My Kid is “That Kid,” and I’m OK with It!

Everyone knows “that kid,” or has had some sort of encounter in the general public with them. This is the child that throws a tantrum over the smallest thing or is a master of manipulation. My kid is the latter. He’s the king, or I should say prince of manipulation.

This sweet child of mine has been “that kid” since he was yanked out of my baby sized incision. He’s the only one of my children that came out being nosey. Most babies are born with their eyes squeezed shut, screaming at the top of their tiny lungs. My youngest came out, eyes wide open looking around the room and didn’t make a sound until the doctor gave him a few swift pats to the behind.

Before my youngest started school, no one knew he was “that kid.” It was kind of a family secret. He was always well behaved in public and could professionally flirt with grown women by the age of six months. If only I could have recorded his reaction to pretty women when he was an infant. I should have known that sweet batting of the eye lashes would mean trouble in the future.

Kindergarten rolled around before we knew it, and I quickly learned that my child was “that kid” outside of the home when we weren’t around. I had a total of six parent-teacher conferences before the first quarter was over. The question was always the same. “Is he this much trouble for you at home?” You would think he was swinging from the rafters, but he wasn’t.

My handsome brown eyed boy was and is a refuser of work. I’m always complimented on his manners and respect, but he politely and respectfully declines to do anything. He will give the most experienced teacher a frustratingly long run for their money until they figure him out. I was told once that, “I’ve been teaching 25 years and I have never had a child like yours!” I would have been insulted, but she seemed so genuinely frazzled, that I felt slightly bad for the smirk I allowed to slip onto my face.

Yes, my kid is “that kid” and I’m Ok with it. I have learned to apologize before the first conference is called. There will be a conference. There’s always a conference. The reason I’m OK with my child exhausting his teachers, is not because I’m some crazy mommy monster.

I’m OK with my kid being “that kid,” because he’s smart. To convince college educated teachers that he can’t read, or doesn’t know how to do simple addition is amazing to me. Yes, I should be mortified, and crawl under a rock, but I won’t. My son, had his first grade teacher completely convinced that he could not read, at all. She met with me several times and thought I was the world’s worst mother when I told her, to tell him to stop it. Did I mention he can cry on cue?

This crying bit is what got him out of doing work. He works up these large, almost cartoon like tears. His little face turns red, and looks sadly pitiful. It’s all an act. He’s quite good, and I’m sure one day he just might win an Oscar for his performance. Right now, I’ll be happy for him to get to third grade.

This year, we have already had two conferences. It’s always the same story, with the same question at the end. To all of the teachers that get him in your class, I’m sorry. He really is a bright kid. He’s bored. Manipulating you is a game to him. He will always be “that kid,” and I’ve come to accept it. So, take this as my entire school career apology for him. All the best, “that kid’s mom!”