So you know how sometimes you really want something, and you convince yourself over and over again that it's all working out the way you want it to, and then someone (or multiple someones) interfere and tell you it couldn't possibly happen? When I was in England, I really really wanted something, and was 100% convinced that if I was patient I'd get it in the end. Then the skeptics came around, and convinced me that I was wasting my time. Begrudgingly, I tried to forget about it. However, I was never wholeheartedly into the idea of giving up. Obviously if you're heart isn't into it, either for or against, you can't fully commit yourself.
Turns out I was given pretty shit advice, some of it from people with questionable motives. It's kind of made me second guess who I can really trust. Some people were clearly trying to manipulate me, which is in itself a bit appauling, and others were likely genuinely unaware. Overall, its taught me that I should just trust my own intuition, and sod what everyone else says. As it stands, I wasn't too far off the mark to begin with, and I could have very nearly made some horrendous mistakes. Luckily for me, I'm smarter than that, and I stuck to my guns, despite wavering slightly under the direction of other people's advice.
I won't make the same mistakes again, which is the silver lining to the whole experience. That, and the fact that I didn't slip far enough into making things irreversible.
Anyways, I've likely blabbed entirely too much, as per usual. I'm off to put on my game face.
Cheers
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
On Not Wanting To Return To England
I am loving it way too much, back in Canada. I didn't really realize how much I missed it, and the lovely people that inhabit it, until I came back. I missed it so much. I missed people so much...and just the thought of having to leave them again is killing me. So for the remainder of my time here, I'm not going to think about it.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
On How It Should Be Me
So I've recently downloaded the greatest hits by Simply Red. If you don't know who that is, you're crazy. I'm sure if you hear a few of his songs, you will realize who he is. Pretty solid stuff, I must admit. Anyways, I've been blasting it on my iPod, over my speakers, in school tonight. The sun 'Sunrise' has just finished playing, and I really like the chorus for some reason. I remember they played the song at Roots (either that, or my brain is thinking they did, because it's such a familiar song to me). I dig the song, and I'm note sure why. Anyways, the chorus really appeals to me, so I thought it fitting to quote it:
'I don't know if it's even in your mind at all...
It could be me...
At this moment in time.
Is it in you mind at all?
It should be me...
It could be me....
That's stuck in your mind
Forever.'
Don't ask why I did that. I couldn't explain it to you, even if I wanted to. What's more likely is that you'll just understand what I mean. Some of you, anyways. Others will likely remain completely in the dark. Rest assured, however, that you are not alone. I think on some level, I am there with you.
But anyways. The title of the blog isn't just about the song. It also applies, on some level, to my professional career. Oh how I should really get some kudos for my work. I know in the last few blogs I've been pointedly negative. I make no apologies for this, because it was, and in some ways still is, the way I felt. I still feel as if the negative comments I recieve greatly outweigh the postive. However, I've recently marked some new pieces of coursework from my year 10 group and it's just restored some of my faith in myself. I've marked 6 students work so far (they're the only ones to get it done EARLY), and have awarded 5 As and one B. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Their writing had markedly improved since the last piece of work, which I would like to think has SOMETHING to do with me. I'm hoping that perhaps they've taken on some of my advice in writing this new essay. They also seem to have really understood the poems (the essay was comparing and contrasting two poems), which means that I must have taught them something about how to read and analyze poetry. If this is the case, then it's a huge ego boost for me, because I used to consider poetry my weakest teaching subject. However, Mr. Smith (the wonderful teacher to whom I owe much of my teaching prowess, and in fact my career) really opened up my eyes to the wonders of teaching poetry. He showed me that it can be fun, and I've in effect tried to continue teaching poetry the way he taught it; with enthusiasm and through interesting activites. I'd like to think that the good marks in coursework are therefore a reflection of good practice, taught by me.
I'm going to think that, anyways, nuts to whatever anyone else says.
Anyways, my laptop charger has been royally fucked by my roomies, who ripped it out of the wall and tore it up.....stupid assholes. So my laptop will be rendered ineffectual in about twenty minutes time. That means I won't be online unless I'm on the internet at school...until I come home, and buy my new laptop. It's about damn time.
Try not to miss me too much....
Cheers
'I don't know if it's even in your mind at all...
It could be me...
At this moment in time.
Is it in you mind at all?
It should be me...
It could be me....
That's stuck in your mind
Forever.'
Don't ask why I did that. I couldn't explain it to you, even if I wanted to. What's more likely is that you'll just understand what I mean. Some of you, anyways. Others will likely remain completely in the dark. Rest assured, however, that you are not alone. I think on some level, I am there with you.
But anyways. The title of the blog isn't just about the song. It also applies, on some level, to my professional career. Oh how I should really get some kudos for my work. I know in the last few blogs I've been pointedly negative. I make no apologies for this, because it was, and in some ways still is, the way I felt. I still feel as if the negative comments I recieve greatly outweigh the postive. However, I've recently marked some new pieces of coursework from my year 10 group and it's just restored some of my faith in myself. I've marked 6 students work so far (they're the only ones to get it done EARLY), and have awarded 5 As and one B. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Their writing had markedly improved since the last piece of work, which I would like to think has SOMETHING to do with me. I'm hoping that perhaps they've taken on some of my advice in writing this new essay. They also seem to have really understood the poems (the essay was comparing and contrasting two poems), which means that I must have taught them something about how to read and analyze poetry. If this is the case, then it's a huge ego boost for me, because I used to consider poetry my weakest teaching subject. However, Mr. Smith (the wonderful teacher to whom I owe much of my teaching prowess, and in fact my career) really opened up my eyes to the wonders of teaching poetry. He showed me that it can be fun, and I've in effect tried to continue teaching poetry the way he taught it; with enthusiasm and through interesting activites. I'd like to think that the good marks in coursework are therefore a reflection of good practice, taught by me.
