Parent's Evening

Parent’s Evening

As a teacher, I used to love parents evening. I was seen as rather odd by my colleagues who all loathed this interaction and sharing of information and intrigue. But then again, maybe I had a different relationship with my children than some of them had.

As far as I was concerned, for the duration of the academic year, they were my children. That was not an ownership thing but I felt responsible for them, for their holistic development.

In many ways, parents evening was about meeting my other half, as simple as a couple going out for a meal and discussing the kids; their quirkiness, their cleverness, their concerns, their loveliness.

Well most of the time. There was obviously the odd child that I found difficult to warm to, which made perfect sense as soon as the parent came into school!

Of course, since becoming a parent, the shoe has been on the other foot.

Teachers are not the best parents at parents evening. They tend to drift into ‘shop’ talk despite trying hard not to. Well, at least I do, and I know that certain parents of mine have done exactly the same thing.

Sometimes, it is actually quite useful to declare your professional subjectivity because it cuts out the crap that some teachers can try and deliver.

I had one glorious parents evening at my son’s school once when I had made it perfectly clear that I was a teacher, partly to put the poor bloke at ease. As it happened, it had the opposite effect, unnerving him as he started to try and prove his own professional ability, explaining that my child should be using inference in his written analysis of poetry now. Nothing about him enjoying the bloody poems!

Not impressed!

Last week I had the ‘pleasure’ of attending my eldest son’s parents evening and I was suddenly struck by the weirdness of it. All of a sudden I had morphed into a combination of my parents and my son was the slightly alarmed, defensive person that I once was.

In actual fact, I think I was far more fearful of my parent’s reaction than my son was of mine, but I could hear myself saying the things that they might have said and I looked at my child with that horrible knowing look that they had given me, i.e. bright kid but oh how you could do more!

It was déjà vu time.

“He is a brilliant in conversation. His general knowledge is vast. He argues constructively when he is talking. He just needs to do that in his written work too. I cannot imagine why he cannot be so clear in his writing” said one teacher, and another, and another one after that.

The story of my life!

She talks so passionately about the subject. She knows her stuff. She infers very well. She analogises perfectly. Only she does none of the above on paper! It was my story too. So what do you say to a child who is stood in front of you, mirroring the very behaviour that meant you did not “achieve” as much as those around thought you were capable of?

Of course, at this point, in hindsight, I become all defensive. Why do we have to play these silly games all of the time? Why can’t we just rely on a child’s dialogue and ability to take their part in a reasoned debate to tick the bloody box that makes it abundantly clear that they “get it”?

My child can talk about every aspect of the development and destruction of the Weimar Republic. He can relate coalitions of the past to what is happening in the now. He can look at an old photograph and predict the changes that are in feasible in the future.

He didn’t have any major criticism from any of the teachers because he is an articulate, charming child who goes to the trouble of engaging them in conversation, being interested in them as people as well as respecting them as teachers. Aren’t these some of the more important skills that he will need in life rather than demonstrate this in an exam, the latter skills not exactly being examinable?

I know some would say, “but he needs the discipline”. He needs to understand that sometimes in life you have to do things that you don’t want to. Sometimes you have to show that you are capable of slogging long and hard.

I’m just not sure that boring a child into submission is the best way to do this. I’m not sure that disengaging a child through asking for writing recapitulation, who is avid and enthusiastic about talking his subject through, is actually the right way or indeed the right message to be conveying.

Do we really want our leaders of the future to be imbedded in books looking for the answers rather than feeling them, interacting with others and following their instincts rather than a guidebook that any dimwit could follow?

Anyway, when push comes to shove, he has to do it. If he wants to.

He talks about wanting to go to University for further study. That might not be a luxury that he can afford but then again, with so many people deciding that they cannot afford it in the future, then maybe he may be able to get in to the University of his choice with lower grades; rather like the Windsor kids who managed to find themselves on degree courses that other mere plebs had had to get 3As to study.

Or maybe he will be one of those who chooses not to go to University, hoping that they can get straight into the workforce, possibly learning “on the job”. But isn’t that going to be a ridiculously competitive market, in which case, we are back to those grades because it is these quantitative qualifications that seem to be the only indicator of a person’s worth.

Every which way you turn, it seems that there is only one answer, and that is to study at the expense of all else in life to get the grades that will open the doors, with a spot or seven of money as well.

There’s no time now for his love of planes, trains and automobiles or looking at history that is not on his curriculum merely something that he is interested in. There is no time to explore the philosophical questions in life and to appreciate the closeness of friendship just at the time when friendships overtake the bond of parent and child.

There is no time, just exams and pushy parents going against everything they believe in because they are as much caught in the system as the child itself.

I am hopeful though. I was at school in the first years of Thatcherism when my parents thought that the world was doomed, which it was, where they thought that there was no way they would be able to put another child through university.

I am also hopeful because although I did not necessarily achieve the academic status that many suggested I was capable of, I haven’t done too badly. I managed to pursue the career of my choice and I have branched out into areas that I did not expect to.

I have a creative future that is there for the taking, and it is the human skills and the values that I keep dear to my heart that will take me there, not the A-Levels or the degree for which I slovenly studied.

Maybe there is hope for him after all.

And then there was a tinge of light.

With some of the teachers we discussed the potential of him studying the subject for A-Level.

“Oh he has the capability” they all said. “Whether he has the will.......” was obviously another matter.

They talked about organisational skills and self-motivation, both of which he does probably need to look at more carefully. And then they talked about independent learning.

“I can do that!” he responded excitedly, and indeed he can.

Here is a child who independently skim-read “The Long Walk to Freedom” when he was directed to do some research for a project on Nelson Mandela. He never wrote a thing down but could talk through all the intricacies of the development of the African National Congress and the law firm that Tambo and Mandela established. Every detail, the whys and wherefores and an opinion to boot. He could offer it all.

Wasn’t this what independent learning was about?

He could independently research on the development of the train system in this country, quoting Trevithik to Dr. Beeching. He knows every viaduct and every inch of the remaining steam transport system in the country. Hasn’t that been done through independent learning?

He is massively knowledgeable about stories in the news. He’s knows politicians by their names and their roles and can argue and debate the smaller details of economic policy. He has done this through conversation and independent learning.

So of course he thinks he can do “independent learning”.

But like the big, bad ogre who finally admits to her children that Father Christmas does not exist, I had to tell him that what his teacher was talking about wasn’t really independent learning at all.

What they were actually talking about was motivating oneself to do work on one’s own, but within the constraints of a prescribed curriculum. The independence of the learning could include reading around a subject but not veering away from it.

It’s not really independent learning. And to make matters worse, the ‘purpose’ of this independent learning is to actually improve the grade of the narrow subject that you have chosen to study at A-Level.
Back to those grades again.

Poor kid. I could feel his despondency because what this school and about 99% of the schools in the country are offering is not in line with his idea of what and how to learn. He should probably have been born in Greek times when learning was done through the outdated art of dialogue.

That is where this child should be. That is how he learns the best, not with exercises and essays.

So, what will he choose as his specialised subjects (at the age of 16 when he really knows what he wants to do in life – not!).

Who knows – but I suggest there are a few more parents evenings to contend with before I can hug him, pat him on the back and send him into the big wide world where hopefully, one day, and please let it be soon, that he can return to the joys of self-learning and be appreciated for the very capable human being that he is.