All children must now win – there can be no losers. But what use is a report that glosses over a child's failings?
I've got a new motto: "Never open a neglected drawer unless you have an hour to waste." Last week I ignored my own advice and had cause to regret it (I didn't really have a spare hour – who does?). OK, it was a suitcase not a drawer, but "never open a neglected suitcase" doesn't have the same ring.
What I found in the suitcase was an assortment of photographs and papers that I'd inherited from my parents in 1994. Well, I say "inherited" – I mean "ended up with". Most of the photos were of my parents before they were married – laughing, drinking and smoking with complete strangers.
It was when I started panning the papers that I found the gold. A collection of my school reports dating from the late 1960s when I was aged 8–12. My parents were great hoarders, but somewhat indiscriminate – old vacuum cleaner manuals, expired passports, the unfiltered paper detritus of life.
I began reading the reports. On a personal level, the remarks of my old teachers were a revelation. I had no idea how poorly I had performed academically. I do recall being a bit lazy at school, but I also recall being in the top 10% or so of my cohort. It turns out that I was dismally underachieving, bobbing around in the bottom quarter. I know you can't have a top 10% without a bottom 25%, but I've lived all my adult life believing that I coulda been a contender, and it's a bit of a shock to find that I wasn't even a journeyman. With this level of encouragement it's no wonder I didn't take my degree until I was in my 30s.
But the reports held more interest than merely popping a middle-aged man's memory balloon. What made me really sit up was the language in which the reports were couched.
Untidy, casual and insufficient (age 9)
Has not learned to concentrate his attention on anything yet (age 9)
Work is too brief, casual and untidily executed (age 11)
What can I say?
Edward tries sometimes, but most of the time is satisfied with as little work as possible (age 11)
Has no idea how to be helpful, and the thought of work appals him (age 11)
Here, by way of contrast, are some excerpts from my sons' primary school reports:
F can play well with other children but sometimes finds co-operation with others in group work within the classroom difficult (age 10)
This is mealy-mouthed in the extreme.
F has worked hard with the clarinet and was a valuable member of the school orchestra (age 10)
F never did a moment's practice, was scarcely able to open the case, and was no better at the end of the year than the start.
F is sensitive to the needs of others but struggles to find the confidence to speak openly in front of a group ... He needs to believe in himself a little more and ensure he listens to the advice given to him
Come again?
T is clearly an avid reader
It's a standing joke in the family that T would struggle to recognise a book, never mind actively decide to open one.
T can be distracted by others at times
This one is true, although it would probably be more accurate to say T can distract others at times.
For the avoidance of doubt, I love my children but I'm also well aware of their faults. From what their reports say, however, I question whether their teachers had any contact with them at all.
Perhaps they can no longer write what they really think, for fear of upsetting the parents. All children must now win – there can be no losers. What use is a report that glosses over a child's failings? Are parents so averse to criticism of their little darlings that the school cannot risk upsetting them? But it catches up with you. We (his parents) might have enjoyed a few years of fond nodding over such anodyne bromides but now T is due to select his GCSEs and, armed with evidence such as this, we are ill-equipped to know where his academic leanings actually are. Secondary school reports tend to ditch the woolly equivocation, with the emphasis on successful bean bag throwing (really) waning, replaced by a baffling list of targets and attainments, few of which bear much relation to common sense. The confusing adherence to a seemingly arbitrary code of point-scoring within SATs levels leaves parents often stranded and bemused. Something which my parents clearly were not. No wonder they hit the gin and hung around smoking with strangers.