School report day. I should have been prepared, R told me that this year he is 'listening in class' because 'the work is more interesting'. I felt like a street urchin who had been invited into a top luxury hotel, this is how the other half lives. As I braced myself for the usual barrage of clichés and criticism, the teacher ran his finger up and down the list of marks and said he couldn't find anything to say, the marks were all good, nor had he any 'remarks' from any of his colleagues. Silence fell. I didn't know what to say. The teacher didn't know what to say. I started to make comments about the picture of Aristotle on the wall. I underwent a kind of revelation; French teachers work so hard to find something to criticise, because if they can find nothing to criticise, the student have nothing to learn, and the teacher, therefore, has nothing to teach. The whole process grinds to a halt. R's teacher gave me a final sort of smile, so I went home.
When R received news of his report and scanned the marks and comments, he did a victory dance unrivalled even by Gollum when he got the ring. I AM THE BOSS he said, and went off laughing (he currently sounds like Marg Simpson).
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