In Which I Leave the Classroom in Tears

A few weeks ago, after a particularly frustrating homework session with Boy, I requested an meeting with the teachers, Mrs. Temp. English and Mme Francais.  So Himself and I show up at the classroom and sit in the ridiculously small chairs at a ridiculously low table across from the teachers who came to the meeting with file folders full of examples Boy's work. 

We were then treated to 45 minutes of stories and examples of how Boy didn't pay attention, was too easily distracted, couldn't work independantly, didn't participate, how he was only getting Cs and Ds, on and on and on it went.  I asked how he was doing socially.  Big mistake.  He hadn't made any friends and had trouble finding a partner for group work because none of the other kids wanted to work with him, didn't play with grade 1s on the playground. 

The tears slowly slid down my cheeks.   I couldn't trust myself to speak. You know how when you're trying not to cry, your throat fills with a huge lump and the only way to release it is to cry?  That was me sitting at that fucking table on that fucking chair.  The meeting was drawing to a close, mercifully, and I couldn't even say good-bye or thank you or go fuck yourselves.  As soon as the door closed behind us, the dam broke and the sobs came.  

Now, 4 weeks later, report cards are due.  I will not be surprised at his marks.  I will have to sit through another interview with the teachers. I will show up with my folder full of examples of how he has improved since then.   This time I will not cry.