I arrive at the elementary school ten minutes after seven—I don’t want to seem too eager, so I drive around the neighborhood until I start to worry someone might see my car pass their home a time too many and call the cops. Then I pull into the school’s parking lot and cut the engine. There aren’t many other cars besides mine. This late in the school year, most parents have probably already attended a few of these conference nights. The only ones who bother to show up tonight will be those with problem children or those with kids new to the school, like me.
A teacher greets me at the door and, after checking my son’s name off her list, points me down the hall towards his classroom. As I approach, I keep close to the opposite wall, an eye on the door, hoping it isn’t shut, hoping Greg Bouc