I'm going to think that, anyways, nuts to whatever anyone else says.
Anyways, my laptop charger has been royally fucked by my roomies, who ripped it out of the wall and tore it up.....stupid assholes. So my laptop will be rendered ineffectual in about twenty minutes time. That means I won't be online unless I'm on the internet at school...until I come home, and buy my new laptop. It's about damn time.
Try not to miss me too much....
Cheers
Friday, December 12, 2008
On Really Being A Disillusioned Bitch
It seems as if my anger knows no bounds, these days. I walk into the building now, and I seethe with it. It doesn't help when I go to my mailbox, and find a nice green form, requesting that I fill in all the details of my recent illness, to be discussed with the higher powers at the school here, and then sent of to the powers that be in Cambridgeshire County Council. It says its confidential, and that it's for payroll purposes. I scoffed at it, and threw it out. I don't get paid directly by the CCC, so they have no business prying into my affairs. They can go suck on it, for all I care.
I also got an e-mail detailing the 'Staff Training Day' on January 5th. There is something slotted in to 'discuss illness and sick leave'. Wow. Feels like yet another personal dig. Excuse me for being concerned about my health. I can't really dictate to my doctors, and the hospital that I had to visit twice, when it's convenient for ME to see THEM. They are doctors for Christs sake. They call the shots, and I gladly acquiesce. Ugh. I'm going to tune out for that part, and likely the entire day, of Training. It's bullshit, and we all know it.
Not to mention the fact that the Training day is, yet again, strictly departmental. This staff is so fragmented, it's not even funny. Since there is no staff room (yah, chew on that idea for awhile), its rare that I ever meet and mingle with other members of staff. If I didn't have friends in other departments, who I met through sheer determination to NOT be so lonely in September, then I'd never have a life outside school. It's like the higher powers frown upon staff socialization of any kind. English teachers talking with Maths teachers? Heaven forbid that. They might get crazy ideas, and overthrow us! Pffft. Stupid. Not sure what they hope to gain by keeping the staff so dismembered, but it certainly is a very noble effort.
There are plenty of people in this school that I don't know on a first name, or last name for that matter, basis. How horrible is that? These are people that work in the same building as me! Ridiculous.
Anyways, this entire post is just a basic reiteration of the fact that I am increasingly growing weary of this place. Again, I would like to point out that it is not necessarily the children that get me down (though in some cases, and classes, it is), but more the bureaucracy that exists in this school. And perhaps the country in general.
I can't wait for it to be a week today, and I can't wait to go back to a place where I fit in and feel normal.
I can't wait to be a Canadian amongst a sea of Canadians. Bring on those slow, flowing southwestern Ontario drawls (and cute southwestern Ontario boys). I'm ready for you.
I also got an e-mail detailing the 'Staff Training Day' on January 5th. There is something slotted in to 'discuss illness and sick leave'. Wow. Feels like yet another personal dig. Excuse me for being concerned about my health. I can't really dictate to my doctors, and the hospital that I had to visit twice, when it's convenient for ME to see THEM. They are doctors for Christs sake. They call the shots, and I gladly acquiesce. Ugh. I'm going to tune out for that part, and likely the entire day, of Training. It's bullshit, and we all know it.
Not to mention the fact that the Training day is, yet again, strictly departmental. This staff is so fragmented, it's not even funny. Since there is no staff room (yah, chew on that idea for awhile), its rare that I ever meet and mingle with other members of staff. If I didn't have friends in other departments, who I met through sheer determination to NOT be so lonely in September, then I'd never have a life outside school. It's like the higher powers frown upon staff socialization of any kind. English teachers talking with Maths teachers? Heaven forbid that. They might get crazy ideas, and overthrow us! Pffft. Stupid. Not sure what they hope to gain by keeping the staff so dismembered, but it certainly is a very noble effort.
There are plenty of people in this school that I don't know on a first name, or last name for that matter, basis. How horrible is that? These are people that work in the same building as me! Ridiculous.
Anyways, this entire post is just a basic reiteration of the fact that I am increasingly growing weary of this place. Again, I would like to point out that it is not necessarily the children that get me down (though in some cases, and classes, it is), but more the bureaucracy that exists in this school. And perhaps the country in general.
I can't wait for it to be a week today, and I can't wait to go back to a place where I fit in and feel normal.
I can't wait to be a Canadian amongst a sea of Canadians. Bring on those slow, flowing southwestern Ontario drawls (and cute southwestern Ontario boys). I'm ready for you.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
On Needing to Come Home. Now.
Ugh. I am just hitting my end point, these days. I cannot see how I can make it another week in this country. I am just getting brow-beaten here, and starting to really NOT enjoy my time here. Everything that I do at school these days, I feel like I'm making mistake after mistake. We had to mark each others 'mock exams' (Yah, try wrapping your Canadian minds around the concept of a fake exam). It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. The exams here, in English at least, do not test what you've taught the kids. Not really. It tests whether or not they're literate and can write. There are two different exams that they write; one tests their knowledge of English in general, and the other tests English Literature. That means that, nation wide, these kids are being taught, essentially, the same thing. You may argue that that doesn't sound bad, but after being at CASS, where I was taught how to teach by possibly the brightest English teacher I've ever met (and most forward thinking, at that), I've come to realize how archaic it seems. There is absolutely no fun in the English here. There is no personal flair. I couldn't find a smashing new book, and teach it to my year 11s, because they wouldn't pass the exam at the end of the year. The exam that is on a set, prescribed, canonized text. Sure, one of them is the lovely novel 'Of Mice and Men'. No qualms there. But do the kids really get the novel? Do they walk away from it, and think 'Wow, I really get what he's trying to say about society and humanity'. Doubtful. They teach them to write 'empathetic' responses from the point of view of characters in the novel. Oh. Right. That really gets their brains spinning. It's a joke. A bloody joke. That's what I think of the damn thing. It's the bloody stupidest thing I've ever heard of, and cannot understand why the damn exam has so much weight placed upon it. It's ludicrous.
