Parents who bully teachers...NOT OK

Bullying. As a teacher, I can’t tell you how many presentations I have listened to about bullying. What we should do if we hear/see something, what to do if a kid comes to you because someone is bullying him/her. Obviously it is a concern for parents, and truly it is a concern for kids. Bullying does happen in school. I wish it didn’t, but it is there.

The recent stories on the news about teachers bullying their students, especially the one about the boy with Autism who lived in New Jersey and his dad secretly tape recorded the teacher bullying his son—made me think.  What about when parents bully teachers?

I am not saying it was ok for this teacher to call the little boy names by any means, but couldn’t the father have taken a different approach? Couldn’t he have met with the administration, first? Couldn’t he have expressed his concerns to a higher up, which then would have monitored the situation more closely? Granted, maybe he was concerned that the bullying would get worse if he alerted the higher ups? Maybe he had, but nothing had been done? I don’t know for sure.

Let me make this very clear. It is not ok for teachers to bully their students. It is also not ok for parents to bully their child’s teachers.  

I have been very fortunate. In six years of teaching, I have not had many parents on my case. (Knock on wood.) I had one mother who emailed me (and her son’s other teachers) 2-3 times a day for a few weeks, but our administrator put a stop to that.

This thought popped into my mind because just this week, one of my friends resigned from an awesome school with a fantastic STEM program because she just was sick and tired of being harassed by the parents. It was a group of about five parents, but they were relentless. They would harass her when she went to the grocery store, they would put her down to every person they could give an earful to. I know this teacher loves her students, she does her job, and she does it well, but apparently these parents just decided that it wasn’t good enough.

My mom is retiring this June after teaching for 30 years. I know of many times when I have talked to her on the phone and she has told me about her day, and truly, she has been bullied in one form or another. Granted, the parents she deals with on a daily basis are very different than the parents that I have in my district. The parents she has fight her tooth and nail over grades, and dress code (which my mom is kind of "old school" and she follows the school handbook to a T.)  She had a meeting this year where she was afraid the parent was going to come across the table and choke her—the parent had made threats to her--and this was a parent that just got out of prison.  I think she had a right to be concerned. I also think that if you were to ask my mom about the hardest part of her job, it wasn't planning lessons for 180+ kids, but it was dealing with the parents.

So yes, parents do bully teachers. I believe it happens more than it is reported. But I also think that teachers see this as part of the job and don’t recognize these harassing parents as what they are, bullies.  

I don’t know what kinds of laws are out there to protect teachers from parents who are bullies. But, I just hate to hear about good teachers leaving the profession/moving to another school because the parents are so difficult.

Operation: Save the bunnies

As my hubby and I got home from work today, he let the dog out and said to me, “I think there is a dead frog in the yard. Chauncey seemed very interested in this spot in the yard.”

Once we got the dog safely into the house, Campbell went out to investigate. He came back in and reported to me. “Well, it is definitely something furry.”

The little fur covered den in our backyard.

I started to pray….please don’t let it be mice—or rats for that matter.  We live across from a farm, so mice/rats are a distinct possibility.

We went outside and hubby has the tip of the sprinkler in his hand. Whatever the creature is, they dug a burrow of some sort and then it was covered up with fur. So, he lifts up the bit of fur and we both peer in. I see ears and a lot of pink. I didn’t see a long tail, so I figure it is a rabbit. There are probably 3 or 4 of them in their little den.

Truly, we have had several rabbit sightings in the backyard. Luckily, our Labrador Retriever is not a seasoned hunter. He would much rather play with the rabbits than try to eat them. Sadly, for Chauncey the rabbits have a distinct advantage over him, they are fast and they can fit under the fence.

Upon doing some research, we hope they are not feral rabbits.  Apparently, feral rabbits are quite destructive and eat anything in their sight. Cottontails however are much less destructive and have fewer babies during the year.

A few hours later, I went back outside and noticed that there are many ants now in the area near the rabbit den/hole. I can just imagine those ants swarming the baby bunnies…so, hubby goes out in the backyard with the Orkin and tries to spray the anthill.  

Campbell out in the yard spraying Orkin.

If the baby bunnies can make it through the Orkin and whatever comes their way in the next 7-10 days, we should be in the clear.

In the meantime, Chauncey has now lost all privileges of going out in the back yard.

We just can’t take any chances.  

Good luck little rabbits.

For all dog lovers...especially lab lovers

Sidenote: I love dogs. I especially love Labrador Retrievers. My husband and I are the proud owners of a black lab named, Chauncey. I swear Chauncey is part human. He totally gets me and at the same time drives me nuts. He is my personal trainer, he makes sure we have a schedule at this house, he talks and proudly voices his displeasure--but, he gives the best kisses after a hard day and is great company when my hubby has to work late. Truly, I don't mind rearranging my life around for my dog.

I found this story on one of my cousin's Facebook pages and I had to share it along.


They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys (almost all of which were brand new tennis balls), his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.

I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”

To Whoever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different. So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.

Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones-”sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.” He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the back seat and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people and me most especially.

And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you...His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this ... well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.

I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with ... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter ... in the “event” ... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.

Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.

If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US, I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight-every night-from me.

Thank you, Paul Mallory

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory. Everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly. The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. “C’mere boy.”

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered. His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.

“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.” So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again. “Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”

Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

I just loved this story and I bawled like a baby. I wondered, did this really happen? If it didn't I am wasting a lot of tears for nothing. So, I "google" Reggie Black Lab Tank Story. Just my luck. Snopes pops up with an answer.

http://www.snopes.com/glurge/reggie.asp

Man, am I glad this is not a true story. BUT, it does make you think. I sure am thankful for my Labrador Retriever--even if he is sitting by his bowl with a sad, hungry look on his face and whining.

Don't worry, I gave in. He is now fed, but will surely want to eat AGAIN in another 20 minutes.