Used To Be A Sweet Boy

A good few years ago I was standing outside the headteacher’s office waiting to be called in.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been in this situation but unlike many earlier occasions I wasn’t nervous. 

Back At The Old Grey School

On previous times when I’d been in this position I’d been quite rightly worried that the fiercely imposing Mr Gannon was going to tear a strip off me. 

The time when Jamie Whitley and I had wandered out the school grounds at lunch time on an illicit sandwich mission and walked straight into Mr Stanniforth stays in my mind. 

I experienced the full force of Gannon’s Catholic guilt tripping. He had a voice like tombstones clashing and he knew its power. 

Worse was the time I was standing outside the Head’s office alongside Freddie Bainbridge. Not for the first time we’d been punching lumps out of each other on the school field. We were both still blood stained and had torn shirts so it wasn’t a good look. 

Freddie and I had made up by the time Gannon called us in but the Head wasn’t as quick to move on. That whole Catholic forgiveness thing seemed to be a pick and mix affair.

Something Changed

Yes, on those particular times I’d been pretty apprehensive about what was coming up. But this occasion was different. 

Firstly, I was 250 miles south, far away from Mr Gannon and no longer wearing St John Fisher uniform. It wasn’t the 1980s anymore and I was now a teacher working in Surrey. 

My role at the school was a moveable feast - I ran a club before and after the school day, and covered for irregular supply - so I’d had lots of chats with the Head. Being summoned to her office was not unusual. 

Secondly, I’d done nothing wrong. So why worry?

My Only Weakness Is A List Of Crimes

The Head ushered me in and asked me to sit down. She was well known for being blunt and to the point. 

“I’ve had a complaint from Mrs X. She says that you stole her son’s sweets. I have to ask, did you?”

This was a Tuesday morning. On the Friday just gone we’d run an end of year school trip to Boulogne-sur-mer for the Year 7s.

I’d taken over the teaching duties for a couple of Year 7 English classes and since I knew quite a few of the kids I’d been asked if I would go on the trip.

I didn’t really want to because it was going to be a very long day. Plus there was a big football match on and I wanted to see that but eventually caved in and agreed. These sorts of trips are admittedly brilliant for the kids so I said yes. 

A Dreaded Sunny Day

I remember it very well. It was a very long day and I was at school for 5am. Starting early from the school gates, over 140 students piled on the coaches and stopped for breakfast at the Ashford terminal service station.

England were playing Brazil in the quarter finals of the world cup, which is why I remember the day so precisely.

The game was due to start at 3.30pm but that of course was Japanese time. In the UK it kicked off at 7.30am so serendipitously our four coachloads watched a good chunk of the game, most of the first half in fact, bacon sandwiches in hand, on a large TV the terminal had set up. 

After about twenty minutes Michael Owen scored a decent goal and there was a massive roar. We headed back to the coaches and tunnel with England one nil up and high hopes.

Don't Talk To Me About Heroes

Okay, we were playing against a team that boasted Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Rivaldo and Roberto Carlos - the big ‘Rs’ as I’ve never heard them called. They were and are legends of the game but but BUT we had England’s golden generation.

On the pitch were prime Beckham, Scholes, Cole and, erm, Danny Mills. It was our big chance to win something at last.

As we climbed back on the coach one of the kids with a radio shouted out that Rivaldo had equalised for Brazil in the last minute of the first half. It was meant to be a 35 minute journey under the channel to France so I was hoping to hear the last ten minutes of the game. 

Jusqu'a La Fin

By the time we emerged, however, it was all over. Ronaldinho had scored the flukiest goal of his career and we’d been dumped out of the World Cup. Again. It was such a flat ending.

The day in Boulogne was lovely. Strolling around the old parts in the sunshine, enjoying the obligatory croque monsieur and trying to persuade the rowdier kids not to jump in with the sea lions at the Aquarium. The usual. 

I got home at 10.30pm, knackered but having had a lovely day and forgotten all about the nation’s World Cup woes.

Hey Teacher!

By Tuesday however a letter from the angry mother had arrived. In it she accused me directly of taking her son’s sweets. I’ve redacted the kid’s name but this is from the letter. 

I’ll say right now that this didn’t happen. It wasn’t even a case of a misunderstanding. It didn’t happen and there was nothing even like that occurred.

I’ve no idea what really happened but assume that he spent the money his mum gave him on something else, lied about it and then when pressed, lied that he’d bought the sweets so instead of fessing up said a teacher had taken them off him.

I’m guessing the lie grew bigger the more he was pressed and the more his mum became outraged. 

Hand It Over, Hand It Over

Although I didn’t take away his sweets (honest!) I've got a few takeaways from all of this.

Firstly, it’s worth reminding yourself that kids lie all the time. Much more than you’d expect and with much more ease.

Teachers know. Parents not so much, they’ve got more skin in the game. And I think they feel it reflects badly on them. It doesn't. All kids lie.

I knew the lad because I taught him for the final term and it fitted. He was a nice lad but only twelve and not yet ready to accept responsibility for messing up.

Secondly, I was shocked at how much time and how many resources were given over to investigating the mother’s claims. I was questioned and had to provide a written account. Other teachers on the trip had to provide the same. 

The boy’s friends were questioned (hilariously his best mate had no recollection of seeing him with any sweets during the trip, other than “Werther’s Originals which he’d brought with him”).

Let It Go

In the Head’s office I could hear the final conversation with the mother on speakerphone. After a while the head came to a decision.

She said something like “Well, I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it there. You believe what your son is telling you and I believe what my staff members and the other students are telling me. There’s nothing more I can do.”

When she backed me so matter of factly and clearly, it meant a lot. If you have the opportunity to back your staff and colleagues then do so. I think I’d have been pretty disappointed with any other outcome but the public backing was very good to hear. 

I often think back to how clearly she closed the conversation and moved on. It was a great learning point to recognise that even though the outcome had not been resolved, it was okay to recognise that, agree to settle and move forwards.

And There’s No One Left To Blame

This week’s Top Tip is to recognise and quickly accept that not all outcomes are tidy. The quicker you embrace this the quicker you’ll be able to move on. 

The game between England and Brazil had to have a binary outcome. It was a knockout competition and so the result demanded a winner and a loser. That’s the sort of result we like. Clear and decisive. There’s no doubt about the result. 

Ronaldinho can claim he meant to lob Seaman all he wants - that was a cross gone wrong and never a shot - but the actual result is unambiguous. It was a goal, and the game ended with a 1-2 win to Brazil.

Lots of situations end up muddy and undefined. And it can be tempting to keep on pouring effort into them in order to get to the end. But you might never get there. You will probably be better off closing the loop, moving on and directing your energies elsewhere. Let it go. 

Check Yourself

You might have an open ended issue bothering you right now. I’m suggesting that you check in with yourself to see if it’s really worthwhile pursuing.

If you find that you’re spending more time and energy on something simply because you want to get to the bottom of it then that’s probably time to let it go and move on. (Just like I clearly have after, ahem, twenty one years and sixteen days.)