Dear R,
I was your tutor in year 11. I didn’t know you very well. You hated school and didn’t want to come in. But you didn’t know that you had a choice not to. Your attendance was poor, your academic record was negligible, and your behaviour record was in the red zone. I tried to reach out to you a few times, but you were uninterested. The mass pre-planned PSHE lessons I delivered to your class must have felt like a roughly cut out stencil of a flower to someone who craved running free in a wild meadow. And you’d had a taste for that meadow. You found your way to it after school and at the weekends and during the days you bunked off. I could see it in the fire that burnt in your eyes behind the glazed look you gave me. I caught you talking about parkours one day and you even gave me a little suspicious nod when I excitedly asked you if you did parkours. But you didn’t share any more details with me.
So I googled you. And I found your self designed school. I found your meadow. I found the world you’d forged for yourself outside of school. A world of adventure and learning and friends and community and challenge and fear and reality as you navigated the paving lines of the South Bank and the urban gorges of a council estate parking lot.
We did nearly have a breakthrough one day. It was near the end of term and our school had said that anyone with over 40 negative behaviour points would not be welcomed into the sixth form. You were at 38 negative behaviour points. You asked me if I’d clear your slate and let you start anew, give you the chance of a lifetime. It was the first time you’d looked at me seriously and given me your attention. The rest of the class looked on awaiting my response. I thought about it long and hard, and I said no. I didn’t want to set a precedent. You looked away, and never gave me the time of day again.
I’ve struggled with my decision ever since. I sometimes wish I’d had it in me at the time to break the invisible rules, to say yes. But in hindsight, I’m glad I said no. I hope it has meant that you haven’t been stuck in the clip art world of our school, and found your way back to your meadow. In hindsight I would have told you, R, you’re free. The law says you can educate yourself at school or otherwise. You can walk out and walk on.
