When I think about my children’s future I think of things like my argumentative and incredibly bright daughter being an attorney. Being the strong, confident voice that speaks for those that don’t understand the nuances of the complex legal system. Funny, the title of BRAWLER never entered my mind.
Let me step this up. I am at the middle school to meet with my 13 year olds language arts teacher. He’s struggling with writing; which is a big part of the 7th grade curriculum. The conference starts with, “…don’t think he’s not a good student, he is. I love him. I love his personality!” For every ‘opportunity for improvement’ that was discussed she would slip in a little positive comment about him as a person. She even congratulated us on raising such a fine young man. Perhaps her praise was a bit shortsighted.
While meeting with the 7th grade teacher I get a call. The caller leaves a message. When the conference is over and I check my message I hear this. “…school calling…YOUR DAUGHTER…slight altercation with another female student…my office…time out….be aware…” I have to admit. I started to giggle. My 4th grade daughter-the straight A student, the gifted one was in the Principals office. Altercation? I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around what that meant. She is feisty. She will hold her ground. She’s not afraid to express her displeasure. There was an exorbitant amount of 4th grade girl drama swirling around her particular clique.
Suddenly I had visions of swinging punches and hair pulling. The video in my head immediately envisioned a fight the likes of which appears on COPS: Las Vegas. She didn’t wear spandex to school but in this particular visualization I pictured neon spandex, 2 girls taking out their earrings before commencing to spar. I pictured hair being pulled out in clumps and lots of squealing. My giggles got louder.
The giggles turned to laughter at the absurdity of the situation. I was really standing in the parking lot of a middle school hearing about a fight—involving my daughter—at the ELEMENTARY school. There was not a page in my How-To-Raise-A-Child/Daughter handbook that even began to train me for this particularly horrifying scenario. Don’t they suspend for fighting in the new NO tolerance policy? the thought seeped into my head. For just a moment the world titled on it’s axis. Pro-teacher, pro-rules, pro-school ME was going to be faced with….I couldn’t even re-think the word.
Having a bit of my daughter’s gumption and spitfire I jumped in the car, jerked the car into reverse and did a quick donut in the parking lot. I probably left tire tracks. My SUV zoomed the .2 miles to the elementary school. I slammed the car into park and jumped out as the car was still rocking in shock at the abrupt stop. Backbone straight I marched into the school. I was going to take this like a (wo)MAN. However mortified I was about to become I wouldn’t let them see me sweat. They might see me grovel and cry but by God they wouldn’t see my crumble. I was ready.
I’ll skip straight to the end…I think the VP found my warrior woman, school busting arrival odd. In the end her “best” friend (there is another blog on that particular subject—key word SOFTBALL debacle) grabbed her hood and jerked her backward. Reflexively Kinsley’s elbow shot out and hit the girl in the stomach. Girl cries. No tolerance policy requires administrative participation since hands were laid on one another. End of story.