I start school a week before most because I always go to help my mom set up her room, sort copies, cut out activities, and anything else she needs that given year. We stay all day, do the mundane things required to get a room ready for school, and I often have to remind myself that everyone isn’t back yet, and is probably not even awake at 7 in the morning. All four of my parents are teachers in Humble ISD. Three of them teach high school.
My mom and step-dad both teach high school upper-level math. I’ll come downstairs for dinner and find my mom and Nico by the kitchen black board — usually used for grocery lists, plans for dinner, etc. – with a graph drawn and talking hypotheticals about different functions. The graph might stay on the board for months. I’ve also walked down to my living room for my mom to have a surprise presentation on quadratics that she presents to me as a test run for her students, including a mini pop quiz.
Oftentimes during dinner, Nico or my mom will bring up a question asked during class or a problem they ran across in new worksheets. Each time it turns into long debates about the best way to solve it. When my little brother and I were younger, we’d look at each other and shrug because neither of us knew what they were saying. The further I got into high school, I started to understand the vocab and processes and started debating with them.
Nico has this shirt with a math joke about square rooting negative numbers. For years, I would ask what it meant, which he always responded with “you’ll know eventually.” The day I learned about imaginary numbers, I was so excited because I got the joke. I would never have thought knowing new math would make my day, but it did. I remember when I got home that day rushing up to Nico to tell him how I got the joke, and we both laughed.
My dad teaches senior OnRamps English at Atascocita High School. He and I talk about books, and sometimes I ask him questions about some feedback I’ve gotten at UIL writing events. He always has long responses that teach me things I’d never even heard of and I implement them into my writing with a thank you to my dad. The texts he sends about English and writing are always longer than the screen, but I love them.
People ask if it’s weird having my mom at my school, and the short answer is no. I’ve been going with my mom to Kingwood Park since I was 3. It’s always just how it’s been. What is weird is when I remember that there are teachers, especially in the math and science halls, that have known me pretty much my whole life. Having them as my teachers has been weirder than being in my mom’s class this year. As a college Algebra student, I see another side to my mom. I know where most of her stories are going, and it’s always funny when people come up to me and ask if I really did whatever my mom said I did in whatever story she shared that day in class. The answer is always yes.
People come up to me and go “I have your mom as a teacher, she’s great.” I always just nod and say, “Yep, you should tell her that.” Those conversations are always strange despite how often they happen. Last year, people I barely knew would start conversations with me like that. To this day, I don’t know what they thought I’d say in response, as they always looked surprised with my answer.
I worked at a journalism camp this past summer, and when I was talking about some of the kids, my step-mom stopped me and asked the kid’s name. It turned out she taught one of the kids a few years back. The surprising overlap led to a fun conversation.
The different experiences I have with all my parents can be surprising to this day. From math and English discussions to hearing about what some crazy second grader did, I’m always thankful for growing up with teachers as parents. While the math help can be great, I’m mainly grateful for the perspective it gives me.
