Consideraciones importantes sobre la evaluación de los docentes desde una perspectiva crítica

Dad is waiting for me on the platform when I get off the train at Warrnambool Station. When I woke up at Jodie’s I decided calling him wasn’t enough, I needed to see him. So I went home first thing in the morning, packed my bag and got the lunchtime train to Warrnambool.

He reaches to grab my bag from me, but I put it down instead and hug him. I can’t remember the last time we hugged. Not properly. Not just an arm hung around a shoulder or a light hand on the back. He is stiff at first, arms by his side, startled. But then he puts his arms around me and I feel him relax. And so, do I. For the first time, in a long time, I feel like I’m where I’m meant to be.

We still only have a typical, mundane conversation in the car on the drive home. I ask about his work, he asks me about uni. He tells me how much rain Warrnambool has had and asks about the weather in Melbourne, like the three-hour distance could mean the difference between sunshine and snow. We both know we have more to say to each other. I can feel it lingering in the air between us. Unsaid. And maybe it’s because we are in the car, sitting side by side, that neither of us says what we really need to say.

When we get home, Dad puts the kettle on while I put my things in my room. It’s strange being in here. Most of my things are missing, yet it still feels like home. I take the box out of my suitcase, its corners blunt and the ribbon flattened. I hide it under my bed. I’m still not ready to open it, but I wasn’t able to leave it behind.

Dad’s sitting in the kitchen waiting for me, mugs on the table. His tea white, mine black. Turns out it took me moving to Melbourne for him to learn how I have it. Before I’d left, this would have been something I’d have made a point of, sarcastically. But now, I know Claire and Jodie are right, I’ve been too hard on him. I’ve spent my life punishing him for being the parent who was here; I’ve judged him against an ideal that is probably impossible for anyone to live up to. And I want to tell him that I’m sorry. I want him to know that I’ve finally r e a l i s e d it wasn’t just me who lost Mum, that I know he lost someone too. But where would I possibly start?

‘Happy Birthday, Luce,’ he says, and raises his mug towards me before taking a sip. I’d forgotten I still hadn’t seen him since my birthday, but so much has happened since then. He reaches across to the seat of one of the empty kitchen chairs and pulls a present out from under the table. ‘I was going to send it up to you, but then I decided not to. I wanted to be there when you opened it,’ he says, handing it to me across the table.

I hadn’t even thought about what Dad would get me for my eighteenth. Last year at school, when everyone else in our year level was turning eighteen, it was almost like it became a competition between who could out-do each other with their birthday gifts. Brand

new cars, expensive watches, return tickets to London. That was about the only thing that made me glad I wasn’t turning eighteen in Year 12, because I knew I could never compete with everyone else. Dad was never going to buy me a car and there was no way he was going to get me something as sentimental as a watch or a pearl necklace that I’d have forever, as a reminder of when I became an adult. No, my present would be the same as always. Something Anne picked up, wrapped and gave to Dad to give to me, along with the cake she’d made.

Growing up, I always hated that he didn’t get my present himself. But now I realise it would’ve always been hard for him, because my birthday was the anniversary of Mum’s death. It always would’ve been a reminder that he was doing it all on his own. A reminder that almost another year had passed since he’d lost his wife. Another year that he’d been without her.

But this present isn’t wrapped with Anne’s usual care. One end is square, taped down at the corners; the other is pointed, taped down at its triangular tip. There’s far too much sticky tape and no card. For once I think Dad has actually wrapped it himself, meaning he must have bought it himself too. There’s no scenario I can think of in which Anne would have bought the present, but not wrapped it. I’m touched that Dad has tried to do it himself this year.

‘Thanks Dad,’ I say, lifting the tape from the corner. The gift is hard, rectangular, weighty. I’m expecting a book, though which book Dad would buy me, I’m not sure. So once I’ve torn off the paper and I start to pull whatever it is out of its box, I’m surprised to see the stand of a photo frame. I pull it out upside down, expecting it to be empty. I guess a photo frame is a pretty standard gift for a teenage girl. Safe, but impersonal. You might buy it for the daughter of a family friend, not your own daughter. I work on my face, telling myself in my head, ‘look grateful’, ‘at least he tried’, ‘smile’.

