Eliana’s First Report Card

Just when I thought I had adjusted to life in Nicaragua and that nothing here would ever seem interesting to me again, I attended a parent-teacher conference.

Eliana’s teacher informed me at drop off Monday morning that there was a parent meeting at 10:00 a.m.  I thought it just meant Eliana would be dismissed two hours early so I immediately started thinking about how I would adjust my day.  Then she continued, “Can you come?”

I asked at what time the meeting would end and she said around 12:30 p.m. I glanced quickly at Junior who was standing next to the classroom’s open doorway to see if he could watch Eliana past his usual work day of 12:00 noon.  He nodded, so I was free.

All morning I dreaded having to attend the 2.5 hour meeting.  The more I thought about it the more I dreaded it.  Will I understand what they are saying?  Will I care about the information?  Will it apply to me?  How hot will it be in the room?  Will it smell or be stuffy?  Will it be a group meeting or private conferences?

On my way to the meeting I passed Eliana and Junior riding their bikes home.  A friend of Eliana’s was hitching a ride on the back pegs of Junior’s bike, and he wanted to know if it was OK she played with Eliana after school.  Yes, I told him, but not inside the house.  The girls wanted to ride their bikes in the parking lot (which is code for skidding their bikes sideways), and I told her no, not without my supervision, so they decided to play on the golf course instead.  I reminded Eliana that under no circumstance were they to go inside.  Petty theft runs deep in the local culture, so we have to be careful about who we let into our house.  I had never met her new friend and I knew nothing of her family, so I did not know if would be a sneaky snatcher of things and I did not want to take chances.

I arrived at the school at 9:58 a.m. The students had been dismissed and the teachers were inside the preschool classroom talking.  I popped my head inside the open doorway and greeted them in case they were waiting for parents to arrive in order to begin individual conferences.  I waited in the covered hallway outside.  I was the second parent.

The teachers exited the middle classroom together, entered the bright arid sunlight, paused for a final comment which ended their conversation, and turned right toward the upper grade classroom one door down.

“Doña Yennifer, adalente.” Eliana’s teacher motioned for me to follow her inside the classroom.

I entered and look around.  On the wall immediately to the left hung a large, two section whiteboard.  Individual desks with attached chairs were arranged in a semi-circle facing the white board which was blank except for a teacher made poster explaining traffic signals and the responsibility one must take in adhering to them.  A woman was already sitting in the first seat next to the door, so I chose the 3rd seat, figuring the freshest air would be by the door.  The two of us sat there waiting.  And waiting.

I continued to look around the room while parents trickled in.   Across from me, resting atop a rectangular table, was a math display board made of a large flattened cardboard box wrapped in white butcher paper.  It leaned against the pastel green painted brick wall and contained 4 separate pieces of xerrox paper containing hand written math problems with labels explaining the parts of equations.  I wondered what type of math they learned in there.  It appeared rudimentary.  There were several maps of the country, including 4 black and white computer printouts, glued to white chart paper horizontally oriented on the back brick wall.  I wondered how the teacher used them and why there were so many variations of the same map.  There were headers of “our country” and “our history” but not much information below them.  I realized the room had decent air flow.

At 10:20 a.m. the upper grade teacher, an older, robust woman with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun, started lecturing the parents.  She denounced Nicaraguan Standard Time (which I have learned is significantly later then Jewish Standard Time) and belabored the importance of us parents to own the responsibility of being punctual.

She passed around a sign-in sheet which requested us to list both our first and last names, the community in which we live, our phone number, and our cedula (national identification) number.  I debated giving my passport or California Driver’s Licence number, but decided to just leave it blank, as did a few other parents.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted the government to know who I was and where they could find me.

We were instructed to stand and I was immediately uncomfortable.  I worried we would be called on to speak.  The parents stood with blank expressions.   Time moved slowly and I waited anxiously.  A volunteer was requested, no one stepped forward, and the teacher, in annoyance, said that, fine, she would do it.  Everyone dropped their heads and the teacher began to pray.

