Being in the field of Early Childhood Education back then was just a plain good work. A work to which I get paid, I taught, I talked to parents, I gave orientations, I was good at being a teacher and a branch head teacher. I knew my employers were truly impressed how much skills I possessed and my works were appreciated not only by the employers themselves but by my previous students’ parents.
One time, there was a parent who quite disliked the way I handled her child. I was working back then in Jakarta, Indonesia and I was an expat who headed that school branch. I was expected to deliver to a certain degree of excellency. But this mom had a problem with me. My pride as an expat got quite insulted (and I’ve got too much of it when I was at my career prime–which is deadly!). I didn’t do anything to her child. I didn’t hit him or yelled at him. Before kids are enrolled in our school they are given assessments. We are then informed which child is new or those who have some food allergies or anything that concerns the child, we need to be informed. This child had no issues or whatsoever, he was a plain new student. That’s where the problem came in. Her son could not stop crying and he just disliked school so much. He never wanted to dress up and get ready for school and just wasn’t interested! Days went by, the mom got skeptical. She developed an issue with me, as her child’s main teacher.
I knew her son was a “cryola” (our vernacular for a child who keeps crying). But I did not pay much attention to his needs. I never attempted to create a warm and comfortable place for him. I continued to carry on with other kids and I was a plain uninviting teacher to her son. I never paid much attention what needs to be done. I knew it was only a phase that her son went through as newbie in a school environment. I wasn’t the charming, happy teacher to her son. I was the teacher giving a flat affect whenever her son comes around.
It didn’t take long, her son got settled on his own. He was no longer crying and he successfully passed that phase. I was happy. He was happy. Mom eventually got very happy. But was I doing my job right? I will let you judge me on that, but only until you become a teacher yourself, will I give you that credit..
Now the tables are turned. I recently joined the club of parents who just enrolled their child in school. Being an educator myself was not enough, truly not enough to understand what it meant for parents to hear the discomfort cries of their child inside the school. My luck gave me a darn sadistic payback. She was enrolled in the same school I worked! It was a head-on turn of events. Now, if only those parents knew I was going through the same sh+t they felt, they’d all give me a revengeful laugh.
First day…
It was a painful picture to look…. (but now, I’m no longer that disturbed to allow myself to laugh!!)
This made me fume up quite a bit…I developed a slight feeling that by the look of this picture, she was forced and was scared of the paint! The truth is, my colleague was just so good at documenting that she was able to tell the whole story of the entire period through the still images she captured! And NO, she was neither forced, nor scared. She just disliked separating from me .
Second day…I pulled her out. My mind was just going crazy and I couldn’t work!Third Day…wow she’s participating finally!!!
Her sixth day, she was awesome!
