The Results Revelation

Tomorrow is a big day for teenager across the UK, the day they find out their A-level results and for many of them whether they are good enough to get into their preferred university. This seemed a good time to look back on my experience of results days.
*Imagine flashback harp noise here*
It was a Thursday morning and the moment had finally arrived. Would I go to university, would I get the necessary grades of two Cs and a B in order to begin a long and successful career in teaching? After a seemingly eternal queue I picked up the envelope and disappeared into a corner to open it. I ripped open the seal and then had to spend a few minutes interpreting all the numbers and letters on the pieces of paper within. The quickened beating of my heart made the simple process of reading almost impossible. Eventually some distant part of the brain which was actually functioning properly worked out the grades.
A ‘B’ for History. How on Earth did that happen? I realised I must have written some remarkable exam answers in the two history exams I’d taken a few months earlier to push my grade up that high. Thank goodness for that amazing history teacher who taught me how to play the game of exams.
A “C” in English Literature. I was fairly happy with this, a reasonable grade especially considering I never even expected to take the subject in the first place, let alone carry it through to a second year. Reading books and giving my opinion on them was really enjoyable.
(On the subject of reading books and giving my opinion on them, I’ve set up a new little blog about that very thing. Lots of book reviews with many more to come. You can read it here if that sounds like your sort of thing. Anyway, back to the flashback.)
A “D” in Geology. This was not so good. I was clearly not much of a scientist- this was a huge improvement compared to my attempt at taking Biology the previous year. Despite all my hard work I was a few marks and therefore a grade below my university’s requirements.
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Fun Fact: No-one ever does this successfully on their results day.
There was still hope though. The university could still accept me if I didn’t quite make the cut but it was not a sure thing by any means. I rushed home, desperately anxious to check my e-mails and see if I would be lucky. My laptop decided it was by no means in the hurry I was, and took an age to boot up. Eventually though I read the magic words “Congratulations, your place has been confirmed”. It was happening. University, then teaching. It was all coming together…
*3 years and 10 months later*
I am sat at home continuously refreshing my e-mails. My degree result is due and there is also the off chance someone might be offering me a job interview. A lot has changed since that fateful day when I thought my life had changed forever. In reality it hadn’t, not really. The acceptance into university was misstep, a wrong move. Not by the university, how could the faceless organisation of education really know? I should have known though. I should have known that I just don’t have the personality of a teacher. But time cannot be rewritten. Not one line.
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On another refresh the e-mail pings up. EXAM BOARD RESULTS the subject line impassively blares. I once again have to spend time interpreting the information, although for different reasons this time. It’s not that my brain is not functioning normally, it’s that the information is so unclear it feels like I need the Rosetta Stone to aid with translation. Eventually I discover the words “Upper Second Class” and realise this means I have a 2.1 degree in primary teaching. This is quite the achievement really but it feels meaningless. The degree itself was never important to me, just a necessary addition to the other bit, the teacher status. But the latter had slipped out of my grasp and I was left with the unuseful degree, like a child trying to make a sandcastle with a spade and no bucket.
*Imagine reverse flashback harp noise as we return back to the future*
Well there you go, there’s my tale of the results days. I think I told that rather well. *pats self on back*. The moral message of this story? That exam results mean nothing. You might fail horrible but doesn’t mean your life will be any worse. You might achieve wonderful things but it doesn’t mean you will get anywhere. Sure, celebrate your successes, you deserve to, but don’t get cocky. Ultimately, exams are just a stepping stone to a destination. You might reach the stepping stone but it doesn’t mean you will ever reach your destination.
OK, I’m done here. Somehow this post turned into something quite philosophical. How did that happen?

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