In Canada, teachers write and mark their own exams. They set the content of their courses, and they leave a LOT more up to the individual. Independent Learning Projects? The dreaded ILPs? Remember those? I remember I had to pick from a list of books, read one, and write a series of journal entries, and a final analytical essay on it. Last year, I did the same thing with the 11s I taught in placement. It was wonderful stuff. I remember producing some really outstanding work on the novels I did for my ILPs; and I could do it at my own pace. The kids last year produced outstanding things for me, and they did it (relatively) on time. This year? Are you kidding me? They preach about independent learning left and right, and yet I've yet to see a single example of it in practice. In English, that is.
I tried assigning books to students, only to find they did not, and I mean ever, complete the reading independently at home. They are so used to being spoon fed, which is to say READ TO, that they expected it; nay, demanded it. So I read the whole bloody book to them. Read aloud to 16 year olds, who are perfectly capable of reading for themselves. Can they possibly understand the book? Maybe, on a basic level, or if they are auditory learners. But it's my opinion that they need to read it for themselves to truly understand it. And many of them WILL have to come back to the novel, when the time to write their exam on it approaches in the summer. What a waste; to re-read a book again, when reading it thoroughly themselves the first time would have sufficed. Lazy gits. Then again, its not really their fault, but rather the system that produced them. They've had their asses wiped for them the whole way through, so why should they change for me? I've never in my life met a people who assume so much for themselves; a people who think they deserve the world on a silver platter, and then some. Self-righteousness abounds.
And it's not just the students. They can't learn that themselves. It's modelled to them by their parents and by the very people who teach them.
'You are British. You are the best. Demand the best. Oh, by the way, here it is, I will give it to you now...but you've got to learn how to get it yourself later....'
The people I work with seem to assume that I have no life whatsoever, aside from bending over backwards to make sure everyone else is happy.
'Are you finding the marking hard to cope with?' they ask.
Oh no, not in the slightest. It's completely normal for me to have to input a different series of grades every two weeks, and then interview every student who received a new report. No, that's not too much.
Add these stupid mock exams to the pile, and my workload increased two-fold. But you know what? I did it. In fact, I was the first one to complete all their marking, I think. We marked each others groups. I got them back as fast as I could. The grades, after all, were due to be in TOMORROW. When did I get MY groups back? Oh, just today. No big deal. Oh, and remember, the marks all need to be put in by tomorrow. Better get on that.
Right. Thanks for that. While you had weeks to get yours on, because I marked them efficiently, it's alright for me to do it the NIGHT before. Perfectly normal. Am I struggling under the weight of the marking? No, not at all. Totally prepared. Thanks for the teamwork.
Then someone had the audacity to tell me I was falling behind in marking my year 8 workbooks.
'I was flipping through them the other day, when you weren't here [nice to know they snoop through my work when I'm off ill, by the way], and noticed you hadn't marked anything in them for a long time,' she said frowning.
'You know, parents do look at these books when they go home, and they'll start worrying if they don't see comments. It starts to build up. And then they'll be calling...' she said, shaking her finger at me.
'Oh. Right. Okay, well I will get on that...' I said, throwing on a fake smile for good measure.
'They're all going to be reviewed after Christmas, so you might like to have a real go through them, before you leave for the holidays. Don't want to fall behind,' she said. She was trying to sound nice, but really she sounded disapproving and condescending. I could almost hear the ',you stupid Canadian' following after.
Frustration bubbled in me, but I increased my fake smile, nodded my head, and said I'd be on it 'post-haste'. You know. Not like I've been ill lately, or anything. Hey. No big deal.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going why way. The only positive feedback I got today, and it's been the first in ages, was that my year 10 group appeared to be working really well today, when the head happened to walk through. Of course they were working well, I've finally managed to gain their respect and trust. How did I do this, you ask? Well, I treated them like adults, to begin with. I let them listen to their iPods while doing individual work. Well, she'd caught onto that as well.
'Oh, and this business of your 10s and 11s listening to iPods...it has to stop. It's against school policy,' she said before she left.
'Sure, sorry. They just work better on their coursework if they have their iPods...' I tried to explain.
'Yes, they may, but it is still school policy,' she said curtly, before she left.
Ah, alright then. I can understand that one. I'll stop that tomorrow, as soon as I can. It won't be very popular, and I will likely go down in the books of the kids, yet again, but I don't want to step on any more toes than I already have. What with my falling behind in marking (apparently), and for already being a nose-ring wearing liberal Canadian freak.
Oh, and did I mention that I'm a 'bitch' of a marker? Apparently the mock exams that I marked were 'overly harsh and critical'. They had to re-mark most of them.
Guess that shows how my professional judgement is valued. And it proves, yet again, that these kids have their noses powders and asses wiped for them by the faculty of the school. Heaven forbid they get a mark they actually deserve. It might bruise their ego, and then they'd never bounce back.
*sigh* I am unconditionally bitter today, in case you can't already tell by the scathing remarks and dripping sarcasm. Everyone has their moments, myself included.
I like to think the truth really comes out when I'm upset; my polite Canadian ways get pushed aside, and the claws come out.
I hate this place right now; not really the kids, as it's not their fault, and a lot of them are lovely. But I hate the system they're being mass-produced in, and I hate the bloody country that's churning them out. The government wonders why they have problems, but I know what it is. Get the spoon out out their mouths (and asses), and maybe these kids stand a chance in the world.
Then again, why would they ever leave the Motherland?
I feel for the entire lot, I do.
But, it's nearly time for me to go home, and I cannot wait. This journey across the sea, into this bizarre and foreign culture, has really made me appreciate everything I've left behind. Great parents, great family, great friends, and a great education system. I cannot wait to start working in Canada; teaching kids how to think for themselves, and don't have everyone saying 'one ply or two?'
