3/365 Calling their parents

When I finally place the call home to their parents,
my wayward students frequently return the next day surprised,
having apparently been under the false impression
that the rules of Vegas also apply
to what happens in middle school science.

I hope this realization,
this dread convergence of their two worlds,
their parents and their teachers,
will be a lesson unto itself,
that as adults they will expect Las Vegas
to treat them no differently than I have.

As a new teacher, I would call in the evenings,
just around dinner,
when I knew the parents would be home,
praying each time that the student would not answer,
though they often did.

Handset to the ear,
grade book and incident reports at the ready,
I am convinced that surely
there is enough of a pause between the unanswered rings
for me to have a small, yet significant heart attack.
It is not so much the conversation I dread
as the "Hello."

How anyone can identify an individual's voice
by their utterance of a single two-syllable word
will, no doubt, confound me for a good part of eternity.
I live in fear of the awkward humiliation
mistaking a child's voice for the parent's,
or worse yet,
asking the parent themself
if I could please speak with their mother.

One would think, by now,
I'd have developed an introduction
that would alleviate this concern:
"Hello, Mr. Clauss from the school calling for Mr. and Mrs. Jones?"
And if one made this assumption...
...one would be mistaken.

Among the parents, responses vary.
From apologetic to indignant
Assurances of change, blame, denial, apathy.
Occasional tears and cursing.

Like their children,
they have grown to expect communication
to be limited to newsletters, permission slips,
and report cards.
Once a year, parent conferences.
They have paid their dues
and do not wish for this invasion,
this reminder that their own child is flawed.

I have learned to take it in stride
Choose my words wisely
Say only the factual,
Be specific but not wordy.
Let the parent make the sarcastic remarks
Keep responses to harsh words  hopeful and sufficiently vague.
The more I say, the more I may have to defend later.

Fearing this particular form of anxiety
was unique only to me,
I dared confess it to a fellow teacher.
She looked at me, shaking her head.
"Why would you do that to yourself?"
"We all feel that way."

Now I place my calls to empty homes,
as she does,
right after school
when parents are at work
and deluded children are still riding the bus home
from Vegas.