My friends who know me well are likely appreciating the image of me in this situation.  Had this happened in the states, my blood would have boiled.  For the readers who don’t know me quite so well, I am not against prayer.  I’m perfectly happy to join friends in prayer in a private setting by choice, but I’m strongly against prayer in a public setting, such as a public school activity.  But there I stood, in Nicuaragua, a Catholic country, so I just tried to understand her words.  All I could gather was God, breathing air, thankfulness, in Jesus’s name, Amen.  I wondered if Eliana’s teacher was starting each day with a prayer.  I surmised that if I couldn’t understand it, neither could Eliana, and I concluded it was OK if they weren’t mentioning Jesus’s name.  But I figured that if they were praying, that they were mentioning his name at the end, and the possibility of christian prayer included in her daily studies made me uncomfortable.  I thought it might be best that Eliana not arrive to school on time.

Immediately following the prayer, as if not even a breath was needed, the group began to sing without expression or emotion, a depressing song about the blood of brothers and immortal glory.  I inferred it was their national anthem.  All but two parents had their hands over their hearts and I didn’t know what to do.  Was I supposed to cross my heart for someone else’s anthem?  Visions of the Olympics flashed before me and I decided the answer was no, but I didn’t know if the parents would know that and I didn’t want to appear disrespectful.

The song ended and we sat down.  The teacher started in.

”So I’ll tell you about our problems.  We have many problems in my classroom.”

She listed examples of the ailments troubling her classroom, which included but was not limited to, poor attendance, tardies, swearing, confusing b/d reversals (this is a big problem, she emphasized), parents not meeting their obligations of cleaning the classroom and cooking food, rude students not greeting her in the morning nor saying goodbye when they leave, and all around poor behavior by a handful of students.  She gave examples of specific nameless students, using strained facial expressions and belabored body language to gain our sympathy.  I just found her to be manipulative and likely ineffective at classroom management and teaching all together.  I was not thrilled at the idea of her becoming Eliana’s teacher next year.

The preschool teacher followed suit by sharing that none of the parents of her students were in attendance, but she would apprise us of her challenges anyway.  She expounded on the meaning of the word “preschool” and the importance of their work as it relates to first grade readiness.  She was gravely concerned about the students not completing their classwork and homework.  She proceeded, with sour, puckered lips, to detail the problems of her students.  I was thankful Eliana was too old to attend her class.

She looked at Eliana’s teacher, the primary teacher, to signal to her that it was her turn.

Eliana’s teacher, at 21 years old, was the youngest and most chipper of the teachers.  She shared that she would speak only to the three parents from her class who were in attendance.  She named each child and listed their scores (in percentages) for language, math, PE, cultural arts, and their overall score for the first quarter, which turned out to be an average of all four scores.  She concluded by listing one area in need of improvement.  Eliana needed to work on writing her letters smaller.

I found this format of sharing quarterly information with parents fascinating.  In my 15 years of teaching, I made a conscious effort to not discuss sensitive topics with parents in front of others.  Unless a parent waived confidentiality, we always waited until all children and parents were out of the classroom before conferring.  I could not imagine a parent conference in which all the parents in my classroom (let alone the school) sat in a semi-circle listening to an academic and behavioral description of each child.

Eliana’s report was not glowing.  In fact, it wasn’t even close to good.  At first I wasn’t phased.  And then I tried to figure out what the scores were supposed to tell me and I realized that I couldn’t make sense of them.

I expected Eliana’s cultural arts and language scores to be low.  Her intermediate Spanish skills and minimal knowledge of Nicaraguan history and culture would make it difficult for her to receive a high score.  But at 69%, her Nicaraguan culture grade was her highest grade.

Her PE grade of 62% seemed odd because they don’t have PE and, well, Eliana’s athletic.  I figured the teacher pulled that number out of the air, but decided I would ask Eliana about PE when I got home just to be sure.

And then there was her math grade of 60%.  This was the grade that confused me the most.  I review Eliana’s notebooks daily to see what she is learning so I can follow it up with manipulative-based lessons to reinforce her understanding of concepts when needed.   With the exception of regrouping with addition and counting by 2s to 600 (yes, 600), she’s already known how to do everything they’ve learned in class.  When I saw the regrouping (carrying) in her notebook at the end of first grade, I used her summer break to teach her how to regroup with manipulatives and then with partial sums to make sure she understood the concept before teaching her the algorithm.  I had expected her math score to be high and I couldn’t figure out how she earned a 60%.

