Not all heroes wear capes

My son Otto is ten, and in many ways, he’s the kind of pupil schools dream of. Two weeks of 30 out of 30 in mental arithmetic, scored the opening goal in the school football match, and even landed one of the lead parts in the school play. His teacher stopped me in the playground just to say how impressed she was with his creative writing - especially his clever use of the collective noun 'a murder of crows.'

And yet, no Head Teacher’s Award.

So he turned to me the other day and asked, “What do I need to do to get one?” I didn’t have an answer. In true Otto fashion, he suggested a plan: maybe he should get everything wrong in his next maths test, and then everything right the week after. That might catch someone’s attention. I laughed, but my heart sank too. Because behind the humour was something very real. Children like Otto don’t just work hard in bursts - they keep showing up. Week after week, day after day, they give their best. Consistency is their superpower. But that doesn’t always get celebrated. Teachers often spotlight the child who makes the big leap forward, the dramatic turnaround, the surprise improvement. And of course, that deserves recognition too. But what about the ones who give their best every single day? Do we celebrate consistency enough?

As a parent, it’s a tough question. We want to promise our children that hard work is always noticed, that effort is always rewarded. But sometimes, it isn’t. Sometimes the child who does everything right is overlooked, and there’s no neat explanation to give. That’s why Otto’s question stayed with me. “What do I need to do?” It’s a question we’ve all asked at some point in our lives - in work, in friendships, in love. Am I enough, just as I am? The answer, of course, is yes. As a parent, I reminded him of the truth: he doesn’t need a certificate to prove his worth. It’s the character he’s building - his resilience, his humour, his creativity, his kindness. Those are the real achievements: the determination to give his best, even when nobody’s clapping. And not just as a parent either. In my work helping children learn to read and write, I make a point of noticing the ones who keep trying - the quiet, persistent effort that can so easily slip by unseen. I tell them when I see it: the courage to have another go, the small improvements stacking up until suddenly they can do something they couldn’t do before. Consistency might not always win the certificate, but it’s what builds real, lasting progress.

So for Otto - the award would be nice, but it isn’t the prize. The prize is the boy who keeps showing up, giving his all, and laughing along the way. Because 30 out of 30, again and again, is worth celebrating. And so is he.