December the results came in. Sparkle of early summer
mingled with grades of the year’s subjects, a year’s responses to things
half-understood, knowledge recalled willy-nilly or rote. We ran free of results
as the beach beckoned. They still come in. We watch our children deal with a
pronounced B, teacher’s comments sometimes unhelpfully ambiguous.
‘Co-operative? Usually.’ Or does it ever stop? December, the results of our
year still a mixed scorecard. What was that all about? Even at eighty they have
the ‘failed the exam’ dream, only notice ‘Room for improvement’, not the A with
‘Excellent’. Glad holidays are here.
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