Educators and Teachers: The Tug-of-War Between School and Home

By: Dr. John W. Luton
"The Lunch Hour Report"
Tuesday, March 15, 2005


When it comes to cooperation in the classroom, educators and parents could learn a thing or two—maybe even from each other.

Whether your child’s school is situated in a bustling city like Raleigh or Charlotte, or in a smaller community nestled in northeastern North Carolina or similar setting, no one disputes the parental desire for quality education. These are our children, after all. Like resilient little sponges, their minds are busily absorbing tidbits of every encounter. We want them to complete the educational process with full possession of those necessary faculties that bring income and fulfillment in life. And, as parents, we sometimes feel we possess all the components to achieve this outcome. So begins what many perceive to be an enthusiastic and unrelenting “tug-of-war” between the school and home.

Educators, on the other hand, usually see themselves as the ones who ought to be directing this whole intellectual shaping and guiding process. After all, they are the ones who’ve endured the arduous years of study to earn their sparkling educational credentials. They are held accountable for the children’s mastery of age-appropriate learning skills. Their salaries and career advancements are linked to their students’ performance on assessments like End-of-Grade tests. They—many of whom are parents themselves—are, indeed, the professionals in education, and they sometimes resent parental intrusion upon their turf.

And so the opposing teams stand facing each other, holding their respective ends of the rope, gritting their teeth for added intimidation effect as the match begins. Should this characterization be dismissed as a mere exercise in hyperbole? Or, have we peered realistically into that arena where educators and participative parents often vie for ultimate control? While truth may lie between the extremes, which often seems to be the case, perhaps a truer picture will be gained by sketching a scenario that depicts a common encounter between school and home—a vignette from the trenches, so to speak. Imagine a familiar school setting.

A car pulls into the drive of one of local schools. The brakes emit an annoying squeak as two primary-aged scholars clutch their necessary affairs and lean to welcome a departing gesture of parental affection. Good-byes said, the sister and younger brother traipse toward the school building under their mother’s protective gaze. Once inside, the couple part ways and head for their classrooms. Their teachers, stationed near the classroom doors, exchange cordial morning greetings as students quickly populate rows of blond Formica-topped desks. The school day begins.

While the sister navigates successfully through the day’s strategically placed hurdles of learning, her sibling, unfortunately, clips a number of his own. His day has been disastrous, the salient points of which are communicated in the all too dreaded “letter home.” The ominous envelope and contents are nervously examined by the intended recipient as she investigates her son’s back pack. The letter is upsetting, and without mentioning anything to her son, the mother allows silent words of determination to swirl internally. Words motivated by that oft-experienced combo-emotion of parental disappointment, shame and anger. Plans are laid and the necessary time off from work arranged. There will be a showdown.

The next morning, mom and children arrive earlier than usual as the car pulls into one of only two available spaces in the small parking lot. With a confrontational “chip” positioned squarely on her shoulder, the mother escorts her two children to where the halls divide and then marches with observable purpose into her son’s classroom. The teacher, who has not yet assumed her station by the door, greets her with a look of surprise and strains to issue a welcome. Curt pleasantries are exchanged and the three are seated.

“I got your note,” the mother begins as she refuses to make eye contact. “It seems my son is personally responsible for wreaking havoc in your classroom. I think I’ll visit today and see for myself—with your permission of course.”

From the teacher’s perspective, the mother’s tone conveys the familiar “Not my little darling” tactic, which often reflects a parent’s failure to admit that the child is capable of doing anything wrong—at least at school. The mother’s predictable next phrase confirms the teacher’s diagnosis.

“My son does not behave that way at home. Either the other children are bullying him, or he is just simply bored. I’d like to see how you manage your classroom.”

Ah yes, the bored child syndrome rears its head in another classroom, claiming one more innocent student as its victim. This “dreaded” condition may manifest itself in a variety of ways, but perhaps the most common is by robbing an unfocused child of personal agency, prompting a display of unacceptable behaviors for which he or she cannot be held responsible. Parents, who should know their children better than anyone, are expert in recognizing the evil effects of boredom. Their conclusion: Misbehavior stems from boredom, which results from instructional and classroom management strategies that are lacking. Primary culpability must surely lie at the teacher’s feet. Some parents, motivated by anger, set out to prove their theory by visiting the classroom. Cue the participative parent.

Inwardly, the teacher struggles to dismiss such prejudicial thoughts and, with a calming breath that she hopes is not too apparent, extends an appropriately-voiced invitation for the mother to stay. Beaming with professional pride that she has managed to say the right thing, in spite of her offended feelings, she soon begins leading her pupils through the morning’s lessons.

