On top of the learning curve

Your results no longer define you; the learning is the thing.

At the age of 63, teacher Allan Preiss decided to have a go at studying a VCE subject, on the Yiddish language. This is his story.

In 17 years of secondary teaching, much of it spent preparing students for year 12 exams, I often wondered what kind of student I would be if I returned to school. This year I found out.

I was reluctant to take on a VCE course but was unable to withstand the pressure from a relative and agreed to join him in studying a VCE LOTE subject.

The last time I had done secondary school studies was in 1967 – two lifetimes ago, as measured by our two adult children. From the start it felt both familiar and very different. I knew the structure of the course from my time as a VCE consultant. I understood the nature of outcomes and the two exams we would face – one oral, the other written. When the teacher handed out the material in the first class, it all felt comfortable; almost like riding a bike after many years of it rusting in the shed. The muscle memory controlling the balance remains, although you might be wobbly for the first few minutes. But this time was very different. There was little at stake here, other than a bit of ego: no university place hinged on my results, no parents to worry about how I was doing and whether I was studying hard enough, no need to balance the demands of this subject with others I was studying. During my teaching career I ran study skills workshops for year 12 students. I stressed the importance of working to a timetable and being highly organised with notes and handouts. I emphasised discipline around study and relaxation, remembering the goal and purpose of what you were doing. None of that applied to me now. I did all the work but often at the last minute, fitting it around guitar practice, cooking, and playing with our granddaughter. My papers were spread all over the study in a random order that only I could understand. But I did remember the goal. I was getting better at a language that I loved and which I had spoken from the start in the refugee home I grew up in, but which I had ceased speaking from the time I went to kindergarten.

I feigned disinterest in my grades but was quietly chuffed when I got an A, and indulged in self-criticism when the grade was lower. I always told my students not to bother with post-mortems after exams; they couldn't change anything, so why get in a lather about what had already happened? I will try to follow this advice when I get my final marks. Arriving at the centre for the oral exam, and looking at the young candidates, I was thrust back to 1967 and the sick feeling I got before exams. Now it was mixed with relief – one down, only one to go. One minute into the exam, it was clear we had been well prepared. Our practice had paid off. The conversation flowed freely and naturally. I cautioned myself not to relax too much, to stay focused. The 15 minutes flew by. So what is different for me this time round?

The biggest change is that I know that I am not my results. First time round I was heavily invested in the outcome. So much seemed to hinge on my results. This time I could simply enjoy the process of learning. I have also learnt over the years how to get the best out of my study. This is the culmination of years of university studies, post-graduate qualifications and a lifetime spent on developing others as a teacher and consultant in leadership development. I know my preferred learning style, how to cut corners appropriately, and where to apply my energy. What matters is very clear and this motivates me. You can't teach these things to a 17-year-old. There are some things you acquire only with age and experience. Apart from free public transport on Sundays, there are few advantages to ageing. This is one of them.

This piece was published The Age and Sydney Morning Herald 18 October 2013.