Moms talk.

Especially about our kids' school, because we need to get the intel any way we can. And it can be eye-opening.

Take a conversation I had last year with a mom whose daughter is the same age as my son Jake. After I confessed that Jake's third-grade teacher and I weren't completely clicking, she upped the ante. She'd finally moved her daughter to another class because she'd had it with the teacher (whom I didn't know). There were too many conflicts, tears shed, sleepless nights, hurt feelings.

I shook my head in sympathy. How horrible.

Fast-forward to this year. At Meet the Teacher Night, we learned that Emily, who's a year younger than Jake, has the teacher whose reputation precedes her. You know, the sleepless-nights one.

As we walked into the classroom, the teacher looked at Jake and said, "You're too big to be in my class."

"No, my sister's in here," he said.

"Oh," she replied. "So she has a troublemaker for a brother."

See, this teacher and Jake's from last year had rooms next to each other. Like moms, teachers talk.

There seemed to be a lot of reputation-preceding going on here.

I didn't know what to say. It would be like going in for your first day on the job and the boss saying, "Welcome! Aren't you a big jerk."

If I'd had my wits about me, I would have politely asked, "You think Jake's a troublemaker?" But I never have my wits about me. They're always on vacation. When they finally do show up and I complain, they're like, "Dude. Sorry." (I like to imagine my wits are Matthew McConaughey.)

I just wish I'd said something in my son's defense. I mean, he's on the honor roll, he holds doors open for strangers, he hugs his sister. Yes, he talks too much and can be hyper and is definitely no angel. But "troublemaker" seems harsh.

The other day, for example, he announced he was changing his attitude about his arch-nemesis, a girl from his third-grade class. Those two had issues. Think fire and ice, oil and water, Hannity and Colmes.

"I'm not going to fight with [insert nemesis' name here] this year," he said. "I don't want to hold a grudge."

(I know. You may be thinking, "How very Eddie Haskell of him.")

I said I was proud of him, that it was a mature way to think. (He asked if that made him a "mature audience." I said no, not until he's at least 27. It's the law.)

I share that to describe the "real" him. People are complex, and this teacher had heard one side. Come to think of it, she'd probably heard some choice gossip about me, too. I was room mom that year and didn't exactly win awards for my efforts. Everything always came together, but only at the last second. (Hey, that's just the way I roll.)

I started to imagine all of the things she's probably heard about us, afterward revisiting the stuff I've heard about her. Then, finally, the parallels slapped me in the face. Her believing what the other teacher said about Jake is as bad as, well, me believing what the other mom said about her.

Since then, I've mentally wiped the slate clean. As I write this, Emily has loved her first and second days of school, I've signed up to help out in class, the teacher is friendly and organized, she has a cool class Web site. So far, she's everything I could hope for.

Shockingly enough, I'd say we're off to a wonderful start.

Darla Atlas is a Briefing columnist. E-mail her at darlajatlas@yahoo.com.

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