I realized that I had been thinking of Eliana as a first grader.  She finished kindergarten last July and started first grade in September.  I had been assessing her progress in relation to the California state standards for this time of year, and that mattered more to me than anything her teacher could tell me.  It occurred to me, though, that Eliana’s not actually a first grader.  When Eliana started her new Nicaraguan school in September, the school year was almost over, and she became a second grader in February when the new school year began.

Even with this in mind, I still didn’t think her scores were accurate.  I’ve seen the work that comes home and I was almost certain I knew what they were learning in school.  Maybe I wasn’t seeing everything.  I just needed to figure out if these numbers were pulled out of a hat or if there was a concern to which I was somehow oblivious.

At 10:38 a.m. I counted 16 people.  Just over half the parents had come.  The teachers passed out report cards but I did not receive one and I wondered why.

The upper grade teacher returned and shared behavior challenges of 3 kids, naming them specifically now that their parents had arrived.   While slapping the back of one hand against the palm of the other, she reported that she would like to hit these kids.  But she can’t, so the parents should really consider getting their kids in line.  The parents, in front of their peers, argued with the teachers and defended their kids.

By 11:00 a.m. there were 20 parents.

At 11:30 a.m. I thought we were being dismissed, but no one stood up to leave.  So I caught eyes with Eliana’s teacher and mouthed, “Puedo salir?”  She nodded and I organized my things.  I was one of the first parents to leave.

The next afternoon at pick up Eliana’s teacher handed me a report card for Eliana Von Whatay, and explained each section to me.  Amazingly, the report card was more of a report on my participation (or lack there of) than it was a report of Eliana’s academic progress.  I had no idea I was supposed to clean the classroom and help with the planting of trees.  But now I know.  And I’ll be sure to turn in Eliana’s immunization sheet before the next marking period.

Eliana received one grade on her report card with a notation that art and cultural education needed improvement (that’s funny, cultural education was her highest score).  None of the individual subject scores were recorded.

I asked her teacher what Eliana needed to work on in math and she responded that Eliana’s  doing very well in math.  To which I replied, “But she has a 60%.”   She explained that Eliana needs to accurately write her numbers up to 1,000 and that her attendance affects her grades.  If she would come to school more often, she would earn higher scores.  I decided to ask her about her language score of 62% and she clarified that Eliana needs to write her letters smaller.  Immense value is placed on neat, small handwriting, and Eliana’s handwriting isn’t yet small enough.  Again, her language score would be higher if she attended each day.

So if I have this straight, her language score came down to handwriting and her math score came down to writing numbers to 1,000.

I realized at that moment that I actually cared what the teacher thought of Eliana’s progress.  All along I thought I hadn’t.  I saw the school as providing the social, cultural, and Spanish immersion component of Eliana’s education that I cannot provide on my own.  I never cared what the teacher thought of Eliana’s academic progress, because I saw myself as her “real” teacher.  That is, until she handed me a report card.  All of a sudden I cared.  But an email from Fred set me straight pretty quickly and I had Eliana’s involvement at the local school back in check.

I still think of Eliana as a first grader.   When forced to think of her as a second grader, and I take into account that her 60% attendance record significantly skews her grades, I realize that she’s actually doing very well in her second grade Spanish-only classroom, even if her grades indicate otherwise.

Upon reflection, I realize now that I went from being a teacher to a parent, from the comfort of the known to the discomfort of the unknown, from an affluent school district to a poverty stricken classroom, from first world to third, from being a native speaker of English to a second language learner of Spanish.  I am firmly on the other side of several continuums right now, trying to figure it all out.  It’s a strange place to be, but I am thoroughly enjoying the opportunity for so much reflection and making adjustments to my perception of what truly is good enough.

To see short videos of Eliana’s speaking Spanish (while playing school with imaginary friends), click on the links below.  They will only be linked to this sight for a short while.