In Canada, teachers write and mark their own exams. They set the content of their courses, and they leave a LOT more up to the individual. Independent Learning Projects? The dreaded ILPs? Remember those? I remember I had to pick from a list of books, read one, and write a series of journal entries, and a final analytical essay on it. Last year, I did the same thing with the 11s I taught in placement. It was wonderful stuff. I remember producing some really outstanding work on the novels I did for my ILPs; and I could do it at my own pace. The kids last year produced outstanding things for me, and they did it (relatively) on time. This year? Are you kidding me? They preach about independent learning left and right, and yet I've yet to see a single example of it in practice. In English, that is.
I tried assigning books to students, only to find they did not, and I mean ever, complete the reading independently at home. They are so used to being spoon fed, which is to say READ TO, that they expected it; nay, demanded it. So I read the whole bloody book to them. Read aloud to 16 year olds, who are perfectly capable of reading for themselves. Can they possibly understand the book? Maybe, on a basic level, or if they are auditory learners. But it's my opinion that they need to read it for themselves to truly understand it. And many of them WILL have to come back to the novel, when the time to write their exam on it approaches in the summer. What a waste; to re-read a book again, when reading it thoroughly themselves the first time would have sufficed. Lazy gits. Then again, its not really their fault, but rather the system that produced them. They've had their asses wiped for them the whole way through, so why should they change for me? I've never in my life met a people who assume so much for themselves; a people who think they deserve the world on a silver platter, and then some. Self-righteousness abounds.
And it's not just the students. They can't learn that themselves. It's modelled to them by their parents and by the very people who teach them.
'You are British. You are the best. Demand the best. Oh, by the way, here it is, I will give it to you now...but you've got to learn how to get it yourself later....'
The people I work with seem to assume that I have no life whatsoever, aside from bending over backwards to make sure everyone else is happy.
'Are you finding the marking hard to cope with?' they ask.
Oh no, not in the slightest. It's completely normal for me to have to input a different series of grades every two weeks, and then interview every student who received a new report. No, that's not too much.
Add these stupid mock exams to the pile, and my workload increased two-fold. But you know what? I did it. In fact, I was the first one to complete all their marking, I think. We marked each others groups. I got them back as fast as I could. The grades, after all, were due to be in TOMORROW. When did I get MY groups back? Oh, just today. No big deal. Oh, and remember, the marks all need to be put in by tomorrow. Better get on that.
Right. Thanks for that. While you had weeks to get yours on, because I marked them efficiently, it's alright for me to do it the NIGHT before. Perfectly normal. Am I struggling under the weight of the marking? No, not at all. Totally prepared. Thanks for the teamwork.
Then someone had the audacity to tell me I was falling behind in marking my year 8 workbooks.
'I was flipping through them the other day, when you weren't here [nice to know they snoop through my work when I'm off ill, by the way], and noticed you hadn't marked anything in them for a long time,' she said frowning.
'You know, parents do look at these books when they go home, and they'll start worrying if they don't see comments. It starts to build up. And then they'll be calling...' she said, shaking her finger at me.
'Oh. Right. Okay, well I will get on that...' I said, throwing on a fake smile for good measure.
'They're all going to be reviewed after Christmas, so you might like to have a real go through them, before you leave for the holidays. Don't want to fall behind,' she said. She was trying to sound nice, but really she sounded disapproving and condescending. I could almost hear the ',you stupid Canadian' following after.
Frustration bubbled in me, but I increased my fake smile, nodded my head, and said I'd be on it 'post-haste'. You know. Not like I've been ill lately, or anything. Hey. No big deal.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going why way. The only positive feedback I got today, and it's been the first in ages, was that my year 10 group appeared to be working really well today, when the head happened to walk through. Of course they were working well, I've finally managed to gain their respect and trust. How did I do this, you ask? Well, I treated them like adults, to begin with. I let them listen to their iPods while doing individual work. Well, she'd caught onto that as well.
'Oh, and this business of your 10s and 11s listening to iPods...it has to stop. It's against school policy,' she said before she left.
'Sure, sorry. They just work better on their coursework if they have their iPods...' I tried to explain.
'Yes, they may, but it is still school policy,' she said curtly, before she left.
Ah, alright then. I can understand that one. I'll stop that tomorrow, as soon as I can. It won't be very popular, and I will likely go down in the books of the kids, yet again, but I don't want to step on any more toes than I already have. What with my falling behind in marking (apparently), and for already being a nose-ring wearing liberal Canadian freak.
Oh, and did I mention that I'm a 'bitch' of a marker? Apparently the mock exams that I marked were 'overly harsh and critical'. They had to re-mark most of them.
Guess that shows how my professional judgement is valued. And it proves, yet again, that these kids have their noses powders and asses wiped for them by the faculty of the school. Heaven forbid they get a mark they actually deserve. It might bruise their ego, and then they'd never bounce back.
*sigh* I am unconditionally bitter today, in case you can't already tell by the scathing remarks and dripping sarcasm. Everyone has their moments, myself included.
I like to think the truth really comes out when I'm upset; my polite Canadian ways get pushed aside, and the claws come out.
I hate this place right now; not really the kids, as it's not their fault, and a lot of them are lovely. But I hate the system they're being mass-produced in, and I hate the bloody country that's churning them out. The government wonders why they have problems, but I know what it is. Get the spoon out out their mouths (and asses), and maybe these kids stand a chance in the world.
Then again, why would they ever leave the Motherland?
I feel for the entire lot, I do.
But, it's nearly time for me to go home, and I cannot wait. This journey across the sea, into this bizarre and foreign culture, has really made me appreciate everything I've left behind. Great parents, great family, great friends, and a great education system. I cannot wait to start working in Canada; teaching kids how to think for themselves, and don't have everyone saying 'one ply or two?'
