Humour:
Haunted by her own school days, Amanda Blair wants to turn the dreaded parent-teacher night into something far more useful. Here’s how.
Amanda Blair on the dreaded parent-teacher night
The notes came home from school and were plonked down on the kitchen bench among the never-ending piles of domestic detritus. When I plucked them out days later from underneath a glob of jam, I was delighted to read that the pleasure of my company was sought at the annual parent-teacher interviews. My stomach turned to a knot, recalling the dread when I handed my mum the same note when I was at school.
She’d skip off to meet my teachers, filled with hope they were going to wax lyrically about how I use my potential to the fullest and model exemplary behaviour in the classroom. How I’m a natural leader, would probably need to leap forward a few year levels and that my future was so bright she just needed to put on her Le Specs and relax.
Instead, Mum would return silent and sullen, and a few days later thrust the handwritten notes from the teacher under my nose. These notes from the teacher carried something that no mother (nor Tom Cruise) could handle – the truth.
It was the same every year: “Amanda is more interested in the sound of her own voice than anybody else’s. She is a popular member of class, but is easily distracted and can’t seem to stay focused on what I have to say long enough to understand what is required of her.”
Mum was unable to reconcile the feeli- … Oh, wow, did you see that? There was a pretty bird over there. Oh, where was I? That’s right, I was writing a column, wasn’t I? Yes I was.
So some things don’t change, but we move on. So have the parent-teacher interviews, renamed “Student learning conversations” to reflect a more modern approach. Nowadays, they’re supposed to be a friendly chat with the teacher, focused less on academia and more on “the whole person”, which is great. I’ve been gunning for more chats in detail with the teacher about the “whole person”, but just not my whole person(s). I’m bored talking about my own kids, crikey, I’m forced to hear about their comings and goings every day.
Instead, I’d love to spend my allocated parent-teacher time talking about the other kids in the class and their parents, the people I’m forced to fraternise with just because we’re in the same school zone. Just admit it’s true. If you could, you’d spend hours locked in conversation with your kid’s teacher finding out where the parents of the twins are getting all the money for a new car and a renovation.
You’d want to know which kid can’t get rid of nits, as you’re sick of reading head-lice notification messages and performing routine checks. You’d ask what’s the story with the sexy single dad with the tattoo on his ankle and why his marriage imploded. You’d want to know what’s going on with the mum who spends far too much time on lunchbox preparation and can somebody tell her it’s not a competition. BTW, who puts alfalfa and cottage cheese into a seven-year-old’s lunchbox?
Speaking of lunches, why is it that the dad who has a body like a wine barrel on legs keeps feeding his kid donuts when she looks like a contestant on The Biggest Loser? Harsh, yes, true, yes. Speaking of harsh, is the redhead kid’s parents’ marriage in trouble because Mum is getting waaaaay too much work done on the lips and the dad just bought himself a diamond pinkie ring – something’s going on there. And, before I forget, is it true that on the school camp one of the dads hit on the principal? I swear I’d be a shoo-in for my first ever A+ from the teacher as this is a classroom conversation I’d really concentrate on.
“Amanda is more interested in the sound of her own voice than anyone else’s. ”