‘Oh Dad, a photo frame. Thanks.’ I say, my voice high pitched, overcompensating. But as I turn it in my hand, I notice that the silver frame contains an image I’ve seen nearly every day since I was eight, when I found it in the top drawer of Dad’s office desk. It’s Mum with me on the day I was born. Instead of looking at the camera, Mum is looking at me. Leaning in, either to give me a kiss or after having already done so. She smiles wide, with her eyes as much as her mouth. It’s the single, most important moment of my life. But one I don’t remember. I’ve looked at that photo, a torn, crumpled, yellowing copy, thousands of times and willed myself to remember that one moment. To remember how I felt in her arms, the feel of her lips against my skin, her smell or the sound of her voice. But I was too young. And here it is, that moment captured and framed, presented for display, instead of secret glances by my bedside lamp.

‘Oh Dad,’ I say again, this time my voice is soft, catching. Grateful. ‘It’s perfect. It’s… she’s beautiful.’

‘You look just like her, Luce. I see her in you every day.’

I let out a single sob, a single breath carrying with it years of questioning, years of resentment, years of grief. I reach across the table and put my hand on Dad’s. He has tears in his eyes, but he too looks like he’s let out a deep breath, one he’s been holding for eighteen years.

'Dad,' I say, leaning forward to put my other hand on top of his. I’ve never seen him look like this. So vulnerable. So human. Even with the faults I projected on to him, he always still seemed infallible to me, like he could do no wrong. But now, now he can't look me in the eye. Instead he looks into his tea, his shoulders hunched, his hands limp. ‘I want to move back home.’

‘What?’ he says, lifting his head quickly.

‘I've learnt a lot Dad, recently, about myself, about other things. I feel like I’m starting to learn who I am. And now I know that I’m not a nurse,’ I try to explain.

‘Well of course you’re not a nurse, you’re only in your second semester.’

‘No, I mean, it’s not what I want to do with my life. Be a nurse. I’m not… it’s not me.’ ‘Lucy, have you really thought about this? You’ve barely started, how do you know y o u don’t want to do it?’

‘I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, Dad. I don’t even know why I decided to do nursing in the first place. And I’m not really enjoying my classes, it’s not what I see myself doing every day for the rest of my life.’

‘You’re not really meant to enjoy your classes,’ he says.

‘They can be hard, but I should still want to go. I should still find the content interesting,’ I reply.

‘Well you can’t give up because it’s too hard.’

‘It’s not too hard, my marks have been okay. And I’m not giving up! That’s not what this is. It’s me realising I want to do something else with my life.’

‘Lucy, I think you should stick with it a bit longer. Wait until the end of the year. If you still feel the same way, we can talk about it then.’

‘Dad, I’m not really asking you. I’ve decided. I’m not going back next year and I’d like to move home. Work here while I work out what I want to do.’

‘It’s not that simple Lucy. I want you to do something with your life, not just come back, live here with me and work. You can do more than that.’

‘It wouldn’t be forever. Just while I work out what I want to do.’

‘And when do you think you’re going to know that? All you talked about last year was being a nurse, what if the next thing you choose turns out not to be right either?’

‘God, I don’t know. I thought I was being responsible. I thought moving back would be the right thing. I can work, save some money and figure out what I want to do.’

‘Well I think you would have to pay rent if you’re not studying. If you lived here and you were studying, it would be fine. But I don’t want you getting used to getting things easy in life.’

Easy? He thinks I’ve had an easy life? I can’t believe I let Jodie convince me that he was different. That I’d been too hard on him, that I’d misjudged him. Maybe I had when it came to Mum, but he still doesn’t understand me or respect me.

‘I’m not an idiot!’ I shout. ‘I can make my own decisions without ruining my life. I don’t need you to make them for me.’

‘Lucy, that’s not what I’m trying to do. I just want you to think about this more. Maybe you could transfer to Deakin here. Keep going with your course, but from home.’

‘Why? I’m not going to like it any more from here. I like Melbourne. I would stay there, but I just thought it would be a waste of money to stay there while I worked out what I want to do.’

‘Well what are you going to do here, then? I’m not going to have you lying on the couch reading books all day. You would have to work.’

‘Dad! You’re not listening to me. I said I’d work. That I’d save money. I’ll go back to Target, I’ll get a second job at a café. I might even do a short course at TAFE.’

