Jessica Howard5 said:I’ve noticed something else, and I know it’s true because I have three kids and all three of them bring it up. I remember seeing it during my own school years, too. There are teachers out there who just don't play fair when it comes to grading. You've got some instructors who are incredibly strict and rigid with certain students, yet they have a handful of little favorites they constantly let slide—acting like nobody notices. What’s the reality from your side? Parents, what have you seen? And teachers, be honest: do you actually have those "golden children" you're willing to forgive everything for, while punishing someone else for the exact same mistake?
I honestly can't fathom why you feel like I'm taking a swipe at you when I haven't even acknowledged your post once, yet here you are, relentlessly demanding a response. Since you seem so desperate for some kind of closure, fine—here is your direct answer.
I’ve already mentioned that I am a mother to two daughters—one of whom is now twenty and has already navigated the entire gauntlet of elementary and high school—so I certainly have some skin in the game when it comes to parenting experience. Throughout her education, she encountered a spectrum of teachers, ranging from the truly inspiring to the downright problematic. There were moments when I found their teaching methods or their general demeanor toward students to be questionable, though those instances were usually the exception rather than the rule. For the most part, I didn't make a scene over the small stuff; I figured letting her navigate those minor frictions was just part of preparing her for the real world. That said, if things crossed a certain line, I wasn't afraid to show up at the school and speak my mind about what was unacceptable. For instance, I once had to confront a specific teacher in the upper grades because she kept making jokes at the expense of my daughter’s speech patterns. It was clearly taking a toll on her self-esteem, so I made it very clear: if it happened again, I wouldn't be coming back to talk to her—I would be escalating the matter to the school board or the district administration instead. After that conversation, the behavior stopped immediately. There were other times, too. I have stepped in to protect my child whenever I witnessed cruelty or blatant neglect, and I certainly wasn't winning any "Parent of the Year" awards during those confrontations. But I always maintained a boundary: I intervened when it came to how my child was being treated as a human being, yet I never once meddled in the actual academic instruction. Most educators do their jobs well enough, and I never saw any reason to go in there complaining that a teacher didn't particularly "like" my child. That isn't their job, after all, is it?
If things had become truly unbearable—if this misery had dragged on indefinitely—I think I would have known exactly how to act. There are systems in place for a reason, after all, and I certainly wouldn't have just sat idly by, leaving her at the mercy of some fool who might strip away her sense of self, shatter her confidence, or otherwise derail her path toward a healthy, normal life. Why would anyone leave such a delicate process to chance?
In my school, there are certain teachers who simply don’t carry themselves with the dignity their profession demands, though they are certainly in the minority. It isn't that they are doing anything illegal; they follow the lesson plans, they check the boxes, and many of the students in their classrooms walk away with excellent grades. But they lack that spark—that deep-seated commitment where you feel they actually live and breathe their calling. Is it any wonder I feel a sense of pity for the kids who miss out on the transformative experience provided by those truly exceptional educators? If we really wanted to fix this, the change would have to start at the university level during the admissions process. Imagine if part of the entrance exam included a rigorous psychological evaluation and a true test of motivation specifically designed for prospective teachers. By the time a teacher is actually being hired, the opportunity has already passed us by; under current labor laws, schools aren't even permitted to run those kinds of personality tests on candidates. Instead, we’re often left buying a pig in a poke, relying on an initial assessment that tells us very little about what lies beneath the surface.
The constant state of being overwhelmed, coupled with that pervasive sense of being undervalued, doesn't exactly foster an environment where teachers can thrive, does it? And let’s not even get started on the lack of any meaningful monthly incentives for those who consistently go above and beyond their basic job descriptions. How can anyone be expected to maintain excellence when the system offers nothing but more work and zero recognition?
When it comes to the affection we feel toward our students, I suppose I have to admit that we teachers are only human. We aren’t machines; some kids just strike a chord with us, while others simply don't. There are those students I truly love—the ones I genuinely mourn when they graduate middle school and move on to high school, the ones whose faces I always look forward to seeing in my classroom. Then, there are the difficult ones, the exhausting ones who haunt my thoughts at night because I feel this crushing weight of being unable to help them become better people. They are the ones who look me in the eye and tell me, quite bluntly, that the values I'm trying to instill in them are nothing more than nonsense. Yet, in a way that is perhaps difficult to swallow, both groups receive the same level of attention. They get the same quality of instruction and the same fair assessments. In fact, if I am being completely honest—something I hate to admit—those who haven't won my heart often end up with slightly higher grades. Why? Because I know I cannot penalize them simply because they were unlucky enough to be raised by parents who instilled in them nothing but arrogance, selfishness, or that hollow, unearned sense of self-importance. Is it fair to hold a child accountable for the flaws of their upbringing? I don't think so.
She will never catch that certain spark in her eyes, no matter how hard she tries, because my "troublemakers"—the ones who walk away with more reprimands and lower grades than their peers—always seem to sense, whether I intend them to or not, that everything I do comes from a place of genuine care.
Yet, I pour just as much effort into every single child, particularly when one finds themselves in any kind of trouble. At the end of the day, a child is just a child.
I find myself most fiercely protective of those who are the smallest, the weakest, the most marginalized, the most impoverished, or those with the greatest challenges and the most helpless parents. I make no apologies for that.
A parent views their child through a specific lens—the very lens through which they’ve instilled their own values. If a child learns at home that it's perfectly fine to call someone a "stupid New Yorker" or use some other slur against a certain group, and then receives a verbal warning for it at school, that parent will inevitably interpret the situation as "the teacher doesn't like my kid." On the other hand, another parent might be absolutely revolted by their child's behavior and will actually work to correct that attitude.
If a father constantly interrupts his mother, or if a son interrupts a teacher for the twentieth time only to be told it won't be tolerated, that father might question why the teacher is being so harsh with his boy. But if that father is someone who truly respects others, once the reprimand is given, he will go home and actually practice active listening with his son, working on patience and basic manners.