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My dad once took my sister and me in to his school for a day when were six or seven years old.This was probably frowned upon by the administration, but we two kids were on holiday and there was no one else to take care of us, so we sat in on his classes for a day—or rather, sat underwe observed as we peeked out at the roomful of teenagers. The older girls (who, looking back, were probably only 15 or 16) coaxed us out from under the desk and started braiding our hair.Our moms and dads are constantly discussing their children in the staff room, sharing our bad grades and friendship troubles.Teachers who have children at their school also nurse a not-so-secret dream that we will all date each other, thereby ensuring the production of pure-bred teacher-children for generations to come.I heard it all: the bratty kids, the outrageous parents, and the corrupt administrators; the staff parties, the field trip disasters, and the behind-the-scenes politics.Teachers’ kids end up knowing We also have access to particularly exhaustive information about other teachers’ kids.
If the school building becomes like a home to teachers’ children, the school staff become like family.
My sister and I throw around education-jargon like old pros.
My parents both care much about their students—putting in extra hours giving catch-up help to those who need it, spending lunchtimes meeting with parents, and always being there to fight for students’ best interests in front of an often indifferent administration.
My mom tears up when she recounts her kids’ successes, even though most of these breakthroughs would seem insignificant to an outsider.
Students of great teachers are often students for life: there are always students stopping by my dad’s classroom years after graduating, or sending cards or Facebook messages with news and life updates.
But teachers’ kids put in a lot of extra time on top of that.