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Don’t Wait Till Parents’ Evening To Speak To Mums And Dads

If you’re dreading an angry inquisition, why not avoid the parent trap and start the conversation now?

Nancy Gedge
by Nancy Gedge
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Looking back now, from the distance of just over 20 years, my first ever parents’ evening as a teacher has a golden, dusty edge about it.

It was the hot end of a long, hot summer, and my shoes and eyes were full of grit and fatigue. As a new member of staff appointed the previous January, and still feeling my way, only a few of the parents were familiar to me; many of them were complete strangers. It was terrifying. Since then I’ve taken part in parents’ evenings in many forms. Open evenings, where you get a glut of visitors at half past three, and then sit alone for hours until you’re ready to shut the door and shoo they-who-have-not-seen-each-other-for-a-while back to their own homes. The ‘Hall Do’, where teachers sit at desks and parents occupy the middle, poised and ready to pounce, trapping you in front of an audience. Evenings with, and without children, with closed and open doors, with and without tea and biscuits. I’ve met with parents on my own and with colleagues.

Getting a grilling

My first parents’ evening, at least, was of the traditional variety. School reports were carefully handwritten and sent out. Reply slips were handed in and a timetable was filled and tacked to the classroom door. The children tidied their trays (which took an age) and set them out on chairs in the cloakroom for mummy and daddy to see. I must have been in a state of fatigue when I wrote those reports. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, filling and refilling my Best Fountain Pen, which was wearing a dent into my index finger, while I laboured over how to say pretty much the same thing 33 times – while also showing that I knew the children and appreciated their quirks and differences.

I must have been, because despite my labours, I got a grilling at that parents’ meeting… What did I mean by this? What did I mean by that? Why had I written this about their son, and that about that other boy?

I didn’t realise that while I might consider the information about their children to be confidential, for their eyes only, they would not. I didn’t appreciate that I was about to receive a lesson in the the process of ‘playground compare and contrast’.

The power of listening

Today, after years of standing beside the IWB (even though I’m old enough to have started with a chalkboard), I know that not only are the words we write shared, they are also easily misunderstood when we use edu-speak and jargon to communicate with parents.

I have also learned, especially where SEND is concerned, to watch my words, and to make sure that I’m fully understood. I know the power of a smile, and the effect of putting someone at ease, especially when she might have had the exact same problems in her school days. And now that I’ve been on the other side of the desk, perched on a tiny chair waiting to hear what a teacher thinks of my child, longing to share my expertise with them too, I know the power of listening – again, especially when a child has SEND. I know how much it builds trust for a parent to see that I value her knowledge.

I know how, when she goes home at the end of the day to talk over tea time, that I won’t be undermined because I have taken the time to listen to her concerns, no matter how small. I know that when I have similar worries, that because I’ve listened, my voice will be heard. These days, by the time it gets to parents’ evening, the parents – or the main carers, anyway – aren’t usually strangers. These days, I don’t hide in the classroom at the end of the day, intimidated by the fact that I’m closer in age to the children I teach than to their parents.

Now, by the time it comes to parents’ evening, nine times out of 10 I will have already started to develop a relationship with them through raising problems early, sharing any causes for celebration when they happen – and by showing that we’re working together.

Nancy Gedge is a primary teacher in Gloucestershire; visit her blog at notsoordinarydiary.wordpress.com or follow @nancygedge

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