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
On Finally Getting The Help Needed
Well, today I had a talk with the English head, who expressed concern over hearing about the fiasco on Friday. She said, under no uncertain terms that Jimmy won't be returning to my lessons for the rest of the term, if ever. Personally, I won't settle for anything short of a full-removal. I refuse to teach the kid; he is a loose canon, and a total drag on the class as a whole. When he's in the room, no one learns, because I'm totally preoccupied with him.
This morning he was perhaps the second student into the room. He walked up to me, head hung, shoulders down, looking the picture of pathetic.
"I'm sorry about my behaviour on Friday," he said.
"Thank you, Jimmy," I said, bruskly. I wasn't sure how to deal with him, since I knew that he'd be taken out in moments.
A few other students filed in, looking covertly at Jimmy and then myself.
At that moment, the head walked in from the back.
"Right, Jimmy, gather your things, you're coming with me," she said.
"WHAT?!" he boomed.
"Gather your things, you're coming with me to the Orwell office. You're not working in here," she said. She didn't say it with any emotion, it was straight deadpan.
"AW MAN!" he yelled, throwing his things onto the floor. Before I could even think straight, he and pivoted on his heels and ran clear from the room.
The other students stared after him, and then looked to me.
I raised my hands and shrugged my shoulders at the English head.
"This is what I deal with," I said, simply and matter-of-factly.
"Right then, I'll deal with this," she said, and she left.
The rest of the class got instantly down to work. It was...like a whole other class. I couldn't really believe it.
The end of the day I got a bit of a pick-me-up as well. I was driving back with Rachel, and she told me about how a girl in her form, who happens to be in one of my year 8 teaching groups, had told her that I was her favourite teacher. She said that the thing she likes about me the most is that I talk to them as if they're people, and not children. I thought about it, and I really do! I smiled to myself, glad to know that at least some kids appreciate me! \
Cheers for now.
This morning he was perhaps the second student into the room. He walked up to me, head hung, shoulders down, looking the picture of pathetic.
"I'm sorry about my behaviour on Friday," he said.
"Thank you, Jimmy," I said, bruskly. I wasn't sure how to deal with him, since I knew that he'd be taken out in moments.
A few other students filed in, looking covertly at Jimmy and then myself.
At that moment, the head walked in from the back.
"Right, Jimmy, gather your things, you're coming with me," she said.
"WHAT?!" he boomed.
"Gather your things, you're coming with me to the Orwell office. You're not working in here," she said. She didn't say it with any emotion, it was straight deadpan.
"AW MAN!" he yelled, throwing his things onto the floor. Before I could even think straight, he and pivoted on his heels and ran clear from the room.
The other students stared after him, and then looked to me.
I raised my hands and shrugged my shoulders at the English head.
"This is what I deal with," I said, simply and matter-of-factly.
"Right then, I'll deal with this," she said, and she left.
The rest of the class got instantly down to work. It was...like a whole other class. I couldn't really believe it.
The end of the day I got a bit of a pick-me-up as well. I was driving back with Rachel, and she told me about how a girl in her form, who happens to be in one of my year 8 teaching groups, had told her that I was her favourite teacher. She said that the thing she likes about me the most is that I talk to them as if they're people, and not children. I thought about it, and I really do! I smiled to myself, glad to know that at least some kids appreciate me! \
Cheers for now.
Friday, December 5, 2008
On Gaining Sympathy, But Only After Looking Foolish
Well, I've done it again. I've cried at school. Only this time it was worse; exponentially worse. I cried and let my students see it. My horrible problem of being an emotional basket case has made me look the fool once again. Nothing new there, really. I can't think of too many occasions when I haven't come out looking foolish; it's the standard order of business. But I digress. I am sure you are wondering what chain of events set me off this time? I aim to please, so here's how it all went down...
I had early lunch today; it's a staggered system, so you either have lunch at 12:35 or 1:35. I hate having late lunch, by the way. That's entirely too late to eat lunch, in my opinion. But that's neither here nor there. I had to buy a sandwich today, since I've been avoiding the grocery store due to the weather (and my subsequently feeling 'under it'). I was sitting on the stage, munching away at it, while a feeling of dread was creeping slowly into my subconscious. I'm not entirely sure why I was prematurely beginning to dread the remainder of my afternoon, but it wasn't looking good for me. I knew I was going to have my 9s directly after lunch, and something in the pit of my stomach was preparing me for the worst. I walked back up the stairs to the second floor, mumbling under my breath that the afternoon was a fresh departure from the morning (where I'd already had an issue with my bottom set year 11s). I talked myself into smiling, and tried to put on my best and brightest face. I was resolved to not let the kids sense my frustration and apprehension, as that would undoubtedly turn them against me. I was almost buying into my own false beliefs! One of the more dominate boys in the classroom, one whom I know for a fact likes and respects me, walked in early. He usually comes into my lesson early, just to chat with me. Its usually at these times that he confides his frustrations with other staff and students to me. We talk things over, and I try to leave him with a better sense of his value as a person and a student. He's a well meaning kid, who I feel gets misinterpreted by other teachers. I feel like we're allies of sorts; he helps me out by getting the unruly kids to smarten up when I want them to, and I help him sort out his issues at school. Anyways, as per usual he came in about 5 minutes early, and we discuss the most recent assignment. I talk him through it, and he runs a few ideas past me. The bell rings, and pupils start to slowly filter in.
The noise level increases slowly but surely, the more students start to enter. I try to keep them under my thumb, by repeating the starter activity over and over; Write as many words as possible that end in -CES. A few of them get their books out, and start brainstorming. Most sit around, giggling, chatting, and generally acting like children.
