A LONG time ago, when my daughters were still at school, and schools still required students to read and write and know algebra, we sometimes had the chance to talk to teachers and tell them they are wrong about our kids. 

As a parent, you would be periodically summoned to their schools to discuss what your precious offspring have been up to. 

Both parents are expected to attend, but being a firm believer that a ship can have only one captain and that it is prudent to stay out of any conversation between two women, I tend to leave the talking to their mother. 

But there was that one year when I had to speak my mind. 

The previous night, I happened to notice that one of my girl’s English trial exam questions was marked wrong when I swear by the Oxford English Dictionary it was right. 

It was a quiz on a story about a woman’s dog that got hurt, and there was an image of a sad-looking woman. 

To the question what is the lady feeling? 

My daughter wrote “melancholy”. 

The teacher had crossed out the answer and wrote “sad” over it. 

Now, this was not one of those multiple-choice questions, and 

my daughter had to write in her answer. I have no idea where she got the word “melancholy” from, probably from the books we have at home. She grew up voraciously devouring classics like the Black Arrow, Robin Hood and other stuff on my dusty shelf. 

“But the answer is correct, tell me how it is wrong,” I said. 

The missus gave me a side eye of encouragement and to say that I’m on my own on this one. 

“Madam, you may be familiar with the syllabus, but I assure you that I know my gerunds and dangling participles. ‘Melancholy’ is not wrong,” I said. 

My righteous indignation was at a peak and my voice trembled at the wrong that has been done. 

Where was the grammar police when we needed one? 

And then the woman brought me down with a low blow. 

“Encik, dia macam ni. I can mark the answer right and give her a better score but… 

“But at the REAL exam time, I won’t be marking the paper; it will be another person who has a set of approved answers. If your daughter has the same question and she answers the same word, she would be marked wrong.” 

That answer devastated me. Firstly, because I didn’t expect it, and secondly, it spoke volumes about how we go about educating our young. 

Instead of being able to give our children an education, we give them cookie-cutter learning that discourages imagination and stifles experimentation. 

In a world of infinite choices, we narrowed their options. 

My daughter will grow up thinking that “sad” is the only word when “sombre”, “unhappy”, “pensive”, “sorrowful”, “despondent”, “downhearted” and “downcast” are all perfectly good for their occasions. 

My girls are part of the unfortunate generation when the Education Ministry dithered between having subjects taught in English or Bahasa Malaysia and they got to experience both. 

They’ve all grown up now and will never see the inside of a classroom again, but maybe their kids can look forward to school now that the government wants to abolish exams. 

The Education Ministry announced that it would do away with exams to ease pressuring students. 

Now, if I were a kid, I’d be jumping with joy, salivating at all the fun things I could do at school instead of remembering stuff for exams.

I would read geography and enjoy looking at the postcards from far-away places without having to memorise their names or capital cities. Chemistry would be a breeze if you’re not going to be tested on it, and you can spend all day watching sodium (Na) spontaneously combust.

It is no wonder that people are already up in arms about this exam-free plan. 

It’s not because there is no merit to a more interpretive assessment of our kids to prepare them for the real world that opposers are worried about. 

It is about whether or not the education system has within its ranks the people who can assess the progress of our children and identify their quality. 

No exams mean that students automatically progress through their schooling. It’s all fine and dandy if, at the other end, employers can absorb them when they graduate, but without a plan in place to put a system of assessment to match, we’re planning for failure. 

Let’s not rush to eliminate exams just yet. 

But as far as I can remember my chequered school years and seeing how well-rounded I turned out; I think a little stress was a good thing. 

• ZB Othman is an editor of The Malaysian Reserve. 

• This article first appeared in The Malaysian Reserve weekly print edition