By Donna Hruska

Dear teacher,

Having just come from a conference with you about my son, I find my thoughts still lingering there in the chalk scented atmosphere of your classroom. I marvel at your ability to spend six hours a day grappling with twenty-nine fourth graders bent on outwitting you, at your determination to impart knowledge to them no matter how strong their determination to resist it. I know, too, that once home you have papers to grade, endless lessons to plan as well as meals to prepare and your own children to love. Somehow you must fit into that short space between dinner and bedtime all the duties of a wife and mother that I have all day to accomplish. Nor would I be surprised to discover that, being a conscientious person, you find some of your students’ problems refuse to stay at school where they belong, but stow away in the recesses of your mind and intrude on your family life. It is the same with all who care about others and work to better their lives.

Nor can I blame you if you find it difficult to respond to one child as much as to the next. You are, after all, human, with your own set of inborn and early-learned prejudices and preconceptions. Although I feel justified in demanding that you treat them all fairly, can I blame you if your feelings do not follow the lead of your intellect? Some mannerism of this child may set your teeth on edge while another child is so sweet and eager to please she may well be irresistible. No, I cannot blame you for your human faults as long as you try to overcome them.

I only ask that you look deep. Somewhere, under the flip facade of that fourth grader, beyond the surface indifference, the professed dislike of books, school and girls, there lurks a noble spirit. Try not to see the dirty fingernails, torn, old but comfortable clothes and scuffy neck that sometimes are slipped by my morning inspection. Try to forgive the flirting with dirty jokes, bad language and outrageous behavior. Down there somewhere, beneath the utter silliness of nine-years-old, there still breathes the boy who at seven befriended a little girl too shy to walk home alone and appointed himself her escort in spite of the cat-calls of his friends because “she can’t help it if she’s scared, can she?” He is still the kindergartener who learned every specie of dinosaur and every known fact about their living habits just because he found them interesting. His intellectual curiosity is not dead just because at the moment he hates books and school and any kind of regimentation. You just do not happen to be teaching the things he is interested in at the moment. He is impatient with fundamentals and although he may concede their necessity, what he really wants to know are the details of some of the fascinating things he sees around him all the time.

Please do not think I am offering excuses. I know that while individuality is important, conformity is necessary, too. I do not ask for special treatment or expect you to excuse his frequent lapses from good manners and acceptable behavior. I still expect you to keep your academic standards high.

But I must as you to guard against seeing the children in your room as eternal fourth graders. As my son’s mind and body mature, so too, will his behavior. He is the same person who may one day explore the outer reaches of space or the hidden corners of men’s minds. All the gentleness that embarrasses him now will yet surface. Be firm, but kind. Nine is but a year long.

#

---

Donna Hruska
2711 2nd Private Road
Flossmoor, Illinois 60422

Approximately 600 Words

#