One year public school

For a year we went to the public school in Akron; it was less than half a mile. My eldest son was 6 years old, sandy blond with a big round head and large glasses “like Dad’s”. The glasses were a little too big, but he was so proud of looking like his father. He was slightly built, in a kindergarten class where several students had been held back twice and were two years older than him.

His teacher was a sweet young thing, tall and slender with fashionable office casual clothing. This was her first year teaching. We invited her over for dinner and she brought us a gift, which surprised me. I figured if you were invited for dinner, you’d bring food, whatever the hostess said she needed, a side or dessert or something small. I gathered, dimly, that she had a higher social class expectation than I did. Not better, just different. We asked her what her plans were, and she said she’d teach in Akron for a couple years to get experience, and then apply to schools outside the city.

I was a little disappointed, because I realized the quality teachers wouldn’t stay in that school. No doubt some did, but we didn’t experience any others there except tangentially. My son was bullied, especially in the boys’ bathroom. They held him upside down with his head in the toilet. This well-meaning female teacher could not do anything about that. By the springtime my son was sobbing every time he had to go to school. My husband insisted he had to learn to finish, so we kept him in until the end of the year.

On the last day, I thanked the teacher and let her know we would be homeschooling. She said, “He has parents who care. He will do well wherever he goes.” It made me feel good, and also sorry for children whose parents didn’t or couldn’t help them.