Vivaldi had The Four Seasons. Teachers go one better. They have a fifth: The Reports Season.
Everything you need to know about the dystopian world of education is encapsulated by this particular phenomenon. From the autumnal introductions of September to the summertime ‘leaver’s’ adieu, school is like the annual multi-academy INSET day buffet. There is more than enough on everyone’s plate.
Nevertheless, come the May bank holiday, it’s legally incumbent to begin squeezing in an additional 50,000 words summarising every pupil’s individual strengths, weaknesses, quirks, foibles, behaviour, assessments and pointers for improvement. All this, in addition to the day job. The fortunate may be given the second half of Monday’s staff meeting to ‘get started’.
Each individual report will be forensically scrutinised in meticulous detail by the majority of parents, whilst a few won’t even make it out of the book bag. Pupils that have performed well over the year must be praised profusely, in the hope that their parents won’t see fit to attend the subsequent parents’ evening. Children who, in all honesty, have been a complete nightmare, are euphemistically referred to as ‘characters’ or ‘individuals’, in the hope that their parents (a block off the ol’ chip) will go quietly.
Reports follow the iceberg principle: to the uninitiated only a small proportion is incomprehensible, the majority cleverly inaccessible. Around 90% of a school report is utter tosh (I’m joking!), cut-and-pasted from three years previous. Hidden statements are designed to camouflage a teacher’s lack of progress knowledge in certain subjects. ‘Abdul has enjoyed working in a small group to explore the concept of a minim’ will usher glazed-over parents to the final paragraph; the only bit of the report actually worth reading. The bit that conveys that Abdul is happy and has friends. The bit that matters.
The Fifth Season is a minor miracle; a triumph of space/time distortion that even Stephen Hawking would struggle to comprehend. Somehow, despite everything, teachers manage to nail it every time. Because they’ve taken the trouble to get to know their class. This is called a relationship and has less to do with minims and more to do with the individual child.
Never underestimate the value of being a class teacher. Your knowledge is unrivalled, even if it can’t all be distilled into a traffic light rating. You do know best, because you do your best, day in day out. Trust your judgement.
Respect, as always.