I taught for eight years without being a parent. My first child was born mid-way through my master’s degree and quickly eclipsed post-graduate studies as the single most important professional development moment in my life. The leap into parenthood marks an initiation into an all-inclusive club which never seems to meet on time, has no by-laws and whose officers are appointed by default rather than democratic means. Just as every new teacher on his first day wished and prayed a “playbook” would suddenly materialize with all the right answers, the feeling of leaving the hospital, new family in-tow, had that same unsettling feeling. Only in this case, the class was going to be at least twenty-years long with no recess and no principal to intervene in discipline matters. I was not worried however. Over the years I had acquired a definitive smug objectiveness about being a parent, which I had acquired from eight years of observing other parents work through the challenges of raising children in our world. Up until that morning when I saw my wife and forty-eight hour old daughter wheeled out into the cold March air, I wore my “informed and objective parent persona” like a cozy winter coat. The realization that I hadn’t gotten the car warmed up or the seat secured was neatly capped by the fact that I was going to have to be responsible for transporting this new and wonderful life safely down three major highways and instantly robbed me of eight years of uninformed parental high ground. Everyday since, my snug coat of esteemed fatherhood loses a thread here and a button there. Compounded by the birth of my son last year, there’s really nothing left of it but some tattered patches, a pocket full of lint and some musty pennies. Yet each day it becomes more and more valuable to me. I’ve long since written off trying to understand it all and have just chalked it up to the paradox that the more I learn about being a parent, the less I think I truly know.

We wear a great number of coats nowadays both professional and personal. As professionals, our objectivity is our greatest resource. The productivity of coworkers, clientele and ourselves depends on our ability to make informed, professional and fair decisions. However, objective and nurturing should never be considered mutually-exclusive terms. This is very evident in the people I’ve had the pleasure of working with since arriving here at Walden School. One trip down our hall revels the fine balance between the healthy push to self-discover and the hand-held guidance required for breaking new ground. By it’s very nature, teaching, particularly in lower school, requires that the bold line between objective nurturing and subjective judging never blurs. No one is more sensitive to fairness and earned praise than a child, and Walden School teachers are highly aware of this fact. Muddying the waters however is that fact that our work here is children, and with all their triumphs, success and smiles comes the uncertainty, fears and tears. The world is a big place when you’ve got only six years under your belt. As mothers, sisters, daughters and, yes, grandmothers, our teachers know when a hug and smile is just the right medicine.

As parents, however, objectivity and subjectivity seem more like tools than rules. When I see my students, I see young lives at a very exciting stage of development. Each is as unique as a fingerprint. We can look at our students on the playground and make informed decisions on their social adjustment and see their writing and know their strengths and challenges. My children are different. When I see my son play, I see myself and my loves and fears. In his smile, I see his mother and his sister. When I make a dumb joke to my daughter, I sometimes hear the passive snort of my grandmother who died ten years before Shannon was born. One cannot be truly objective when the spirits of our pasts wink at us through our offspring. I wouldn’t have it any other way. The inability to be objective with our children isn’t a weakness but rather the very bond that links us as a family. It is a personal gift that should be treasured and never taken for granted.

Therein lies the paradox. As my father still reminds me, “My job is not to make you happy.” Now, as a father myself, I understand that I wasn’t the only person who was being reminded by this. When a parent and teacher meet to discuss a student, they sometimes meet on opposite sides of this paradox. Our love for our students is expressed in our objectivity. As parents, when we see a teacher work with our children and not project her own sentiment into them, it may seem cold and unfair. When this is understood on both sides, communication is effective and productive. Initiated poorly, however, and both teacher and parent leave with the perception that neither truly understand the child. To a major extent this is true. We do not know our students with the same intimacy we know our own children. Nor would we want to. On the other hand, as I type this, my daughter is living in a preschool world about which I know very little. And sometimes it frustrates me that there is teacher whom I’ve only met a handful of times who knows things about my daughter I don’t. If she and I ever disagree about what is best for my daughter, it will be very hard for me not to feel some resentment based on this. My head knows to be objective. My heart will have to abstain. A student will always lose when a teacher and parent are unable to reach an objective consensus.

Luckily Walden School has been built on a foundation that recognizes our unique perspectives. The words, “In partnership with families…” are more than just a catchy way to launch a mission statement. In the few weeks I’ve been here I’ve seen more parent involvement than I expected to see all year. Our kindergarteners are growing up world so fundamentally different from ours that we adults have yet to get a grip on it. Walden School understands this opens its doors to the whole family. It has been refreshing for me to see parents and teachers who value this relationship and work so hard to maintain it. As both a parent and teacher, I am honored to have been asked to be a part of it all.

Brian Archibald