My daughter's school report made me cry

I’m sure it something my parents did a lot when I was a child – and probably a few times since – spent a fair amount of time weeping at what someone else had written about their son.

‘He doesn’t pay attention.’

‘He does the absolute minimum that is asked of him.’

‘There will come a point he’ll realise it is all too late.’

I can visualise them talking to me now, I have absolutely no idea what they were saying – you’d need to have paid attention or something – but I imagine it was along the lines of disappointment, frustration and needing to pull socks up.

It’s probably only right that I can expect to feel similar about my daughter’s progress at school.

But, as yet, she’s made me emotional for quite the opposite reasons.

Well, not quite opposite.

On Sunday afternoon, when I got round to emptying her school bag, I found her school report.

We were sat playing inside, as it was miserable outside, lounging on bean bags, flitting between playing tea party, laser-tag and playing on our Nintendo Wii.

Jasmine was actually deep in thought playing Barbie Horse Adventures: Riding camp on the Wii, when, at her side, I tucked into her school report.

A two-page document, three if you count the results/level attainment record, so it took me a little while to read.

Her teacher had clearly taken a good deal of time to write it, on all his aptitudes she was spot on, and it was clear I was reading something personal to my child rather than a best-fit-cut-and-paste-from-a-library-of-educational-clichés style document.

When I stopped reading, I was silent and sobbing a little.

I guess as a child, a parent acting this way upon reading your school report, would be a little unnerving. Perhaps naturally leading you to think that I was sad, and she was in trouble.

“You okay Daddy?”  Jasmine nervously asked.

I couldn’t even muster an answer.

“Is my report okay?” She tried.

Still nothing from me.

Her teacher, whilst noting that she still has academic work to do if she wants to achieve higher than expected standards, wrote in real glowing terms.

On the effort and enthusiasm she brings to school.

On her confidence and intelligent questioning.

On her thoughtfulness and support of others.

About her thirst for learning new things and understanding how things work.

On how polite and reliable she is.

On how she is loved by not just his classmates, but by the school’s staff too.

Not sure which particular bit had me blubbering, but I think I may again owe a thank you note to my daughter’s teacher.

It took me a while to regain command of my emotions and reassure my daughter the reason for my tears was immense and overwhelming pride, rather than anything negative.

I do find it hard when people compliment my daughter. Just this morning, as she nearly ran down a neighbour and her dog on her scooter, as I caught up, the neighbour rather than being annoyed, gushed at how polite she is, complimenting her for saying ‘excuse me’.

I probably looked very rude by just nodding, but sometimes it’s all I can do to keep my emotions in check.

It’s like people think it’s got something to do with me. Which I appreciate to a little extent, I’m here to guide her, keep her in line and to help her understand things.

But her personality, who she is, what she does, how she chooses to behave, these decisions are all down to her.

I am very proud to be her dad.