By Kim Porter

When I was in elementary school, our report card was folded like a card. The school name was on the front and places for signatures on the back. When you opened it, grades were listed with courses on the left. Things like arithmetic, writing, spelling, reading, etc. You were graded for each section. Grades ranged from A to F. Every six weeks my mother would see how “little Kim” was doing. We would talk about each one.

No prizes were given, just hugs and (oh my God) kisses. She would sign it, so I could get out of the house before my dad decided he should also see it. I would tell him I did quite well, knowing he was mostly interested in “behavior.”

Dad would open the report card and fold it, so that I could read the “grades” and he could read the “behavior.” Picture this — once folded, he saw only the behavior, not any grades. He didn’t know if I passed or failed. He would peer over the top of the report card, and say “I cannot get on your case about your grades, you came from us, and we are not formally educated nor were we the smartest in our class.” Then he would look at the “behavior” page.

He would begin reading aloud what the teacher said. Since this happens every six weeks, I knew the opening statements were my best hope for hearing something positive and glorifying. Sure enough words like: happy, engaging, leadership, courteous, on time, etc. Then, there was a very long pause, a deep breath, a conscious gasp, a moment when he would look over the top of the report card and read aloud, very loud: “alarmingly active and boisterous; has difficulty sitting still; loves to sit behind girls so he can tease them; very competitive; defends friends; looks out the window quite often; loves talking; listens even less, stubborn at times,’ etc.

After the reading of my grades and the reading loudly of my behavior, my parents would both hug me and remind me that having a good, healthy, caring, engaging personality is a must in our society. They would remind me about being intelligent, but being wise was more important. Being able to listen was more important than being able to spell.

Being able to work with others was so valuable in such a complex world. Being able to get along might be more valuable than naming all the state capitals. Being able to give more than you take is a healthy rule. Being able to be effective might be better than being successful.

Those days have passed, many decades ago. I am a better person because of their wisdom.

“Dear Neighbor” authors are united in a belief that civility and passion can coexist. We believe curiosity and conversation make us a better community.