Parents’ Evenings, eh? A perennial favourite amongst teachers’ rants, and a topic I’ve
previously written about at length, but every year there are
some new peculiarities amongst the parent population, some new insults to be absorbed
or deflected, and some more jaw-dropping moments in the chilly school hall. So here,
for your delectation, is a round-up of this year’s contenders for Moment When You
Realise That You’re Not Really Cut Out For This Type Of Thing:
Straight in at number 5 are the parents who both turn up, but because of a recent
messy divorce come to see you separately, whilst performing a bizarre dance of avoidance
around the tables, chairs and queues in the hall, which is something most amusing to
watch when your queue has petered out for the time being. Parent One seems as nice as
pie, explaining how the sensitive son has been badly affected by what’s been going on
at home, and how he’s learning to cope with living in two houses, and the fact that
Parent Two has a new partner (at this stage you start to cringe, knowing this is just
a bit too much information, and seeing Parent One on the verge of tears makes you start
to panic slightly in case anyone nearby thinks it’s your fault).
After this emotional interlude, along comes Parent Two, who verbally lashes out at the lily-livered son’s inadequacies and inability to organise himself properly, implying quite freely that it’s clear which parent the inadequate child takes after. At which point the sympathetic smile begins to slide, the encouraging nods feel distinctly out of place, and you promise yourself never to berate the poor lad for not remembering his homework again.
An old favourite crops up at number 4: the parent who just looks a bit odd. It may
be a hair or two growing from an odd facial crevice, or eyes that stare in different
directions, and you know that one of them is focused on you, but it’s quite difficult
to work out which one without looking too shifty. Maybe you spot a really rude tattoo
which puts you off your stride, or something as simple as ill-fitting clothes, but for
some reason all talk about targets and exam results flutter straight out of your mind.
For the first time in the evening you become extremely conscious of what you are
saying, realise it sounds like a load of old twaddle, quickly justify this in your
own mind by telling yourself it’s only because you’ve repeated it over and over, and
then just want to laugh at the absurd situation you find yourself in, trying to pass
yourself off as a professional when you just feel like a big fraud.
So parents, if you don’t want your children’s teachers to experience an existential crisis as they sit there and blah-blah on about your child, then please dress appropriately, brush the dandruff off your collar, pluck errant hairs and don’t overdo the make-up. Yes, Mr Smith, I’m talking about you.
At number 3 are the parents who lay the blame for their child’s failings squarely at
your feet. For every incomplete piece of homework you mention, there’s a snort from the
dragon parents quickly followed up by a short précis of why this is your fault. You
know this conversation could go two ways, depending on how you react: the sensible
reaction would be to pass the parents on to a member of management where they can
rant about your failings to someone well versed in the intricacies of dealing with
awkward parents.
But there’s that little piece of professional pride at stake here. And if you are in any way slightly stubborn, and you hate losing an argument, or even if you think these arseholes deserve to hear the truth about their child rather than be buttered up by teachers who just want an easy life, then you start to defend your position. This can get very messy. Forget professional pride. Surely pride is something you should have left firmly behind before you entered the arena of public scrutiny. After all, everyone knows that having kids immediately bestows you with the gift of knowing what teachers are doing wrong, doesn’t it? Are we fools for forgetting that every parent could obviously do your job with far more flair and competency than you? Don’t fall into the arguing with parents trap. Be a jobsworth, pass it on to someone who’s paid more money than you to take flak, and save yourself a week’s worth of anger at allowing yourself to be bullied by a double-headed serpent.
Narrowly missing out on the top position, at number 2 is the nightmare of the
recurring parents. Maybe you teach several of their children across different year
groups. Maybe their poor sprog has been stuck in your group by the misfortune of exam
result lottery for three years now. It could be that the father has sown his seeds
wildly amongst the local community, and boasts a number of offspring of various
surnames scattered throughout the school. Recurring parents are not always a nightmare
in themselves of course, but the nightmare can be entirely of your own making.
Do you always say the same things about their children? Do you use the same soundbites, catchphrases, or formulaic approach to promising that by the end of the year their child would definitely have grasped the art of whatever it is you’ve been trying to teach for three years now? If there’s no real progress to report, do you try to invent some, or just throw your hands up in defeat and accept that their offspring will never be a high achiever in the subject? Should you start enquiring after their health, their other children, and so on? Do three annual meetings constitute the beginnings of a relationship?
All these questions flutter around your head
when you see the parents approach your table, making you extremely conscious of
every word you speak. This may well be because your own parents enjoyed hooting
with laughter after each one of your own parents’ evenings, imitating teachers
they’d had the opportunity to observe year after year, mimicking their catchphrases
and tone of voice, and therefore destroying your future chances of believing that
not all parents would do that. Thanks, Mum!
But at number one in this year’s chart of Moments When You Realise That You’re Not Really Cut Out For This Type Of Thing is when you start to tell the parents only what they want to hear, rather than the truth. This syndrome can start to kick in for a number of reasons. It could be in response to any of the other reasons in this top five. You may well just want an easy life, and your philosophy could be that where’s the harm if everyone goes away happy?
It may come about in response to
parents whose attention wanders after five seconds of staring too hard at your
earnest face, and who start to gaze around the hall as you speak, answering their
mobiles in mid conversation, or even tapping passers-by to say hello and enquire
after their families, or to ask them if they’re going down the bingo straight after.
The penny might drop only after you’ve listed the grades their child has so far
achieved, outlined your personal targets for their precious offspring, shown how
you’ve tackled that little problem they had, and tell them that you’re hoping their
child will make a grade C at the end of the year, but only with a lot of hard work
and determination. It’s when they reply, “So he’s doing alright then?” that you
realise you lost them four and a half minutes ago, and hate to shatter their illusions
that their child is an A grade student.
This is particularly so amongst parents who, if we’re honest, are a bit thick themselves, and who wouldn’t be able to comprehend what their child would need to do to pass the exam anyway. So you just give a barely visible shrug, a lop-sided smile, and start to shuffle your papers to signal that your conversation is finished and that it’s only ten minutes until the bingo opens, so they’d better get going.
And so there you have it. Five good reasons why parents’ evenings can shake your confidence as a teacher, make you wonder if you’re a bit out of step with the rest of the human race, and fill you with the need to reach for a stiff drink as soon as the gruesome ordeal is over.
added 6/3/05
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