I do manage to get them to settle down, but only long enough to hand out the task for the day. They were to read through a rather cheeky Canadian article on people who talk at the movie theatre. I actually found the worksheet in my own high school notes, and thought it would work in terms of analyzing persuasive writing. It's not a boring piece, in fact it's quite interesting, so I had high hopes for it. There were also questions the students were meant to answer. After giving everyone a handout and explaining what I wanted them to do (which I had also written on the board, step by step), I told the students to tuck in, and get down to business.
A few did. Most did not. The level of chatter continued to be high. I walked around trying to quiet people down, individually. This failed horribly.
"Alright year 9, you need to read the essay first, then start on the questions. I expect there to be about 5 minutes of silence while everyone does the reading," I said.
A few more heads turned down to read, but again most did not. I started to get annoyed.
"Guy's, stop talking. Start reading. Let's do this!" I said loudly.
A few snickers. No more quiet. I felt the frustrations building up. You have no idea how personally draining it is to feel like you've got absolutely no control over a room of 13 year old kids. I was trying to talk over them, but could hardly hear my own voice. None of them looked at me, none of them even acknowledged my existence. A few of them started to sing loudly a song from High School Musical. When I turned to face the culprits, they would stop singing and another group behind me would pick up. It was a blatant play on my authority, and it was making me look foolish.
I sighed, and said in my calmest voice, "Alright. Since you can't control yourselves when asked, I have to take the next step. Anyone who talks in the next 5 minutes will be joining me for a detention next week."
Most students heard the threat, and decided to get down to business. The singing stopped, as did much of the tapping and rustling. A few, however, did not.
I weighed my options, and knew I had to act on my threat, otherwise I'd lose them forever.
"Great! Jimmy, thanks for volunteering to join me after school next week!" I said, enthusiastically.
The student whipped around in his seat to face me. He's the smallest kid in my class, but also the loudest. This kid puts my sister to shame, when it comes to having a naturally loud voice. When he really turns it on, it is ear piercing.
"WHAT?" he boomed. I still cannot understand how such a loud voice comes out of such a puny child. "Aw hell, I didn't do nothing Miss!" he moaned at me.
"Yah!" the kid behind him piped in.
"Awesome! Thanks for joining us as well, Billy!" I said to the interjector.
"WHAT?!" they both squealed.
"You heard what I said, the next person who spoke was going to be joining me after school. Looks like that's you!" I said.
"Aw, Miss, I didn't say anything!" the interjector said.
"Oh yes you did, you said 'Yah'. That's something."
"WHAT, that's stupid. I was just agreeing with something he said! One word!" the kid moaned at me.
"Yah, well you shouldn't have. You need to control yourself. If Jimmy says something, you don't have to comment on EVERY word that comes out of his mouth. I'm sick of this crap," I said.
"Aw MAN," the interjector said.
"Look, I will revoke the detention if you work quietly for the rest of the lesson," I said.
"Fine..." the interjector said.
"This is bullshit," said Jimmy.
"So far yours still stands, Jimmy. Especially with that language."
"WHAT? WHY? THIS IS SO STUPID, I HATE THIS SHIT. YOU MAKE ME SO ANGRY!" he boomed. Everyone in lesson was staring at us. Jimmy looked frantically behind me, and noticed the eyes of his peers on him. Grinning callously, he pushed his chair violently out of the way.
"I'M OUTTA HERE!" he screamed.
He rocketed past the door, and then made a huge scene outside my classroom by slamming his body into the lockers. Beside my door are two free-standing units of lockers. They're empty, so they're not very heavy. Jimmy ran into them, pushed as hard as he could, and sent them sprawling onto the floor. One fell across my doorway, slamming into more lockers as it did so (I have a corner room).
The kids broke into uproarious laughter. Frustrated and at a loss of what to do, I turned on the kids and snapped at them to be quiet and get back to work. They didn't listen to me, and instead started in on me.
"Miss, pick up those lockers. If there's a fire thats a hazard to our escape."
"Miss, what are you going to do about Jimmy? He can't just leave, can he?"
"If he can leave, I can leave"
"He probably won't even get punished for this!"
"SHUT UP!" I yelled, losing my temper. "I am not going to let his ruin this lesson. You all need to get back to work, while I send out a message that he's gone off his rocker..."
They totally ignored me, and started talking animatedly about what'd happened.
At that moment, the head teacher decides to walk in.
"Jimmy's just stormed out, he slammed into those lockers..." I said meekly.
"Right. I'll go find him," he said.
A few moments later, it seemed like half a second at most, he returned.
"Right. Mind if I sit in here a moment?" he asked.
I could feel the pressure behind my eyes building up, and I was fighting back tears desperately. My brain grasped onto this chance, this chance to leave the room for even just a minute.
"Can you excuse me just one moment?" I asked. I didn't get through the entire section, nor out the door, before I erupted into tears. I had tried to save it for when I was outside the room, but as soon as I opened my mouth it was over. The kids had all seen me break down, and the moment my voice cracked on 'excuse me', it was over. A hush fell over the classroom.
I stood outside, the open door behind me. No doubt the head teacher was thrown for a loop. I could hear him walkin up the room. He came out to me first, put a hand on my shoulder, and told me to take my time. Then he marched back into my room, shutting the door behind him. I spent the next ten minutes pacing up and down the hallway, trying to calm myself down. In the meantime, the head teacher could be heard lecturing away at my students. There were no comments back from them. The only tidbit that I did make out was something about how my being a 'passionate teacher' was the reason behind my tears, and that they were essentially assholes for reducing me to this. It was hella embarrassing to hear. I don't want to be the passionate crier! Now they're all going to go home and tell their parents that their English teacher broke down in class because she's 'passionate'. Great. Awesome news.
Anyways, I composed myself and after awhile walked back in. The head looked at me as if I had three heads, and asked if I was alright to continue the lesson. I nodded my head and mumbled, 'Sorry'. At him. He left.
