When I was little I remember being VERY AFRAID of my mother. I wasn’t what anyone would consider a bad kid, by any stretch of the imagination. That doesn’t mean I didn’t get in trouble; it just wasn’t major. See, bump that dude Job, my mother put the fear of Mom in me. I was very clear she wasn’t nobody I wanted to test. It was understood that I was going to ack like I had some sense when I was at home & for damn sure wasn’t gon’ cut up out of doors & have nobody thinking she was raising some “hooligans.” Both my parents had us convinced we were black girl geniuses (something every parent should do) & therefore we were NOT to bring any grades home that looked like failure. NONE.
Imagine my conundrum when I discovered my genius did not extend to math & I had to figure out how to make it lest Mom’s break it. And you know what? Outside of that school year I wasted totally in love with Cotton Candy Kisses & waiting on him to love me back
So, imagine again, if you will, my confusion at my own precious angels who think missing work is a playground game & it’s all good. Until…I filled out those deficiency reports & demanded they be signed & returned. All of a sudden there was interest. What I can’t figure out is who didn’t tell them from jump that they are responsible for NOTHING ELSE other than excelling in school because THEY CAN?!? Who neglected to threaten to jump out of lockers & from behind classroom doors on their kids at random so they understood they’re being watched at all times?!? Who has forgotten it is their JOB to come up to school & embarrass the &hit outta their kid so that s/he is WELL AWARE that somebody responsible for me is crazy & better do what’s necessary to quell the insane beast?!?
Somewhere along the line folks got it twisted, thinking their parents were too strict & decided to go at this parenting thing a little too liberally. You let 'em participate in too many decision-making conversations, picking out outfits at 3 years old. You celebrated the stupid stuff. Y’all clapped when TayTay dropped like it was hot at the family reunion when she was 4. You laughed when Romell was in Kindergarten & cussed out granddad when he said he couldn’t have anymore Kool-Aid. When you told Baby Jean to sit at the table to eat & she gave you the “Lady, please” side-eye, all you said was “girl, you crazy.” When your son stomped the dog to death you chalked it up in the column for Things Boys Do. You neglected the clear opportunities to get your households under control & remind your kids who is who & what their job is. You go to work & pay the bills & they go to school—do the best they can--& earn the right to move on on their own terms.
All these no expectations, no home training, no goals & no understanding a$$ kids coming to roost in my classroom. They look at me like I’m crazy when I expect them to do…oh, I don’t know, the required work. I keep reminding them when I was 5 or 6 I did a science project on the Female Reproductive System. I think you can do these 10 sentences, read this article & write this summary. You can study these words & you CAN pass this test. & more than anything you can save your own a$$ from someone who should care if you bring home D’s & F’s & save me some time from having to have a negative discussion littered with your name. I don’t like it, it’s uncomfortable & frankly, I don’t believe in it.
Feelin’ like I need to send Mama K into these households & do some parenting bootcamp. They’ll be all pleases & thank you’s, we’ll exhume yes ma’am/sir & no ma’am/sir, they’ll be reading by choice or force, washing & ironing on weekends, cooking & cleaning, & passing those standardized tests. AYP (annual yearly progress for those not in the know) will be breezed.
Bump sexy. Lets bring structure back.
Watch me move.