The “French” teacher

The letter sent to school with my daughter:

It’s my understanding comments were made in class yesterday regarding France and the French people which were construed as derogatory.  The comments may have been made jokingly, but the message was not received positively.

Mr. (husand’s name) and I are both very concerned about this matter.  Editorial comments based on races, ethnic groups or countries of origin are avoided in this household; we try to promote diversity here. 

In this particular situation, (daughter’s name) felt special concern because she is of a highly diverse ethnic background – the majority of which is French.  She’s keenly sensitive to the fact that other people around her also have diverse cultural backgrounds which must be respected.

We ask that comments of this nature are avoided in the future.

Thank you very much,

The reply I received in response to my letter to school:

I spoke with (daughter’s name) and apologized if her feelings were hurt.  I know that she is a sensitive girl and would never intentionally hurt her feelings.  I also spoke to the class to clarify my meaning in this matter.

I, too, try to promote diversity in my classroom.  Please accept my apology.

My daughter told me they had a conversation about the war and ethnicity the day I sent the letter to class.  I’m not entirely certain, based on the feedback from my daughter, that everything is square.  There is an additional factor that gives me pause as to how far to take this; the teacher will be going on maternity leave in a month, changing the entire dynamic of the class room.  Is it worth pursuing this any further at this point?  I have a call into the school district supervisor, to ask what the district’s policy is about diversity and discussion about the war.

We’d guessed that one of her classmates was of MidEastern heritage.  It was confirmed during the class discussion that he’s Pakistani.  I can only wonder what his family must have been dealing with since 9/11. 

7:34:30 PM    comment []

Nightmare

In the wee morning hours, my son crawled into bed with me.  This isn't an unusual event; he’s always been a temperamental sleeper.  If a bad dream rouses him, he’ll be in my bed in a heartbeat.  I don’t mind this while he’s still small.  He’ll grow out of it soon.  It’s better than being shocked awake by a child screaming about a nightmare from their bedroom.

I'm so used to it that at times I don’t even fully rouse when he crawls in; I’ll wake up the next morning and he’ll be there, snoring away on my pillow, sandwiching me between him and his father.  I know I must have helped him into bed, but in some sleep state I automatically pull him into the bed, cover him and move to the center of the bed.  Unruffled sleep.

Last night I did rouse, just a little, as he oozed his way into bed.  I heard his breathing slow and resume its sleep rhythm; I could feel my own breathing mimicking his.  I lay there, listening.

A sharp burst, then a rumble, off in the distance.  I could hear another one following, burst and rumble.

Bombs, I thought, in that groggy-almost-sleeping state.  They’re dropping more bombs.

It must have woken my son, hearing the bombs dropping.

My mind snapped awake – omigod, BOMBS!

A low rumbling, another burst, rumble.

A softer noise, lulling.

Rain on the roof, shushing my thoughts.  Oh… 

It’s only lightning and thunder I hear in the distance.

I lay awake for a while longer, wishing that other mothers far away were only hearing lightning and thunder, wishing that they could roll over and go back to sleep to sound of their child’s peaceful breathing.

9:03:33 AM    comment []