The image of my mom clutching the fence outside my elementary school every morning is etched into my memory. My mom escorted my siblings, cousins, and me to school daily but could never accompany us inside - the school enforced a policy barring parents from entering. Initially, she walked us to school. Later, when we could afford a car, we all piled into her old Monte Carlo, parking right in front of the building. She sat outside the fence, alongside other parents, anxiously watching until she saw us safely enter the school grounds.
At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I recognized the stress my mom endured, but I didn’t fully grasp why - I simply assumed she was being overprotective. Looking back, I understand better. My school’s treatment of my low-income Mexican immigrant mother and parents like her conveyed a lack of trust, respect, and appreciation for parents as partners in their children’s education and development. Their actions suggested that parents were a problem to be managed and not welcomed as partners.
Moreover, I never felt genuinely welcomed at school. It never felt like home. My teachers didn’t know me - they were strangers to my family, history, and home. Five days a week, I spent eight hours in a classroom with teachers unfamiliar with my background.
“Their actions suggested that parents were a problem to be managed and not welcomed as partners.”
I grew up in an immigrant, working-class Mexican family in South Central Los Angeles. Both my parents had limited English proficiency. My dad worked in construction while my mom cared for me and my two siblings. We lived in a small house with my aunt and her five children. None of my teachers knew.
Today, the public education system remains essentially unchanged. Parents and guardians are often still not treated as equal partners in their children’s education, and schools typically engage with parents only on their terms and to a limited extent. The metaphorical fence separating families and teachers still exists.
