First Parent/Teacher Conference

We met with la nena’s teacher today.
She started off by saying: “What can I tell you about Maria that you don’t already know?”
She smiled broadly.
I wiggled in the tiny chair.
We spent a half-hour listening to how lovely, focused and smart our daughter is — in both of her languages.

When I was a kid, I dreaded Parent/Teacher conferences. I knew my mother would come home with a warning that I’d better stop talking and start listening, o si no! Eventually, I learned to listen. I was, after all, a professional listener and watcher in the years I worked in newsrooms. But, the chatty, de pena, has never gone away.

Maria had told us a week or so ago that she got in trouble for talking too much and was not allowed to go outside to play. I flashed back to my own classroom chattiness (and teacher notes). Urgh. Not again, I thought. Why does she have to be like me in that way?

Turns out she was told to quiet down, but she did go outside to play. She’s never caused trouble and she’s not disruptive, her teacher said. Hurray. Maybe I didn’t pass that gene down.

But, as the teacher described our child, I saw parts of her father: Detailed, task-oriented, goal-oriented, physical. And, there was me: Verbal, social, not afraid to raise her hand. (And, I would add that at home: Pain in the arse aveces, just like Mami).

I left there proud, of course. Amazed by how much we, as her parents, have passed on to her in her nearly 4-years of life. But the meeting also stands, for me, as a great reminder that she is who she is regardless of us too. Far from us each day, she has learned new ideas, made new friends, asked questions, danced, painted, sung. She’s even gotten her feelings hurt and bruised a knee.

She is growing into who she is meant to be. We’ve only contributed dashes of seasoning and spice. I just feel pretty lucky to be along for the ride.