Monday, August 29, 2011
The dreaded PTM happened
Last Saturday to be precise. Forgive me, I have been lax in posting but life has been incredibly hectic all of a sudden. Put it down to my running around in circles, shifting homes and generally being on a short fuse all these days. So where was I? Yes, the brat had his PTM on Saturday last, and as always I went in with bated breath, churning stomach and sense of nervous nausea that once had been the precursor to examinations of the algebra, geometry, physics, chemistry variety.
The assessments this time round were conducted without his customary concessions which he had been enjoying all these years. Extra time. Spelling mistakes overlooked. Taken to the Resource Room where the special educator would read out and explain what needed to be done in the answer sheet to him. I expected to see answer sheets marked with big Os and was steeling myself for the same. "Brat," I told him, preparing him for what I was sure we would be confronted by. "Whatever marks you do get, it is okay. Don't feel sad. Be proud you did it all by yourself and it was your own efforts."
He nodded his head wanly, feeling my anxiety seep into him through osmosis of sorts. "My madds paper wuz very good. I will ged eggcellent. Donch worry."
"No I'm not worried, brat, I'm just a little stressed out."
We reached class, brat sat beside me, I lowered myself gently into the little chairs that are meant for pintsizes, and tested for balance and sturdiness. It didn't seem like it would give way beneath me.
I picked up the first answer sheet off the little pile under the placard marked Krish. Sure, the name was scribbled on in the brat's most illegible scrawl. 3 and a half read the figure on the top in the teachers handwriting, my heart sank to the vicinity of my feet. I plucked up further courage and read on. Computer assessment. 3 and a half out of five. Surely, this couldn't be true. I scanned through the rest of the sheets with my mouth open enough for some stray insects to fly in and take up permanent residency.
The brat had scored well. And how. An average of above 20 of 30 marks in all subjects. Except Hindi. Where he scored miserably. And I completely blame myself because my Hindi, am ashamed to admit on a public platform, is lousy. And I kept avoiding taking it up or making him do writing practice.
My eyes teared up. Can't help it, I'm the proverbial bleeding heart. Grabbed the surprised child and smothered him with hugs and kisses much to his horror, this public demonstration of affection happening In Class. In Front Of His Teacher. He extricated himself from my clutches in great disgust and squawked, "Whachyure doing! Eveybuddy is looking at us."
"I'm so very, very proud of you," I told him. "You've done very well in your assessments."
He smirked. In manner of cat who has licked the proverbial cream. " I tole you I did very well. Yu dint believe me."
I nodded apologetically. "Now enough studying," he announced grandly, having proven himself. "I know everything."
Ah. For the confidence of childhood.