Many moons ago my Dad bumped in to my old headteacher. He asked after my brother (a ‘good’ student). My Dad told him how he was getting on, then mentioned that his other son (me) was starting his teacher training.
The head of my former school laughed. “He’ll never be a teacher”, he guffawed.
He was wrong. I am a teacher. What’s more, a headteacher with a national teaching award under my belt. That’s not a boast, but it is a two-finger salute.
I’m tempted to attach the label ‘pompous idiot’ to the man who flounced in to his first assembly at the school in his graduation gown and mortarboard, as many of us sung the Batman theme tune. But I’ll be more generous and call him ‘misguided’ in his estimation of his former student’s potential.
What was the source of his error?
Perhaps he made a generalisation error. I…
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