What if parents aren’t difficult, but just feel left out?
As a teacher, I dreaded calling parents.
I wasn’t alone. Many teachers I worked with felt the same. And I still hear it today, from teachers and school leaders alike. There’s this growing sense that parents are getting harder to deal with. There are more questions. More pushback. More emotion.
At first glance, it feels like they’ve switched sides: away from school and toward their child.
It makes me think of my grandfather. When my dad was a boy and came home saying the teacher had slapped him, his father didn’t get upset at the school. He gave my dad another slap and said, “Don’t you ever talk back to a teacher again.”
It looked like he was on “Team Teacher.”
But really, he was on Team Future. The team that said, “You’re getting a shot I never had. Use it well.” For him, supporting school wasn’t about obedience. It was about a better life.
That’s still where most parents are today: on Team Future. But they no longer automatically assume the teacher is captain of that team. They want a seat at the table. They want to co-lead. And honestly? They should. And we need to listen.
This shift makes many educators uncomfortable, because it disrupts the old script we’re used to.
In that script, schools lead and parents follow.
👉We inform. They should comply.
👉We decide. They should support.
👉We know best. They should trust us.
But this model doesn’t make parents feel like insiders. It makes them feel like outsiders who are expected to nod along without being invited in. And when parents feel excluded, they don’t stay neutral. They step in to protect their child, even if that means pushing against us.
It’s a natural response. Especially if they feel caught off guard or unheard. That’s the moment when phone calls turn tense. Emails get sharp. Conversations shut down. And both sides walk away thinking, “They just don’t understand.”
I didn’t fully grasp this dynamic until I joined Agora in 2015.
In my early years as a teacher, I only called parents when something had happened.
That meant the call itself already carried tension. I had information. They didn’t. I was concerned. They were blindsided. And their instinct, understandably, was to defend their child.
It felt like we were on different teams.
At Agora, things changed — not because the parents were different, but because the way we approached them was. We started treating parents like true partners. Not as recipients of information, but as co-observers, co-guides, co-pilots.
When I welcomed new families, I’d say:
“You are home Mom and Dad. We are school Mom and Dad. Equally worried when they’re late. Slightly different responsibilities.”
And then I tell them about evenings when my wife says, “We need to talk.”
I know what that means. She’s noticed something, a shift in our daughter’s behavior, an instinct, a strange vibe. We wait until our daughter’s asleep, then talk it through.
Not to fix anything, but to make sense of what we were both noticing. And when our daughter grew older, we started inviting her into those conversations too.
That’s what true partnership looks like. And that’s what I had been missing in my early years as a teacher.
Most schools only engage parents reactively: when a problem already happened. But by then, it’s too late to build trust. You’re no longer one team with the same goal. You’re no longer inviting them in; you’re delivering a verdict.
At Agora, we decided to break that pattern.
We encouraged brief, informal check-ins, not just when things went wrong, but whenever something changed.
“I’ve noticed she seems quieter. Are you seeing that at home too?”
Or: “He’s been on fire this week, just wanted to share that.”
We shifted the focus from more communication to better communication. Less scheduled. More spontaneous. Less formal. More human. Sometimes, a single text message a week can do the job.
We even stopped doing traditional parent meetings three times a year. Instead, we invited parents to reach out whenever they felt the need, when they had a gut feeling. And we promised to do the same.
And here’s the surprising thing:
It didn’t cost us more time.
In fact, it saved us time in the long run.
Because we got to know families better, built mutual trust earlier, and avoided unnecessary escalations.
And as the relationship grew, something else happened:
Parents started offering help. Volunteering. Supporting each other.
They no longer felt like guests. They felt part of the community.
Here’s how thriving schools shift the script:
👉 From “Here’s what we’re doing” → to “Here’s what we’re thinking — what do you see?”
This shifts ownership from the school to the shared space between school and family.
👉 From scheduled meetings → to ongoing conversation.
The strongest partnerships aren’t built in formal sessions, but in hallway chats, quick texts, and real-time check-ins.
👉 From assumptions → to curiosity: “What are you seeing at home?”
Parents are experts on their children. When we start with questions instead of conclusions, collaboration happens naturally.
Your turn.
What’s one small way you’re building genuine partnership with families, not just communication?
Try something this week.
A quick message. A check-in. A question asked sooner than usual.
And if you feel like sharing what happens, I’d love to hear it.
Warmly,
Rob
P.S.
In last week’s newsletter, I mentioned our Just in Time Support Flowchart — but the link didn’t work. Sorry about that!
Here’s the correct one: 👉 Download the flowchart here
It’s not a checklist, but a visual guide that combines when to intervene with how to do it in a way that respects learner autonomy.
Let me know what you think, or how you’ve used it!
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