The students looked down at their paper, and got down to business. No one talked to me for about ten minutes. I walked around the classroom, feeling the tension as thick as ever. Eventually one of the students, one of my 'helpless handraisers' put up his hand. I could feel everyone watching me, listening to how I was going to react to him. He quietly asked me his question, and I quietly helped him along. When I stood up, there was a collective sigh of relief from the rest of the class. It's almost as if they felt like my being normal with the student meant I could generally be normal with them. Hands started going up around the room, and I spent the rest of the lesson quietly answering questions. A few of the girls caught my eye, and tried to smile at me, with pity splashed all over their faces. I smiled back, not wanting them to feel like I was a complete bitch.
At the end of lesson three girls and three boys stayed behind, while the others shuffled quietly out. They all expressed their sincere apologies to me, and told me that I was a 'good teacher' and that I didn't deserve to be treated like shit.
"We promise to make more of an effort, to get everyone else to stop being idiots," one of the girls said.
"We know we were being awful, and we're sorry..." one of the boys said.
I thanked them all, and assured them that I was fine (the looks of concern on their faces signalled their worries about me). They all smiled at me, with that patronizing smile people usually give to little children when they feel extreme amounts of pity for them. I cringed inwardly at being the receiver of this look from a group of 13 year olds. I shooed them from my room, with many assurances of my well-being.
One of the boys, however, hung behind the rest.
"Miss, am I part of the problem?" he asked. His faced and tone portrayed a genuine concern, and my heart instantly melted.
"No, you're not. You don't HELP the problem any, by stopping bad behaviour, but you aren't a direct cause of it.," I said.
He nodded, as if he understood what I meant.
"I'll try harder to get the other guys to behave," he said. "I'll try."
I smiled at him, "Thanks, Timmy, that would mean a lot to me."
He smiled at me, threw his backpack over his shoulder, and opened the door to leave.
"Have a good weekend, Miss," he said as he left.
"You too."
I had early lunch today; it's a staggered system, so you either have lunch at 12:35 or 1:35. I hate having late lunch, by the way. That's entirely too late to eat lunch, in my opinion. But that's neither here nor there. I had to buy a sandwich today, since I've been avoiding the grocery store due to the weather (and my subsequently feeling 'under it'). I was sitting on the stage, munching away at it, while a feeling of dread was creeping slowly into my subconscious. I'm not entirely sure why I was prematurely beginning to dread the remainder of my afternoon, but it wasn't looking good for me. I knew I was going to have my 9s directly after lunch, and something in the pit of my stomach was preparing me for the worst. I walked back up the stairs to the second floor, mumbling under my breath that the afternoon was a fresh departure from the morning (where I'd already had an issue with my bottom set year 11s). I talked myself into smiling, and tried to put on my best and brightest face. I was resolved to not let the kids sense my frustration and apprehension, as that would undoubtedly turn them against me. I was almost buying into my own false beliefs! One of the more dominate boys in the classroom, one whom I know for a fact likes and respects me, walked in early. He usually comes into my lesson early, just to chat with me. Its usually at these times that he confides his frustrations with other staff and students to me. We talk things over, and I try to leave him with a better sense of his value as a person and a student. He's a well meaning kid, who I feel gets misinterpreted by other teachers. I feel like we're allies of sorts; he helps me out by getting the unruly kids to smarten up when I want them to, and I help him sort out his issues at school. Anyways, as per usual he came in about 5 minutes early, and we discuss the most recent assignment. I talk him through it, and he runs a few ideas past me. The bell rings, and pupils start to slowly filter in.
The noise level increases slowly but surely, the more students start to enter. I try to keep them under my thumb, by repeating the starter activity over and over; Write as many words as possible that end in -CES. A few of them get their books out, and start brainstorming. Most sit around, giggling, chatting, and generally acting like children.
I do manage to get them to settle down, but only long enough to hand out the task for the day. They were to read through a rather cheeky Canadian article on people who talk at the movie theatre. I actually found the worksheet in my own high school notes, and thought it would work in terms of analyzing persuasive writing. It's not a boring piece, in fact it's quite interesting, so I had high hopes for it. There were also questions the students were meant to answer. After giving everyone a handout and explaining what I wanted them to do (which I had also written on the board, step by step), I told the students to tuck in, and get down to business.
A few did. Most did not. The level of chatter continued to be high. I walked around trying to quiet people down, individually. This failed horribly.
"Alright year 9, you need to read the essay first, then start on the questions. I expect there to be about 5 minutes of silence while everyone does the reading," I said.
A few more heads turned down to read, but again most did not. I started to get annoyed.
"Guy's, stop talking. Start reading. Let's do this!" I said loudly.
A few snickers. No more quiet. I felt the frustrations building up. You have no idea how personally draining it is to feel like you've got absolutely no control over a room of 13 year old kids. I was trying to talk over them, but could hardly hear my own voice. None of them looked at me, none of them even acknowledged my existence. A few of them started to sing loudly a song from High School Musical. When I turned to face the culprits, they would stop singing and another group behind me would pick up. It was a blatant play on my authority, and it was making me look foolish.
I sighed, and said in my calmest voice, "Alright. Since you can't control yourselves when asked, I have to take the next step. Anyone who talks in the next 5 minutes will be joining me for a detention next week."
Most students heard the threat, and decided to get down to business. The singing stopped, as did much of the tapping and rustling. A few, however, did not.
I weighed my options, and knew I had to act on my threat, otherwise I'd lose them forever.
"Great! Jimmy, thanks for volunteering to join me after school next week!" I said, enthusiastically.
The student whipped around in his seat to face me. He's the smallest kid in my class, but also the loudest. This kid puts my sister to shame, when it comes to having a naturally loud voice. When he really turns it on, it is ear piercing.
