Don't be hatin' if you're perpetratin'.

"The one who cannot restrain their anger will wish undone, what their temper and irritation prompted them to do.”-- Horace

Every year you get at least one. A parent or, even better, a set of parents, who are on a teacher like stink on a skunk any time the teacher says anything at all to their Beloved Offspring. Personally, I approach things from the other side-- if one of my kids' teachers has to say something to my kids, I will be quick to spring to action, alright-- to reinforce my disapproval of my kids' action which drew said ire. But que sera, sera-- it takes all kinds of parents to really force a kid to seek therapy later in life.

But this set of parents were not your garden-variety ki-yipers. They would sound perfectly reasonable-- until you actually prevented their kid from doing whatever she wanted to do. Then suddenly, the tone on the phone would turn subarctic and you would be informed that they "really don't appreciate you doing/ saying/ expecting/ refusing permission" to Pweshus, and then they would tell you what you were going to do: "I expect you to take that work/ I expect you to stay after school every day in case Pweshus decides she needs help/ I expect you to email me any time you mark an answer wrong on her homework/ I expect you not to ask her to participate in class/ I expect you to never take any consequences if her phone goes off in class, because it's probably me calling, but even if it's not, we've instructed Pweshus to leave her phone on" blahblahblahblah.

I would always just express my regret that they felt that way and reiterate that I was going to follow my policy. They would continually push, I would pleasantly refuse to engage and visualize martial arts kata in my head to keep from getting annoyed.

They would usually bid me a regal good-bye-- and immediately call the principal and scream at him over what a complete tyrant/idiot/harpy I am. Last month, after we were having one of these cheery little confabs, the mother called the principal and loudly complained that it was obvious I was taking notes during our conversation, and that therefore I must have some nefarious ulterior (pronounced "inferior") motive. Now, if you're hung around here for a while, you will know that I recommend keeping notes of conversations with parents as a bit of posterior coverage which has stood me in good stead numerous times in my career. So yep, guilty. The principal thought that this complaint was particularly hilarious-- after his ear stopped smoking.

And apparently these people were more polite to me than to anyone else who came into even casual contact with Pweshus. The poor principal has been getting daily doses of invective drilled through his eardrum for months now. Always, always, there were excuses as to why Pweshus couldn't do her homework/come to school on time/come for tutoring/get off her damn cellphone/stay awake/manage to be in school any time there was a test.

So during a few tirades, a few kernels of information dropped out that made us wonder: why so paranoid about me taking notes when asking about why Pweshus couldn't get to school on time? Why is it Pweshus never took the bus if her parents couldn't get her here? After all, her address was fifteen minutes' walk away from school.

So some discreet investigation was done, and-- guess what? Pweshus doen't live in our school district-- not even close. No one would have probably ever known if her parents hadn't shown their asses so much. If they'd just been reasonable, no one would have ever realized that two plus two equals several thousand dollars in lost tuition payments charged to non-resident students.

So what is the moral to this story? Don't be hatin' if you're perpetratin'.