One of my most memorable parent teacher interviews happened when I was teaching grade four. This beautiful family, who had immigrated from Korea, had a lovely and hilarious son that they entrusted to me daily. The parents were two of the friendliest people I had ever met and their deep care for their child was evident.
During the meeting, I spoke highly of their child. I shared stories about his days in class and showed them samples of his work. They were so pleased with his progress and the friends he was making at school. At the end of the interview, I asked them how they thought he was feeling about the school year and if there was anything I could do to help support him better. To my surprise, mom said, “Can you please encourage him to speak and read Korean at home?”
My first response was, “Of course!” Silently, I wondered whether he had said something to his family about the reason he didn’t want to speak Korean. Was someone picking on him in class? Was he feeling self-conscious? Mom followed up with, “He doesn’t think it will be useful here.”
I realized something important at that moment. Somehow, in my rush to teach curriculum expectations, I forgot to reflect on what the children were learning from me. Yes, expectations were important, but who they are at this moment is important too; they shouldn’t have to change to feel successful in school. I wondered what messages I was giving to students about what was ‘useful’ to learn, to know, to be.
What is the right answer to this realization? I could think of nothing that had prepared me in my years of teaching and learning. I was keenly aware of centering out one of the racialized students by starting a discussion in class about first languages and second languages out of the blue. Without knowing where to start, I just began sharing more about myself with my class. I talked about what made me proud of myself during our opening and closing to the day together. I started to share a little about my own heritage and culture; I shared different words and foods and little expressions that made me Pinay.
I noticed a few of the students began to share about themselves as well; their favourite foods and the names of their grandparents – some of which were not in English. We talked together a little bit each day. My sharing became an invitation for them to share, too. I learned a lot about them as people and I hoped they learned the classroom was a place where all parts of them were important and every one of us was worth learning a little more about.
To this day, I’m not sure if there is a guidebook for creating those conditions in the classroom. Perhaps a step by step instruction manual is something that is out there and tested and one of you can share the name of it. What I can say is that there was no replacement for time spent together. The time it took for me to build those relationships, I hope, built something bigger for those children. And it was time that I spent understanding something pretty important, too: there’s a message we give students each day they enter our schools. I hope that it’s a positive one.
In late 2025, I ran into that same family in the community. Their son has now grown taller than me, has developed a wonderful singing voice, and is still hilarious and kind. I didn’t ask whether he is reading any Korean books at home, but I heard him speaking Korean that day to his mother. I hope he always will.
