A Precious 5 Minutes of Insight

By Cindy Reitzi

Parent-teacher conferences are another one of my teacher “firsts” this year. And parent-teacher conferences are like snapshots. We meet, smile, pose with each other, take the picture, and move on to the next one. Or so I thought. Five minutes? What substantive conversation could we make in 5 minutes? Surprisingly, a lot.

I was looking forward to these conferences, but I wasn’t sure what to expect. I prepped for my meetings by concentrating on grades and my 9th graders’ “progress.” I plugged the numbers into my grading program and got their percentages. Then I printed off individual grade reports for parents and brought in the students’ latest tests: the “measure” of students in my class. Maybe this was a good procedure, a good jumping off point. But this isn’t really what parent-teacher conferences are about.

High school teachers get a snapshot of a student in one particular setting. We make inferences about who those students are. But Adam might be different in art class, phy ed, science, or math. Ana acts louder at home. And Liz is not as serious with her friends. We only scratch the surface in English class. If students are private, if they are not verbal volunteers, then we see even less. With their parents, they play a different role. With conferences, we get a different opportunity. We get a glimpse of a son or daughter. We often get an imprint of parental love.

In one day, I met more than 30 parents. Initially, I talked about grades, tests, and academic habits their children could improve upon (handing things in, completing assignments, reading directions). I related how I saw their teen’s writing and thinking skills. But intuitively, and gradually, I began to listen more and ask more questions. I learned a lot in cumulative, 5-minute spoonfuls.

Talking with some parents, I learned that I need to alter the way I write some test questions so that the directions are clearer (some students miss two-part questions unless cued). When I gave parents a good report or said their son or daughter participated a lot in class, some of them looked at me with surprise and said they didn’t recognize their child from middle school. At other times, our impressions of their teenager were the same.

I also learned which of my 9th graders felt lonely and friendless and which ones had so many friends that their parents invested in cell phones to communicate with the outside world.

When I told one mother that her daughter was a skilled writer and thinker, but that I wished she had “more confidence,” tears came to her eyes. She told me her daughter was lonely and shy. By hearing parents’ concerns about their individual children and by looking at my classrooms, I learned which introverts I should move closer to the front of the room so I could keep an eye on them. I resolved to move her daughter up from the back of the room and surround her with friendly faces. It was time to change the seating chart.

I reassured the parents of more exuberant students that, yes, I enjoyed their curious teenagers’ questions, that I liked “critical thinkers” (and yes, I meant that) and that no, their son was not a pain in the butt because he was enthused about learning.

Some parents said their kids came home talking about “The Odyssey” and enjoyed the book. Others said they couldn’t dynamite information out of their teenager about school, let alone English class, but they shared whatever cryptic information they could.

Finally, one mother told me her son really appreciated how we talked about the September 11 tragedy in my class. He appreciated how sensitively I handled the discussion. That brought tears to my eyes.

I learned all this. In 5 minutes.

Posted December 4, 2001