The helicopter hovers, the bulldozer plows stuff out of the way, the tiger roars on the sidelines, and the lawnmower ensures the ground is so flat and soft that an unlikely fall won’t result in a skinned knee or a bruise.  We’ve all likely witnessed or even been subjected to these parenting styles in our previous lives as young people.  I know there are other types, too, but these are the most familiar ones, at least to me. 

Although well intended, parents get tagged with monikers like these by going too far.  If you are in the education business, you know what I mean.  Somewhere out there is a high school teacher who gets upwards of 150 e-mails in a school year from one parent about anything and everything from homework to test grades and behavior. If every one of their students’ caregivers were this attentive, the poor teachers would get more than 15,000 e-mails per year – each requiring a response. 

The bulldozer and the lawnmower are kind of the same. They get ahead of things, pushing any perceived obstacle out of the way of their kids, leaving little room for personal growth, perseverance, or development.  And the tigers – watch out for them.  They expect their offspring to be ready to be on an Olympic field by the age of nine.  They don’t like referees and are even less fond of volunteer coaches who dare to allow other people’s kids to have equal playing time.  

CSN said it best – not a news network – the band.  The song, Teach Your Children Well, is an impressive 70’s riff that says, "Hey [whatever your kids call you], you have a big responsibility to do the right thing. And while you do it, you can also learn a thing or two from your children.  That’s the way I hear it.  And don’t you ever ask them why – if they told you, you would cry.  The way I see that line is I have all these rules and things I warn my son about.  And when he asks why, I give him like half the story.  Because he’s actually better off not knowing all the details – know what I mean?

The other day, I had my son’s 8th grade fall parent/teacher conference. His school did it a little differently this year, and he attended along with me. It wasn’t like when I was in school. I dreaded them. My teachers weren’t all that good to my back, and they often gave Marlene information about me, which was rarely helpful for my cause.  Sometimes, it was my mouth; others were because I couldn’t sit still, and when I got a little older, there were just too many reasons to cut class.  This little store in the city would sell me beer when I was 16, so my pal Pagano and I would go there and grab a few Coors Extra Golds.  Fortunately, times have changed, and all I have to worry about is vapes and weed products like gummies, cookies, and chewy taffy.

My son’s parent/teacher conference was student-led. His teacher hardly talked, and he took me through a slide show he created about each of his classes, what he’s doing well, and what he needs to do better.  It was great, I mean really great.  He got to have some pride about things and fess up to others, such as not doing his homework – which has been an issue since they started assigning it.  Like father like son, I guess.  Without knowing it, he adopted the same ideology that I had at his age.  There is no place for schoolwork at home, the 13-year-old me thought. Boy, would I have loved Google, Grammarly, and Chat GPT. 

When the topic came up, I had to think deeply about how to handle it. What’s my approach to this? I thought. For me, Marlene’s approach was effective – only for about a week.  She’d forget about it, and with no e-mail system to speak of yet, my teachers were too lazy to call her.  And for the creative ones who sent letters, those were easily intercepted.  I knew I had to give him ownership of the matter.  So, I recognized his belief that schoolwork should be done at school and asked him if he wanted to go in early or after to get it done.  It was the most straightforward negotiation ever.  He just said he’d rather stay late. 

Student-led conferences are the way to go because they embody the essence of teaching students responsibility, self-awareness, and communication. These conferences shift the traditional power dynamic by placing the student in the role of narrator—allowing them to reflect on their learning, articulate their goals, and take ownership of their growth. This active participation cultivates critical thinking and confidence, empowering students to see themselves as agents of their success.

When I think of Crosby, Stills, and Nash, the lyrics resonate deeply with this approach. The song urges us to guide the next generation with care and intention while learning from them – no helicoptering, no bulldozing. Student-led conferences embody this reciprocal relationship. As students share their journey, parents and educators can listen deeply and respond with encouragement and support—which is way better than screaming and throwing fun stuff away!

Conferences like this create a space for meaningful conversations that go beyond grades, focusing on strengths, struggles, and aspirations. As the song suggests, we are “teaching our children well” by nurturing their independence and resilience. In turn, we’re also learning to trust their voice—a powerful step toward cultivating a lifelong love of learning.