We’re already planning our parent-teacher meetings for the coming year. If you haven’t been to one before, it bears an alarming resemblance to a speed-dating event. Teachers sit at individual desks around the school hall or gym and parents queue up for their slot.
As in any queueing system, it is important to find ways to try and beat it. Couples often split up and queue separately in the hope that each can handle the teacher they are confronted with (time saved: 50 per cent). The plan is to regroup and exchange reports later.
An alternative approach is that whoever reaches the top of the queue first will be joined by the other, but then the abandoned queue will have to be joined again later. If you are lucky when coming in solo, two of “your” teachers will be seated side by side, allowing you to straddle both queues until it becomes clear which one is moving faster.
These are all entirely acceptable at teacher-speed-dating, but other very common behaviours are not.
Dating it may not be, but there is plenty of first-date glamour on show. I’m obviously not talking about the teachers, who will have taught anything up to nine class periods that day, and perhaps even squeezed in a breaktime or lunchtime supervision.
However drained, once the fresh-faced parents rock up we usually feel as though we should have made more of an effort. Parents go to great lengths to impress at such an evening, but I would question the wisdom of a dress code closer to Ladies’ Day than a school sports day.
Fake tan and a fresh blow-dry aren’t at all what I’m looking for when I need an ally to ensure the homework gets done.
And so it is important not to lose sight of the whole point of the occasion. It may be a nice opportunity for parents to get together and catch up, but excessive high-pitched laughter and the back-slapping of an old-boys-network are too akin to attending a school reunion, and shows insensitivity to what may be unhappy exchanges taking place only feet away.
Gritted teeth
While some may be lapping up the praise, not everyone in the room can relax and enjoy themselves. It’s hard to engage in banter through gritted teeth while dashing to the nearest exit, and ultimately the child at home, whose teachers have not exactly been piling on the praise.
When you do approach me, please don’t overestimate the family’s gene pool. You know exactly who I am, but I may not have the foggiest notion who you are. When I courteously introduce myself, entirely aware that my name is on the sign just behind me, it’s a hint for you to do the same. A hint you must take if things are to progress. But a hint all-too-rarely taken. “So, remind me who you are here for,” I sometimes say, trying to keep one nervous eye on the relevant class lists. “Seán,” you say eagerly, clearly anxious to get things up-and-running. But I have no fewer than three Seáns . . . and plenty to say about each of them, very different things. What am I to do? Wing it?
Losing sight of the point is one thing, missing it completely is quite another. When you insist on doing all the talking, part of me is just delighted to get an unexpected breather, so my first instinct is to sit back and let you at it.
After a while, I start to panic about how long my queue is getting, but some cases do need a little longer and parents are generally quite understanding about that and prepared to wait.
When after several minutes it suddenly occurs to me that I have not actually said a word, I start to wonder if you are at all curious about how your child is getting on. Part of me really hopes you aren’t, as that will move things along a good deal faster. Another part of me fears the wrath of the growing queue if I do get started, as it will then appear to be me who is taking so long. There’s no etiquette guide for any of this.
Parent-teacher meetings are by and large dreaded by both parties, each genuinely fearful of what the other has to say.
What a relief when it turns out each time that both parties are in fact talking about the same individual who, surprise surprise, is largely the same at home as at school!
Both teacher and parents can therefore relax and be complimentary, maybe even congratulatory, about the child’s strengths, while not holding back on the areas for improvement.
The 400 or so parents and guardians behind the children that I teach every week are more often than not an invaluable source of encouragement and support, and it is a shame that our interaction is limited to a few hurried minutes per academic year.
In just over 20 years’ experience, and with a clean attendance record at parent-teacher meetings, I can honestly say that the positives far outweigh the negatives. In the nicest possible way, this time, albeit limited, allows the adults to share insights and plan strategies.
While parents and teachers may be in very different roles, we are essentially playing for the same team, and our good collaboration can only benefit young people in their dual roles as offspring and students. Maybe it’s time we stopped dreading these dates and started looking forward to them.
