Year 12 is a year of tests, from the HSC to driving. Photo: Envato, @LightFieldStudios.
Nothing quite prepares you for the chaos of having a child doing the Year 12 HSC. Not even the great parenting equaliser: head lice.
Forget the kids – I’m the one who’s stressed.
My daughter seems to be functioning just fine while I’m three spreadsheets deep in assessment schedules, all the names of the Ancient Egyptian rulers, and YouTube videos explaining non-right-angled trigonometry.
Apparently “reading her notes out loud to me” is the best way she learns.
The outcome of that? I now have the knowledge of a semi-competent Ancient History teacher and the emotional stability of someone who’s been forced to learn how to convincingly deliver a monologue speaking like a parrot.
In turn, it means my brain is constantly full of facts I’ll never need to use – like the endless Facebook memes and Instagram Reels on useless life hacks I once took in (oh, those were the days).
Instead of resorting to Facebook, I’m now in a strong relationship with a particular librarian at the Shellharbour City Libraries, who’s been a godsend in finding the best HSC English books.
Use your local library, people, it’s a gold mine.
Back in my day (yes, I’m officially old enough to say that), I walked out of Year 12 and straight into a journalism cadetship.
No ATAR. No early entry. No career quizzes that tell you you’re best suited to becoming a “wedding celebrant or marine biologist”.
These days, it’s assessments, trials, part-time jobs, extracurricular activities, lessons, exams, late-night existential crises and — somehow — still managing to maintain a skincare routine.
I do have to applaud the education department for ensuring tests and assessments throughout the year go towards their ATAR score these days, placing less pressure on kids in the final exams.
Not every child excels in high pressure test situations. I was one of them.
Of course, all this studying is meant to be leading to a career, which often they feel they have to have all figured out by now.
And then there’s the driving. Oh God, the driving.
Learning to drive in the Illawarra is not for the faint-hearted.
We have more roundabouts than a country carnival but barely anyone knows how to use them correctly.
L-platers are tailgated by tradies running late and cut off by “zig-zag drivers” manoeuvring across lanes and through traffic at high speeds to beat the lights, all the while being watched nervously by mums like me muttering, “Just breathe, just breathe”, like a midwife.
Look, I’ll admit, I’ve developed some high level driving anxiety that can only be cured by moving to a remote cabin with no roads and high-speed internet.
It feels a long way from the woman who once enjoyed a weekly Sunday drive, meandering through country roads without a map and a care – well, until petrol prices crept above $1, because that felt like a travesty at the time.
Let’s not forget to add to this year the innumerable 18th birthday parties — those glorious events where half the guests are technically adults and the other half are still losing retainers in their lunchboxes.
For parents, it’s the perfect storm of “Are they safe?”, “Who’s driving?” and “Please don’t bring home a tattoo”.
Honestly, this year so far has been a blur of sticky notes, Spotify study playlists and panic-buying highlighters like they hold the key to success.
But here’s what I’ve learned: your child’s ATAR is not their destiny. It’s just a stepping stone — and sometimes a wobbly one.
They’ll probably study another two degrees, change careers five times, and still need you to help them fill out a Medicare form at 30.
So yes, I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, and constantly steeping in chamomile tea. But I’m also proud.
We’re doing it. One monologue, one exam, one terrifying roundabout at a time.