As the day progresses, however, this participative parent observes a couple of actions that puzzle her. In a classroom context, as the teacher had indicated in the letter, her son does indeed have difficulty remaining on task at times, even when participating in activities he enjoys. Without saying anything, the mother continues her reconnaissance mission in hopes of gaining evidence to the contrary. She monitors every action with the acuity of a scientist.

When the students are arranged for small-group activities, the mother notices that her child becomes easily irritated, uncharacteristically argumentative, and, at times, belligerent toward the other children. While the teacher employs measures of proximity and re-focusing instructions to manage the class—techniques that seem to work well with the other students—the visiting parent becomes increasingly aware that her child might benefit from a more comprehensive approach. In a wide-eyed look of utter disbelief, the mother prepares to wave the white flag.

At the day’s conclusion, when the other children have been dismissed, the former adversaries once again seat themselves for a session of strategic planning. The sister helps occupy her brother in the back of the classroom while the adults confer. This conference, however, seems bathed in an atmosphere that is more open and receptive than the earlier one. Less productive expressions of emotion and previous faulty perceptions have diminished in a manner that facilitates more effective communication. In the more comfortable context, the mother manages to articulate her true feelings.

“I’m afraid I may have spoken too hastily,” she offers apologetically. “I’ve never seen him act this way at home. It’s just that, when I read your letter, I just knew you were hinting at an attention deficit. I’ve read a lot about A.D.D. and A.D.H.D. and, to be honest, I feel that sometimes educators jump the gun when it comes to suggesting medication. Maybe some teachers just don’t want to deal with a child who is more active than most. How do you know when the diagnosis is on target?”

At the parent’s suggestion, the teacher addresses the mother by her first name and begins to explain several approaches that are sometimes used for diagnosis and intervention. After several moments, a shared strategy involving medical examination, questionnaires, daily academic reports and support activities are detailed. An agreement is reached that includes open and frequent communication between home and school. Both parties leave the school convinced of the other’s concern and support. A common goal has been identified and a partnership begun.

While this confrontation between an educator and a participative parent ends happily and productively, less friendly encounters occur just as frequently, and to little positive avail. While most educators and parents are equally vigorous in their desire to provide for the educational needs of their children, a meeting of the minds is sometimes difficult to achieve for a number of reasons.

As a parent, I have occasionally felt as if my children’s educators evinced an attitude of condescension toward me and my wife, especially in some of their written communications. As I reflect back on episodes in our own experience, I don’t remember this problem being as apparent in face-to-face encounters. My wife and I are teachers, and we know that it can be difficult to adequately express one’s intended message in the written medium. Letters home are sometimes composed when emotions still hold sway over clarity. These notes may have been hurriedly scribbled at the end of a long, trying day, or, perhaps, during an elusive snatch of time that has been seasoned with endless interruptions. Previous parental encounters that have gone awry may still loom in the memory and, with renewed determination to assert authority and set the boundaries (or maybe even unintentionally), teachers may come across to parents as harsh, insensitive, or demanding. Such triggers can even release tucked-away feelings of a parent’s own educational misadventures.

Just as written communication—created in a less than serene context—may not effectively present a teacher’s true intention, the parent’s world is filled with its own seemingly unending array of challenges. By the time work is concluded, the commute home navigated, the evening meal and a host of other activities attended to, a letter from school, discovered just before bedtime, is not a welcome sight. No matter how supportive the parent might be, the threshold of tolerance will only protect from so many perceived assaults. I use the word “assaults” with much consideration, because I have often bristled while reading a letter from one of my children’s teachers, especially if I felt my child was being unjustly (or justly!) criticized. I have always been determined to be supportive of educators—call it preservation of my species—but the parental radar can be an indomitable force that sidelines reasoning. With my own reasoning sitting on the bench, I, too, have drafted a few letters to the school that I later regretted. And so the conditions are set for a win-lose proposition.

In moments when I have been possessed by clearer thinking, I have been able to remind myself that everyone—educators and parents—are really on the same team. For years, we’ve been straining and tugging against each other when we could have been working together. Wouldn’t it be astounding if, when observing a tug-of-war, both teams suddenly lined up on just one side of the rope? All opposition would be obliterated—because there would be no opposition!

What’s the key? Well, I certainly don’t have all the answers—remember I’m the one whose capacity to think reasonably has often sat on the bench. But, in retrospect, the more I tried to appreciate the other’s perspective, and the greater sensitivity I allowed to guide my interactions, the more satisfying the results. Again, educators and teachers are all about the same thing. We want to provide an educational experience for our children that will serve them well in life. Each perspective can provide a piece to the puzzle of how best to promote learning. Each is vital to the process. Armed with these and similar realizations, I have gained a deeper appreciation for educators and parents. Both have a wealth of insight and experience to contribute to their children—and to each other.


By: Dr. John W. Luton
Associate Professor – Mass Communication
Department of Language, Literature and Communication

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