Kids are crashing parent-teacher interviews. It’s destroying the whole point of the thing

Ah, school – that magical time of life when you begin to understand who you really are, what makes you tick and the numerous things you are not very good at. In my case, it was a long list of subjects including maths, sport, textiles and every type of science.

As a young child, it was character-building for me to learn about my many limitations and essential to avoiding disastrous career decisions later on, such as my brief flirtation with cosmology. But the glitch in the system was my primary school’s interview night when my parents were also forced to confront my many deficiencies in ways that left them traumatised.

The days when parents could get the hard news about their child directly from their teacher are being lost. Credit: Getty Images

In the unrestrained world of the 1970s, the parent-teacher interview involved a long evening spent with chain-smoking teachers who didn’t hold back when delivering crushing news, like I would never work for NASA or Christian Dior. Drinking heavily on their return from the ordeal, my parents would always thank the gods that it only happened once a year.

When a letter came home from my own child’s primary school, summoning me to my first parent-teacher interview as an adult, I was tearfully triggered back to those demoralising evenings and the haunted look in my parents’ eyes. Deep down, I knew I’d never have what it took to survive the night.

But school interviews had come a long way since the 1970s and direct attacks on the parental psyche had given way to a three-way conversation dubbed the student-led conference. Hoorah! With a focus on being positive and empowering, the new format was designed to give students a lead voice in the conversation and more constructive insights into their strengths and challenges.

In practice, however, this new approach hasn’t always lived up to its promise. Most of the student-led conferences I’ve attended have been strictly limited to five minutes, replacing the opportunity for frank but valuable feedback with a superficial feelgood session. And while, as a parent of adolescent boys, I’ll embrace any opportunity to raise my endorphin levels, the speed-dating encounters I’ve had with exhausted teachers – who explain they can give us more time only if my sons present a direct threat to the school – have been deeply disappointing. I called in favours to leave work for that?

There are numerous advantages to keeping parents connected with their children’s education, and not every student-led conference is without its good points.

I remember sitting with my son at a very low prep table and nearly falling off the tiny chair when his teacher asked him to describe his personality. At the tender age of six, he didn’t realise he had one but, undaunted, she jumped up to re-enact a conversation they’d had, demonstrating aspects of his character and then impersonating a third person who had lost a tennis ball. It was bizarre and impressive all at once. When I realised she was portraying my son as a helpful classmate, I was grateful for her efforts, although it was more like a Wiggles concert than a conference.

Then there was the year my third-grader blew everyone away with his eye-popping presentation on Vanuatu’s economy – who knew? And I don’t know who was more excited, my eldest son or his fifth-grade teacher, when he presented his project on the scandals of the competitive tennis world.

Some of the most important moments at school are when you have those small wins – coming third in a race or finally passing a maths test – and we should definitely acknowledge those wins with our kids and not just sweat the bad stuff.

But if the pressures on our education system are so great that schools cannot engage meaningfully with families unless there is a crisis, then the five minutes dedicated to the standard student-led conference could probably be spent in better ways.

I’m sure any parent would be delighted to find a soggy note at the bottom of the school bag with a positive message scrawled on it by the teacher, and I’ll stick any yellow ribbon or C grade for science on the fridge because I’m still holding out hope for at least one family member and NASA.

But sometimes parents need to have frank conversations with teachers without their children in the room or the need to book a counselling session afterwards. And when I know that conversation will focus on solutions more than just the problem, that’s a parent-teacher interview I will always be happy to attend.

Rosie Beaumont is a Melbourne-based writer.

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