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I saw some of my mother's old report cards this past weekend, for the first time. On one of them, in the first quarter, she had a mark against her in behavior and comportment, under the heading of "self-control".
Once.
Then never again.
Once.
Then never again.
Then there was the particularly ominous semester where some nun had penciled in "WHISPERS" in a blank line and given her a mark for both quarters.
I think about how, when I encountered problems with my teachers -- which was about every other one I had, K through 6, but the first and last ones being the worst -- my mother told me to approach school as though it were a game.
She told me it didn't matter if the teacher was right or wrong, because they had the power to decide they were right, and it didn't matter if I disagreed with the system - I needed to figure out how it worked and use it.
Which isn't to say that she taught me not to fight the system. She was a fierce advocate on my behalf for accommodations and accessibility, for instance.
But she tried to teach me how to avoid avoidable headaches, by learning the system and its tolerances.
I didn't really learn it at the time, either. I don't think she figured out a child-appropriate way to phrase what she really meant to say, nor a way to convince me it was important.
