We’re in minimum day, parent conference, awards assembly week.
We saw the boy child get his mathematics award today. Math and music (another post), that’s who he is. We need to work on the reading part. Him, I get. He does what he wants to do, and where he excels, he does.
Tomorrow, the girl will get her English Language Arts, Spanish Language Arts, and Mathematics award. I teased her, “But I thought you’d have a student of the month in there, too.” She said, “Oh, I do. For September. The paper’s in my folder.” So. There it is.
3 years out of 4, she has been student of the month in September, the first month they give the award, the first student her teachers choose. Who is she, this child of mine? We didn’t have such awards, but teachers did not like me this much. I think they did like her father like this. He casually talks about the awards he was given, student of the year and such. He did not have the grades, but they loved him. I got the academic awards when they were available, but not the personable ones.
I won’t be there; I’m teaching, and that is wrenching me. I am unutterably proud of this child of mine. She is loved and validated, not just by us, but by the whole system. And then I start wondering about the kids who aren’t, but today I won’t go there. I will just be proud of my kid. (Honestly, I think her brother was as proud of that single award in math (as were we) as she was of her multitude, so maybe I don’t need to worry so much about the kids who aren’t. They might, in fact, be okay exactly as they are.)