t let him pick his Popsicle. His dad then sent me a passive-aggressive email saying he was sure this couldn’t be true. I told him it was indeed accurate and was a consequence of his son hitting other kids. I also explained that his child still seemed to have a great time eating the red Popsicle I gave him and dancing around to KidzBop.
The next day, an administrator stopped me to ask what had happened. The dad had been so upset about the huge “Popsicle disservice” I had done to his son that he came into the office that day to talk to my administrators about it. I explained my reasoning and reiterated that all the students still received the reward. They told me I shouldn’t have chosen the colors for those students because it “wasn’t in the spirit of positive behavior intervention.” But apparently, it was cool that the student had sucker-punched two other kids in my class that day and stabbed one in the hand with a pencil – with zero remorse or consequences.
It’s Called Life
When I emailed my student’s mom to inform her that her son Barnabas would be serving lunch detention for excessive tardies, she gave an interesting response.
“It’s called life. I’m tardy every day to work and other events with no reprimand. His father and I talked about it. At this point, we don’t know whether to be annoyed with you and the school and the constant issues you have with our son or what. He said it’s difficult to get from class to class without running. Whew! I can’t wait for this year to be over!
Grandpa is Dead, See?
I was a relatively new music teacher, and I was conducting auditions for a concert. I had signups for students to audition for a solo piece. I posted the signup sheet for two weeks and held auditions during lunch for a week. On Saturday, a week after auditions were over, I got an email from a student politely asking if she could still audition since she was absent on the last day of tryouts. As nicely as I could, I explained that the deadline had passed and that she hadn’t signed up to indicate interest. It would be unfair to others.
That Monday, I received an email from the student’s mother that read, “Before you pass JUDGEMENT and PENANCE, you should know what is going on in our family.” She went on to explain that her husband had been diagnosed with cancer that week, her son had several events related to his Autism organization, and that her daughter’s grandfather had just passed away. That is why she wasn’t in school during audition week or on Friday.
I scrolled to the bottom of the email and saw a humungous picture of a dead man in a coffin. She had sent me a picture of the deceased grandfather.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I forwarded the email to my supervisor and politely asked how to handle the situation. Five minutes later, the phone rings, and my supervisor asks me, “What the f*ck is that?” All I could reply with was, “My student’s dead grandfather… I think.”
My supervisor supported my decision not to allow the girl to audition. Rules are rules.
The girl came to school the next day, and I told her I was sorry to hear about her father’s cancer and her grandfather’s death and gave my sympathies. Her response? “My dad is going to be fine. They caught it early last year, and it’s totally treatable. My grandfather lives in Cuba, and I’ve never met him before. Also, my brother’s not autistic. Who told you that?”
I showed her a picture of the dead grandpa, and she said, “I have no idea who that is.” I just smiled and said, “Never mind.”
Call 911! My Daughter Lost a Tooth!
I was teaching first grade in Florida at the time, and one of my students lost her tooth. This is a regular occurrence in first grade, and I handled it the way I always did. She was given a little baggie for her tooth, and I let her wash her mouth in the sink. She naturally had a bit of blood, but we cleaned it, and all seemed fine.
Soon after, we went to dismissal, where the little girl proudly told her mother of her lost tooth. The following day, I was summoned by the principal, who ushered me into his office and closed the door. He was furious and demanded to know why I didn’t call fire rescue for the child who lost her tooth yesterday. I was in shock. The mother called him and complained that her daughter was bleeding at school, and I didn’t call her immediately. My principal sided with the mother and demanded I apologize. He reiterated that I should have called fire rescue and finished by saying that if he were the parent, he would call the state and revoke my teaching license.
This story is 100% true; there’s nothing more to it. You’d think that if he were that upset, there would be more to the story. There isn’t.
Floyd’s Little Discovery
Three years ago, I taught a class of 2nd-grade “gifted” students. I put that in quotations because the psychologist we have assigned to us is about 108 years old and believes every damn child that she sees is gifted, but that’s beside the point. That year, I had a particular student (we’ll call him Floyd) who was probably one of the biggest a-hole kids I have ever taught. He thought he was the smartest, funniest kid in the world, and of course, his parents agreed (insert massive eye roll). Even teachers who observed my class would ask, “Who’s that a-hole?” because he would give the creepiest, grossest looks to all the female teachers.
One day, I was in the middle of a lesson and looked over at Floyd (his desk was an “island” because he could not get along with any other human being). I saw him shaking vigorously. I stopped and asked him if he was okay. Perhaps he needed to go to the bathroom? He said he was fine, and the shaking stopped. The next day, as I was teaching in front of the room, it happened again. I stopped, glanced around his desk, and asked him again if he was okay. He said he was fine, so I reminded him to stop playing around.
That night I received a message from another student’s mom (who sat near Floyd) telling me that her son saw Floyd take his private part out of his pants under his desk and was masturbating! I teach no older than 2nd grade for a reason. I have no interest in dealing with horny kids, and I never expected to have to deal with a masturbating 7-year-old!
It turns out that Floyd watched porn on another kid’s phone during his before-care program and thought he’d try it out in my class! (Since some of you might be thinking he was abused or had something traumatic happen to him, I can assure you there was no evidence of that.)
Of course, we had to call a meeting with the parents. Their immediate response was, “That cannot possibly be! The other kid is lying!” We called Floyd into the meeting and grilled him in front of the parents until he admitted it. He said that the kids in his before-care program showed him porn, and he started thinking about it in class and got really excited and thought no one would notice. His parents looked like they wanted to curl up and die. They then tried to blame the other kids for introducing him to porn. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they moved out of state shortly afterward.