"WHAT?" he boomed. I still cannot understand how such a loud voice comes out of such a puny child. "Aw hell, I didn't do nothing Miss!" he moaned at me.
"Yah!" the kid behind him piped in.
"Awesome! Thanks for joining us as well, Billy!" I said to the interjector.
"WHAT?!" they both squealed.
"You heard what I said, the next person who spoke was going to be joining me after school. Looks like that's you!" I said.
"Aw, Miss, I didn't say anything!" the interjector said.
"Oh yes you did, you said 'Yah'. That's something."
"WHAT, that's stupid. I was just agreeing with something he said! One word!" the kid moaned at me.
"Yah, well you shouldn't have. You need to control yourself. If Jimmy says something, you don't have to comment on EVERY word that comes out of his mouth. I'm sick of this crap," I said.
"Aw MAN," the interjector said.
"Look, I will revoke the detention if you work quietly for the rest of the lesson," I said.
"Fine..." the interjector said.
"This is bullshit," said Jimmy.
"So far yours still stands, Jimmy. Especially with that language."
"WHAT? WHY? THIS IS SO STUPID, I HATE THIS SHIT. YOU MAKE ME SO ANGRY!" he boomed. Everyone in lesson was staring at us. Jimmy looked frantically behind me, and noticed the eyes of his peers on him. Grinning callously, he pushed his chair violently out of the way.
"I'M OUTTA HERE!" he screamed.
He rocketed past the door, and then made a huge scene outside my classroom by slamming his body into the lockers. Beside my door are two free-standing units of lockers. They're empty, so they're not very heavy. Jimmy ran into them, pushed as hard as he could, and sent them sprawling onto the floor. One fell across my doorway, slamming into more lockers as it did so (I have a corner room).
The kids broke into uproarious laughter. Frustrated and at a loss of what to do, I turned on the kids and snapped at them to be quiet and get back to work. They didn't listen to me, and instead started in on me.
"Miss, pick up those lockers. If there's a fire thats a hazard to our escape."
"Miss, what are you going to do about Jimmy? He can't just leave, can he?"
"If he can leave, I can leave"
"He probably won't even get punished for this!"
"SHUT UP!" I yelled, losing my temper. "I am not going to let his ruin this lesson. You all need to get back to work, while I send out a message that he's gone off his rocker..."
They totally ignored me, and started talking animatedly about what'd happened.
At that moment, the head teacher decides to walk in.
"Jimmy's just stormed out, he slammed into those lockers..." I said meekly.
"Right. I'll go find him," he said.
A few moments later, it seemed like half a second at most, he returned.
"Right. Mind if I sit in here a moment?" he asked.
I could feel the pressure behind my eyes building up, and I was fighting back tears desperately. My brain grasped onto this chance, this chance to leave the room for even just a minute.
"Can you excuse me just one moment?" I asked. I didn't get through the entire section, nor out the door, before I erupted into tears. I had tried to save it for when I was outside the room, but as soon as I opened my mouth it was over. The kids had all seen me break down, and the moment my voice cracked on 'excuse me', it was over. A hush fell over the classroom.
I stood outside, the open door behind me. No doubt the head teacher was thrown for a loop. I could hear him walkin up the room. He came out to me first, put a hand on my shoulder, and told me to take my time. Then he marched back into my room, shutting the door behind him. I spent the next ten minutes pacing up and down the hallway, trying to calm myself down. In the meantime, the head teacher could be heard lecturing away at my students. There were no comments back from them. The only tidbit that I did make out was something about how my being a 'passionate teacher' was the reason behind my tears, and that they were essentially assholes for reducing me to this. It was hella embarrassing to hear. I don't want to be the passionate crier! Now they're all going to go home and tell their parents that their English teacher broke down in class because she's 'passionate'. Great. Awesome news.
Anyways, I composed myself and after awhile walked back in. The head looked at me as if I had three heads, and asked if I was alright to continue the lesson. I nodded my head and mumbled, 'Sorry'. At him. He left.
The students looked down at their paper, and got down to business. No one talked to me for about ten minutes. I walked around the classroom, feeling the tension as thick as ever. Eventually one of the students, one of my 'helpless handraisers' put up his hand. I could feel everyone watching me, listening to how I was going to react to him. He quietly asked me his question, and I quietly helped him along. When I stood up, there was a collective sigh of relief from the rest of the class. It's almost as if they felt like my being normal with the student meant I could generally be normal with them. Hands started going up around the room, and I spent the rest of the lesson quietly answering questions. A few of the girls caught my eye, and tried to smile at me, with pity splashed all over their faces. I smiled back, not wanting them to feel like I was a complete bitch.
At the end of lesson three girls and three boys stayed behind, while the others shuffled quietly out. They all expressed their sincere apologies to me, and told me that I was a 'good teacher' and that I didn't deserve to be treated like shit.
"We promise to make more of an effort, to get everyone else to stop being idiots," one of the girls said.
"We know we were being awful, and we're sorry..." one of the boys said.
I thanked them all, and assured them that I was fine (the looks of concern on their faces signalled their worries about me). They all smiled at me, with that patronizing smile people usually give to little children when they feel extreme amounts of pity for them. I cringed inwardly at being the receiver of this look from a group of 13 year olds. I shooed them from my room, with many assurances of my well-being.
One of the boys, however, hung behind the rest.
"Miss, am I part of the problem?" he asked. His faced and tone portrayed a genuine concern, and my heart instantly melted.
"No, you're not. You don't HELP the problem any, by stopping bad behaviour, but you aren't a direct cause of it.," I said.
He nodded, as if he understood what I meant.
"I'll try harder to get the other guys to behave," he said. "I'll try."
I smiled at him, "Thanks, Timmy, that would mean a lot to me."
He smiled at me, threw his backpack over his shoulder, and opened the door to leave.
"Have a good weekend, Miss," he said as he left.
"You too."
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