Lost in Translation: PTA Meeting

I had my first PTA meeting for the kindergarten Friday. There was no delegating of tasks for the next school carnival, nor any robust debate on hosting a carwash versus a popcorn fundraiser. But I did have to demonstrate a lesson plan for the mommys and daddys, after which Supervisor invited parents to micromanage my classroom.

I didn't stress beforehand, but it was unnerving to deliver my usual shtick to four boisterous four-year-olds with a pack of scowling parents seated behind them. They weren't mean scowls, just studious grimaces - like they were trying to quantify how much knowledge I could impart to their children in 20 minutes, and whether that sum was sufficient.

After my teaching demonstration, the boys had to complete a series of simple logic games in ten minutes. Some of the parents videotaped. Most of the kids hustled along, but Ivan opted to spend the time chewing his fingers and growling. Occasionally he would drop a game piece on the floor and make an elaborate show of searching for it. He was the only student who didn't finish on time. His mommy and the Chinese teachers busted his chops afterward.

Then each boy "read" a picture book. In the past couple months, we've wasted hours having the boys practice reciting the story from a book. I think the school's idea is that if they make the kids recite well enough the parents will be tricked into believing their kids can read already.

Supervisor asked each parent what ideas they had for the school. Chris' father said Chris comes home singing English nursery rhymes that he doesn't know. He asked the school to send home a copy of the lyrics so he could correct Chris on the words.

Wow, I thought, what a contrast to my own kindergarten experience. And granted I was 6 when I was in kindergarten. Chris is 4 (he will have one more year of kindergarten before beginning primary school).

My kindergarten teacher was useless. Her background was in special ed, so she was used to one-on-one. She picked one favorite and worked with him all the time. The rest of us would've been left to our own devices were it not for a highly competent and overworked teacher's assistant.

My parents weren't pleased I had a worthless teacher, but they had every faith the Anchorage public school system would provide me a better teacher the following year.

Education was important in my home, for sure: I used to have nightmares for a week before the spelling bee; I had a boo-hoo meltdown in ninth grade when I thought I was going to get a B in jazz band.

But on this side of the ocean it's a whole different plate of tamales. It's a zero-sum game, survival of the smartest. My parent's attitude to a bad teacher was, "Oh well. It'll be better next year and if we need to we'll supplement at home for the time being." Over here it's, "I need 'The Ants Go Marching One by One' in writing so I can spot check my 4-year-old's grammar.'"