He blinded me with Silence

We’ll call him Dr. Soufflé. That’s not his name. His name rhymes with soufflé. I believe in protecting the innocent, ignorant and otherwise uninvolved from unnecessary exposure. So we’ll just go ahead and call him Dr. Soufflé.

He’s my son’s 7th grade silence teacher. He doesn’t really teach silence. His field of expertise rhymes with silence.

My son has been failing Dr. soufflé’s silence class all year long.  Ineffective note-taking, inappropriate socializing, inherited propensity toward avoidance of  homework: all factors.  I have earned more than a couple of grey hairs this year trying to coach my kid into becoming a better student.  And when I say, "coach", I mean lecture, cajole, bribe, scream and beg.  All of it to no avail.  Teens are like old dogs refusing new tricks.  Except they're not old and they don't even really know any old tricks.  Okay, bad analogy.  I suppose they're more like horses to water.  You can buy your teenager $25 t-shirts at Hollister; but you can't make him turn-in his book report. 
 
I had begun to think that all hope was lost.  But, just when the skies of academia had turned the darkest shade of 'F'; a corner was turned.  A new angle revealed.  A wrinkle in the space-time-curriculuum.   My son came home with a progress report featuring a 'B-' in silence class.  A B-freakin'-minus!  Where did this come from?  What's going on?  What the french toast!?  How the heck did my kid scrap together a 'B-' in the eleventh hour?
 
So I asked him. 
 
"I took your advice dad", he said through his bangs, "I went and talked to my teacher like you said" 
 
What???  I had been urging him to create a healthy, sincere, working relationship with his silence teacher.  I had pointed out the benefits of putting energy toward the social dynamics of every pursuit in life.  I had used wonderfully colorful analogies and real life examples taken from, no. . .ripped  from the pages of my own personal book of knowledge and experience.  I urged him to be cognizent of the positive outcomes afforded by those who are willing to brown-nose.  I had begged and pleaded.  I had wept.
 
And it tuns out that he had listened.  He actually listened to me.  I would have never guessed.  Why didn't he tell me he had been listening?  He could have just nodded or grunted.  He could have texted me.

YO, dADz, U R rad

Okay, maybe not. But if my son had noticeably responded, at all,  to my coaching; even once. . .I would not have sent the flammatory email to Dr. Soufflé earlier that day.  If my kid would have simply acknowledged that my efforts were not in vain; I would not have accused the good doctor of bullying my child.  Or used the terms "shortsighted" or "obtuse" in describing his style of instruction.  I definitely would have not typed the entire note with the CAPS LOCK ON.  And I am fairly certain that I would have not invited Dr. Soufflé to call me if he "happens to suddenly grow a pair".