I got this. You can relax. You can do your job now, which is to tell your kid you're proud him or her for putting their writing out there to be judged by their teachers and even worse, their peers. This is an extreme act of bravery, and you should treat it as such. Tell your kid how proud you are. Tell her how much you enjoy reading her writing. Point out a sentence you especially loved. And then STOP TALKING. I know you want to point out how they could have done better. I know you want to point out the mistakes. After all, you know so much more. But don't. That's not your job. That's my job. And I got this.
Your kid's writing was editing by two peers. TWO kids pointed out your kid's mistakes. Then your kid sat down with me and I said things like, "you can do better" and "it seems like you wrote this in 10 minutes" and "for the love of all that's Associated Press stop writing out numbers over nine." You should see the way they walk toward me: part dread, part hopeful. I can see them praying I'll say something positive. And I do, always. Every piece they write has something in it to applaud: fewer mistakes, better sourcing, more interesting phrasing than the last piece they wrote. I'm hard on your kid, but I hope I'm also encouraging. I'm so proud of your child. I want you to know that.
After the paper came out, your kid had all his mistakes pointed out on social media by the entire girls' soccer team and all his AP Lit classmates. Then our entire class sat around together and ripped your kid's article to shreds. Trust me, your kid is getting plenty of constructive feedback. You, with your adult perspective and years of education do not need to chime in. I know you want your kid to do his best. In your efforts to help, you forget that this is a process. I'm willing to bet your kid is a better writer than you were at that same age. Go look back at your old writing and check if you don't believe me. I'll bet you used quote leads. Don't worry, we all did back then.
I promise your kid will be a better writer when she leaves me. Not a perfect writer. Not yet. Probably not ever. I'm just one teacher in the long chain of your kid's education. I'm grateful to the teachers who taught your kid before me. I'm doing my best for the teachers who will work with your kid next. I'm thinking of your kid's future every single day. I promise your kid will leave me a better writer, a better editor, a better thinker. So trust me to do my job. I trust you to do yours, which is to tell your kid how proud you are of him or her. Give your kid a squeeze. And then stop talking.
Every one of your kid's teachers and coaches