Embarrassing a teenager is like having a dartboard in your head. Every day brings fresh opportunities to throw missiles, with a high chance of scoring a bullseye or even a 180. 

I consider it my job to try and achieve a decent score, and failure is unacceptable (although the consequences are few – it’s not like I can get the sack). Fortunately, it doesn’t take much, and the rewards are plentiful. 

This week, I told my daughter, tongue-in-cheek, that I had a “mum crush” on one of her teachers. For avoidance of any doubt, a “mum-crush” in my case equates to considering someone “a jolly good egg”, but it was fun to witness Daughter squirm and squeal, especially in the company of one of her best friends. 

And it turns out I’m in pretty good company. At Penair School’s GCSE results day, there was a steady stream of teenagers making a beeline for deputy head Rob Sharpe, who retires on August 31 after 21 years of service at Penair. “I will really miss you shouting ‘8.28’!!” said one, giving him a huge hug. 

Indeed, Daughter has told me all about his counting down the minutes for tardy teens, having been all too often been on the receiving end. “Who will do it once he’s gone?” she asked, wistfully. She will find out soon enough, as term starts in less than a week. 

But Mr Sharpe’s words to departing students were delivered in a much less military style: “Well done, and remember: this is the day you can wave that bit of paper at your parents and get anything you want. You can quote me on that,” he added, winking at the parents grinning on the sidelines.

Faced with my reporter’s notebook, he was modest to a fault: “It’s about the students, and not about me.” But he’s wrong. Mr Sharpe is just one of thousands of teachers - in Truro, Cornwall and across the land - who deserve to be applauded for the hard work put in, the midnight oil burned, to help our children get where they want to be in life. Those I met last Thursday were every bit as proud as the tearful mums and dads who thanked them and shook their hands vigorously. 

When people ask Daughter if she likes school, I groan inwardly. She’s in her early teens, and can find countless reasons why she doesn’t – her least favourite subjects, the people who get on her nerves. 

But as Mr Sharpe points out, when he bumps into former students in town, they are often in further education or employment, and seem to understand, albeit belatedly, that their school days were important.

‘Twas ever thus. Who isn’t a misty-eyed member of a social media group dedicated to their primary or secondary school intake? Who among us doesn’t recall a favourite teacher? Often, it’s the one you thought you despised the most, but absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

I’m Facebook friends with my former English teacher, and write proper letters to a primary school teacher who I considered a bit of a dragon at the time. Then there’s the one who put me on detention for a week for doodling in maths, but is fondly remembered by all who encountered him for his firm principles and twinkling eyes. He must have been in his 30s when he taught me, yet seemed old as the hills.  

The week before GCSEs, I attended the A Level results event at Truro College. I don’t think I will ever tire of seeing teenagers enjoying the fruits of their labours and looking forward to their next steps in the big wide world, with a little more freedom and agency to explore a huge range of options. 

Next week, the school term will start again, and Daughter will embark upon her own KS4 journey. In a couple of years’ time, she will be opening her envelope, possibly in that self-same dining hall, and I will be wiping away my own tears and quite possibly interviewing myself. 

In the meantime, let the embarrassment continue. What will Daughter make of me writing a column about my “mum-crush”, for the world (well, my mother-in-law) to read? Darts at the ready – 180!

********************************

I’m going on holiday – finally. The summer break seems to have flown by; swamped by an influx of work and family illness, I didn’t see much of it. 

Having both a teen and the Other Half around, demanding snacks/lifts/general attention, when I’m used to working in silence and my own company has been challenging. 

So the out-of-office is going on and the computer is staying at home, the pet-feeder is booked and the tent is going in the boot. 

I would be grateful if whichever hurricanes are next on the list would put their out-of-office on too. Asking nicely, pretty please?