The Last Parents' Evening

You think it’ll go on forever, like a lot of things in life. Parents’ evenings at school. One minute, it seems, they’re telling you how well little Emily’s doing with her reading, and then suddenly she’s in Year 13 and tonight has been The Last Parents’ Evening.

The rest have all blurred into one memory of waiting on chairs to see teachers, half-recognising other parents, catching the occasional word of what’s being said to them.

In Emily’s early years it was simple: you all queued up to see the primary school teacher. Then, in her early years of secondary school, vast queues formed to see the teachers and we had to negotiate long, crowded corridors of the old Roundhay Girls’ School and Roundhay Boys’ School. Now these have all gone, replaced by one new building, but I find it hard to remember this and as I approach the school I expect to see the old parquet floors and brick walls.

Some children accompany their parents but Emily wouldn’t ever want to come to one and I think this is the correct attitude. When I was teaching, years ago, I hated it when children came too: sometimes a quiet word with the parents is what’s needed along the lines of “Give Peter more encouragement and praise, that’s all he needs” and it’s hard to say that when Peter’s sitting next to them.

Emily has had some superb teachers over the years (and one or two really dreadful ones) and they’re all expected to be there at Parents’ Evening. Stephen pointed out that if his work – a computer company – wanted him to work late, firstly they would ask him nicely, and secondly they’d pay him overtime.

So, the Last Parents’ Evening for us. It’s the end of an era. I’ll miss it. The teachers’ comments? - - Well, they made me smile.