The Education of a Parent Never Ends

There are two ways to deal with an educator. Surrender or deceit.

In my own school days, I opted for surrender. As a result, I got mediocre grades, had lousy teachers and never told a lie.

It was a well-known fact in my high school that the way to get an A from a certain English teacher was to stand on the window ledge and threaten suicide. Never mind that dozens of kids did this every year. Never mind that the classroom was on the first floor. It worked every time. While suckers like me spent hours on “Julius Caesar: Man or Mouse?”other kids climbed the ledge and got A’s.

I was reminded of this when a mother I know told me she persuaded her son’s principal to put him in a better class by threatening suicide.

Like millions of other parents, I face a dilemma. Do I sit idly by and let my children get bad teachers while other parents threaten suicide so their kids can get into Harvard?

I have tried honest talk with school principals, and it just doesn’t work. They are protected by entire squadrons of jargon.

“You see, Dr. Nitwit, if my child doesn’t learn to read this year,” the earnest parent says, “I’m afraid she’ll go through life with a disadvantage.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stupid Middle-Class Selfish Pig,” Dr. Nitwit says, “but I have an entire program to consider. I have children from dysfunctional homes. I have curriculum to develop. I have staff with skill deficiencies. And, of course, I have my own career enrichment priorities.”

Look, I absolutely don’t believe in lying. But with your children, you get a chance to relive your life. Do I want to relive it as an underachiever?

When it comes to your kids, you are just a lioness in the jungle defending your cubs. You will do all sorts of unimaginable things in the name of protecting your young.

Once, I threatened a perfectly innocent camp director who refused to admit my daughter to Camp Happy Rainbow. I have never abused the power of the press except this one time. I grabbed him by his whistle and said, “Look, bub. You leave me no choice but satire. How would you like to see the headline ‘Neal the Inept Camp Director’ sprawled across the morning paper?”

When I felt my child was facing a make-or-break year, I pleaded with the principal. I wept. I bared my soul. I tried everything I could short of dishonesty or suicide.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kahn,” she said. “But I have to study my charts. I have to be sure we maintain the gender and ethnic balance. I have political considerations.”

“OK, Vicki,” I shouted at her, dropping the Dr. Nitwit routine. “I’m going to tell you something few people know about my family.”

I had her attention. I had to come up with something.

“Vicki, many, many years ago, a Cherokee Indian visited my grandmother’s shtetl in Poland. As a result of that visit, my child is kind of an ethnic group unto herself.”

Then I smiled that cute little smile that I felt said, “Ya can’t blame a mom for trying.”

But all Dr. Vicki Nitwit-Savant said was, “Is that true?”

“Vicki,” I said, “would I lie to you?”

Already my mind was racing ahead to Plan B: What to do when Plan A fails. “Vicki, I’m going to tell you something no one knows--not even my husband. You remember when Sammy Davis played the Coliseum nine years ago--exactly nine months before my daughter was born? As a result of that one-night stand, I think we can help you balance the third grade. . . . “

And then I was on to Plan C. The floodgates were open. It wasn’t lying. It was creative parenting. “You know, Vicki, I’m from Chicago. We had ways of solving problems there--ways that were mutually satisfying for all parties. Now, what is this cockamamie school district paying a woman of your talents, your abilities, your SAT scores? Would, say, a C-note help you achieve your full potential?”

So, if you are a parent trying to lie, cheat, bribe and threaten your child’s way into a classroom, I’m here to say: It is wrong. W-R-O-N-G. But I understand.

As Rambo said, “This time we win.”