I was enjoying slobbing out on the sofa with my daughter last night, she might be almost 14 but she still likes her cuddles with Mummy! She was talking to me about her day and how she was unsure which piece of work to study for her Drama Class. She had been given a choice of 3 short pieces and she offered them to me to peruse and asked for my opinion.
I gave her my opinion alright!
2 of the 3 short dialogues were fine, as I read the third, alarm bells started to ring.
I was completely shocked.
The whole thing seemed to revlove around the word that describes poop and begins with ‘S’, moved on to the word that descibes an illegitimate baby and begins with ‘B’, and continued on about ‘turds’ and ‘tart’s’ (tarts as in slappers, loose women, not the jam variety).
WELL! Do you think I was fuming just a little?
I certainly was. I started on my moralistic rant. I asked my daughter how she felt about choosing that dialogue, she told me she would never choose it. I asked her if she thought it was right that children in Catholic a education system should be encouraged to use offensive language. She said that she didn’t think it was right. I told her that if she would have chosen that dialogue to recite in her Drama Class, that she would have had to confess it at her next confession…and asked her to consider the irony;
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned…I have used some really bad swear words” “Why did you do that, do you think” “Because they said it was ok” “Who said it was ok?” “My drama teacher at the Catholic School”
I asked my daughter for the name of the drama teacher. She wouldn’t tell me for fear of incurring the teachers wrath. I told her, no name, no birthday sleepover with 5 (groan) friends, in a couple of weeks 🙂
She gave me the name.
I asked for her work so that I could take it to the headmaster the following morning. She reluctantly gave it to me.
We got up, got through the morning chaos relatively unscathed (arguments first thing, aren’t they just a great way to start the day!), bundled into the car, collected my vicars wife-friends’ children, and zooomed off to High School. My son, who had yet to be driven to his school, moaned continually as we headed down the school drive (parent’s aren’t allowed in the driveway unless they are visiting the school to see a teacher or the Headteacher).
The girls evacuated the car in a hurry so that their other friends wouldn’t catch a whiff of what was going on (the horror of parents complaing!), and I asked my son to get out of the car.
“GET OUT, NOW!” I demanded (and you thought I had a sweet voice :D)
He begrudgingly conceded.
We entered the school , spoke to the receptionist and waited. and waited. and waited. After various questions from different staff about the purpose of our visit, we eventually got to see the Head of the Arts Department.
She was lovely.
I already knew she was lovely, because my darling daughter got through to the School and Arts College on her Benson Test (aptitude Tes) as at the time, though we were in the process of converting to Catholicism, the school that she had formally attended was not a Catholic feeder school. The Head of Arts and Music was the same lady I was now in discussion with, very affabble and polite and genuine.
The Head of Arts explained that the drama teacher responsible for this ‘mess’ was apparantly new to teaching. She had never taught anywhere before, fresh out of college, and was not being porperly overseen by her superiors.
The drama teacher in question, was hoverring around and had spoken to the Head of Arts while I was waitng. She looked very young and inexperienced, nervous even. I could appreciate that this had been the root of the problem, and the school ensured me that this level of ‘study work’ was perhaps more suitable for A level students (about 3 or 4 years form my daughters current position in school).
The Head of Art’s assured me that she was aware of my daughter’s devout catholicity and even called another Drama teacher into the conversation, they both agreed that Primadonna would never say the dialogue in on the sheet and agreed with me that it was entirely innapropriate, not fitting in with the Catholic school ethos whatsoever.
It would be dealt with immediately.
Moral of this little story, always keep an eye on your children’s school work! Often my daughter asks me for help and I don’t understand it and can be of no assistance at all. This is not an excuse to ‘let the school do the teaching’…when we need to keep an eye on what it is they teach!