‘What short course?’

‘I don’t know Dad,’ I say, frustrated. ‘That’s why I want to come back, so I can work that out.’

‘Well I still think you need to think about it more. Talk to your teachers at uni. Look into short courses. Maybe you could do a short course in Melbourne while you think about it.’

‘Dad! I don’t need to think about it anymore. I’m not going back to uni. I’m done. You can’t force me. I’m sorry I thought you might actually want me to come home. I was obviously wrong. I’ll just stay in Melbourne with Claire and Sean!’ I scream, getting up from the table, the chair scraping on the floor with the force.

‘Lucy, sit back down.’

‘No. You’re not listening to me, so why should I,’ I say, as I grab Harry’s lead and slam the front door behind me.

I walk Harry down to the beach, hoping to clear my head. It’s a walk I’ve done hundreds of times, but by the time I get there I’m exhausted. My legs are shaky; my heart is pounding in my chest and through to my fingertips. I’m furious at myself for thinking Dad had changed. Normally when I’m having trouble with Dad, I ring Jem. I think it’s part of the reason why she’s just as hard on him as I am, even worse. I tell her everything he does to annoy me, but

while I usually get over it, because he’s my dad and I have to, Jem doesn’t. She remembers every single argument I’ve told her about, every fault. But this time I can’t call her. We’ve barely spoken since our fight.

I could call Claire, but I haven’t said anything to her and Sean about maybe dropping out of uni. I don’t want to worry them about having to find a new housemate until I know for sure whether I’m moving out or not. I call Jodie instead; she’s basically the only person I have left to call.

‘Oh Lucy, give him a chance. He’ll come around. He’s obviously just worried about you and wants to make sure you’re making the right decision,’ she says once I’ve filled her in on how it’s gone so far.

‘I tried to explain. He just doesn’t get it and he doesn’t want to listen so that he actually could. He just wants to keep treating me like a little kid.’

‘Well, you’re his daughter, to some extent you will always be a child to him.’

‘Great, so I’m going to get this my whole life! Maybe it’s better if I just stay in Melbourne.’

‘Lucy, give him another chance.’

‘Another chance? I’m getting sick of giving people second and third and fourth chances. It only ever seems to make it worse for me.’

‘Your dad’s not Jem, Luce.’

‘No, he might be worse. He’s family.’ ‘Luce, go home and talk to your dad again.’

‘Why are you always on his side? You were on his side last time, too. I thought you were fine with me not going back to uni.’

‘I’m not on his side. There aren’t any sides, Lucy. But it doesn’t matter whether I’m fine with the decision, it’s a decision that you have to make yourself, but you need to talk it over with your dad first.’

‘I thought you were my friend.’

‘Lucy, honey, don’t get me wrong. I like that we’re spending time together and I like that I’ve been able to help you get to know your mum. But this is really between you and your dad.’

‘Oh, um, okay. If it’s too much for you, if I’m too much for you, just forget it. I just thought you wanted to help me. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Luce, that’s not what I meant. I want to keep spending time with you. I just meant, when it comes to these big decisions, I don’t get a say. What I think doesn’t really matter.’

‘Fine. It’s fine. Just forget it. Go back to your family. I’ll work it out myself.’ And I hang up. Harry has gone to sleep on my feet, but I pull him up to nuzzle in his neck.

Harry and I stay on the beach until it’s dark, then we walk into town to get a pizza. When we’re in there, I keep my head down. I don’t want to run in to anyone I know. I don’t think I can deal with talking to anyone else. I don’t want anyone to know I might be moving back. That I’ve failed.

Harry and I find a quiet seat, a couple of blocks closer to home, to sit and eat. At first I feed Harry pieces of ham and the burnt bits of crust, but then after I’ve picked at most of the pizza without really eating any, I give Harry the whole box.

When we get home, it’s after 11:00pm. Lucky I don’t have curfew anymore. I drop Harry off in the backyard and go through the back door. Dad has fallen asleep in his chair in the lounge room, the TV still going. I sneak past him and go to bed.

In the morning when I wake up, I hear voices coming from the kitchen. I’ve slept in, it’s 10:00am, but I was hoping Dad would already have been at work before I got up. I know I