I survived. Fifty-four conferences over about nine hours or so, and the form the district wanted me to submit once they were all done had the unmitigated fucking gall to also ask how many phone conferences and email conferences I’d held during that time, a number that added up to a big fat zero, because are you kidding?

I got home and pretty much crashed yesterday. More conscious today. Some highlights of the conferences:

• At one point on the second day I had twelve conferences in a row with Spanish-speaking families, relying on my own grasp of Spanish, their kids as translators, and Google Translate to get my words across. This was an unexpected consequence of changing districts; I’ve always had Hispanic students but I’ve never had even close to this many bilingual conferences before. Even when I sat in on PTCs at the school I student taught at in Chicago, which was nearly 100% Hispanic, there weren’t this many parents who didn’t speak English.
• One of them, it turns out, was definitely only pretending to not speak English, and you’d best believe I’m having a follow-up conversation about that one.
• When the white grandmother who came in and broke the streak of twelve started the conversation by asking, in English, how I was doing and how my day was going, it legitimately startled me, and I was about a half-second away from the words ¿Prefieres inglés o español? coming out of my mouth.
• One kid’s dad was genuinely and truly the largest human being I’ve ever seen in my entire life. He could have been a stunt double for Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson, who played The Mountain in Game of Thrones. That big. I’m rarely intimidated by school parents, but Jesus. The funny thing is his kid is short for his age and even a little pudgy.
• One family of a student not in my classes came in because their kid is a member of my LGBTQ club and they wanted to make sure it wasn’t some sort of Satanic recruiting ring. There’s probably a whole post that could come out of that conversation but they walked out smiling and the kid can stay in the club, so … yay me? Sure.
• One dad came in in what I’m pretty sure was deliberately chosen full redneck regalia, from a t-shirt branded with the name of a local factory to a flannel overshirt and an actual trucker hat. It became pretty clear pretty quickly that the guy enjoys being underestimated, as I started praising his daughter for her choices in reading material (she’d had a copy of Albert Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays with her in class that day) which led him to blink at her a couple of times and then ask “Wait, was that my copy?”, at which she responded that she was also wearing his pajama pants and his shirt, so she might as well steal his books. I like you, Dad.
• I have now met the mom who decided it was okay to name her son “Nazi” backwards, and while I’m still keeping a close fuckin’ eye on that family I’m going to go with it’s either some sort of family name or a terrible coincidence.

There’s probably a few more that were notable, but I’d have to look at my list and think about it. Now I’m off until Tuesday, and I intend to spend those days working hard at doing nothing.