My heart beats like I’ve already had three giant vanilla-flavoured coffees. Why is my chest tightening? Have I forgotten to take off my ill-fitting, padded underwire bra? Tears start smudging my clumpy mascara. I’m short of breath. Have I been running? Wait, I don’t run. Where is this panic coming from?
Then I work out why I’m overwhelmed. I’ve just realised that today is the deadline to hand in my HSC artwork. But why has no one told me? How did I miss this very important date, one I’ve been working towards for my whole life?
“Despite teenagers doing everything on their laptops at school, they have to write their answers using a pen and paper!”Credit: Getty Images
This panicked nightmare has recurred throughout my life adult life. At 55, I’m still time-travelling back to my acne-covered teens. Sure, I know other people’s dreams/nightmares are boring to hear about, but the HSC nightmare is so common it’s worth sharing.
You see, I’m far from the only person with exam flashbacks. There’s a good chance you’ve had them, too, because of the muscle memory of anxiety that looms over final examsthis absurd system we still subject our young people to. It’s as outdated as the microwave-sized computers my friends and I used in my high school’s “computer lab”.
All we learnt on those computers was how to change the colour of the screen. And all the HSC is teaching students is how to memorise information and then regurgitate it to answer exam questions. And despite teenagers doing everything on their laptops at school, they have to write their answers using a pen and paper! Where is the sense in that? And don’t get me started on the wording of the questions; a recent English paper had my brain, with its smug Master’s degree, going into meltdown.
“Mum, I don’t like school!” Allegra told us after her first day at kindergarten. “The teacher is bossy, the bell is irritating and sitting on the mat is boring.”
Jessica Rowe
Perhaps you detect a slightly shrill tone, verging on a rant. You’re right. I’m fed up with a system that values marks over emotional intelligence, a system that works only for kids who learn in a particular way and are able to memorise information. What about all the other young people with different learning styles, those who are neurodivergent and those creative souls whose talent and ability don’t fit neatly onto a bell curve?
Our eldest daughter is about to embark on her final school exams. Getting to this point has been a lesson in courage and resilience for all of us. “Mum, I don’t like school!” Allegra told us after her first day at kindergarten. “The teacher is bossy, the bell is irritating and sitting on the mat is boring.”
That view hasn’t changed much over the past 13 years. I marvel at how she has managed to keep showing up, day after day, year after year, despite a curriculum that diminishes her sense of self and magical way of thinking.
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