Yeh, I like this song. I dig it.
I see your face in my mind as I drive away'
Cause none of us thought it was gonna end that way
People are people and sometimes we change our minds
But it's killing me to see you go after all this time
Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm
Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm
Music starts playin' like the end of a sad movie
It's the kinda ending you don't really wanna see'
Cause it's tragedy and it'll only bring you down
Now I don't know what to be without you around
And we know it's never simple, never easy
Never a clean break, no one here to save me
You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand
And I can't breathe
Without you, but I have to
Breathe
Without you, but I have to
Never wanted this, never want to see you hurt
Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve
People are people and sometimes it doesn't work out
Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out
And we know it's never simple, never easy
Never a clean break, no one here to save me
You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand
And I can't breathe
Without you, but I have to
Breathe
Without you, but I have to
It's two a.m., feelin' like I just lost a friend
Hope you know it's not easy, easy for me
It's two a.m., feelin' like I just lost a friend
Hope you know this ain't easy, easy for me
And we know it's never simple, never easy
Never a clean break, no one here to save me, oh
I can't breathe
Without you, but I have to
Breathe
Without you, but I have to
Breathe
Without you, but I have to
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
On Losing My Marbles
God, it's been awhile since I posted. I think I've just been so busy these past few weeks. I moved in Girton, and have absolutely loved it. I think it was the best decision I've made since being in the country. My flatmates are great; super friendly and easy to get along with. My room, though smaller, is so much cozier and accommodating to me. I have a desk to do my work at now, which I was lacking before. I also have a television and DVD player in my room, so I can just chill in my room with a glass of wine and a DVD and not disrupt anyone but myself. But the icing on the cake is the bathroom.
I'm not sure if I'd ever bitched about this before, but in my old place the shower was non-existent. What they'd done, to make up for this lack of shower, was get some crappy device that you attach to the bath faucet. It was essentially a hose, and you had to hold it over you while you showered. It was pathetic. The pressure was shit, and it kind of defeated the purpose of a relaxing shower in the morning, because you had to do all the work of moving the water over your body manually. It was a total pain. Plus the temperature was impossible to get right, since the faucet had TWO taps; one for hot and one for cold. I don't know who invented that system, but it is total crap.
Being able to stand in a HIGH POWERED, WARM shower in the morning is something I will never take for granted again. Not having to hold the hose over my head is so liberating. I can stand there, my face turned into the stream, and just bask in the silky wet warmth as it cascades down my body. Ahhhhh.
Personally, my life is looking good. Things are going really well. I am really happy about where things are at...or at least happy with where they could be. I'm working on it.
Professionally, things could be better. I think can safely say I've just had the worst day in my entire (short) teaching career. I've written about some pretty terrible days before, but this one takes the cake.
I give you three guesses on which year group it was that gave me hassle too, and the first two don't count.
Year 9.
Last period of the day.
Thursday.
It's a recipe for disaster on a GOOD day.
I woke up this morning in such an amazing mood. I was genuinely content with life, and felt like I could tackle the day. We started the morning with an assembly; a bunch of students had spent the last month and a half rehearsing ABBA tribute performances, and today we got to see them. It was outstanding, I was clapping and laughing the entire time. Starting the day that way only aided my fabulous mood, and I went into my first three lessons feeling chipper and at peace. The lessons went really well too. I think the kids were feeding off my mood.
Fourth period had a few wobbly bits, but again it was pretty good. Going into lunch I was feeling good. One more period to go, and then my hated Thursday would be over. I also had a pretty fun activity planned for my 9s, and I was really apprehensive about their enjoying it. I entertained ideas of them really taking off with the idea, and producing some amazing creative work.
I pitched the idea to them, and instantly regretted it. I had assigned random groups, because I didn't want to have two or three strong performances and then two or three crap ones; I figured if I randomly mixed up groups I'd stand a better chance of the kids pulling together to pull off something decent.
Anyways, I assigned their groups, and told them to move themselves to be in a position to work out a script (the task was to take Edgar Allen Poe's poem 'The Raven' and produce a 3-5 minute performance from it). Two groups got right down to business, as I'd kind of expected; even with random assignment, it somehow worked that the stronger students were together.
I had to fight to get kids to move into their groups; there was a lot of resistance to the idea of randomized groups. One girl sat at her desk and refused to move.
"I'm not working with anyone but ***," she said, folding her arms over her chest and pulling on a pout. She refused to look at me.
"That's really not your decision. You either get to work with the group I assigned you, or you can be sent out of lesson. It's your call," I said, frustrated. This is a girl who constantly tries to be a 'madam' with me. She's a right twat.
She ignored me. Frustrated, I decided to let her sit there. I didn't have time for her dramatics.
That was when I noticed something big and red go sailing past my head. It turned out that it was one of those gigantic novelty erasers (the HUGE brick sized red ones. Very large. Very heavy). I turned to see what it was, and saw a male student (another prat) pick it up off the desk. He instantly turned and hurled it across the room at another student. It hit him square on the side of the face, on his cheek just by his ear. He was caught completely off guard, as was I.
Now, you should know that this student, the one who was hit, has a history of aggression and anger problems. He is a delightful student in my lesson, because we get on really well (we butted heads at the start of the year, but for some unknown reason he came around), but in other lessons I know he's a major problem. He's big for his age, having matured (physically) before a lot of the other boys. I think this has given him a bit of the alpha male syndrome, which explains the anger. Anyways, suffice it to say, he's not the kind of kid you want to piss off.
He turned to face the direction of the first boy, his face going red with anger.
"You little fucking asshole!" he bellows, "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why did you do that?!"
"You threw it at me first!" the first kid shouted, backing away in defense.
I ran to where they were, putting myself between the two boys. The look on the second boys face signalled danger to me. He was going to murder the first boy. His fists were clenched and his eyes were wild.
"Hey, just let it go, and I will deal with it," I said, putting my hands up between the boys.
"NO! What a fucking asshole, I will tear you APART!" the second boy screamed. He frantically searched about him with his hands, looking for an object to hurl at the first boy. I felt myself panicking, not sure what to do.
Suddenly, he grabbed a chair, and before I could do anything he'd lifted it up and hurled it at the first boy. Since I was standing between them, the chair grazed my arm before it hit the first boy clear in the stomach.
He doubled over, yelping. Everyone else in the room screamed. It was pure chaos.
"OKAY!!!! **** GET in that other room NOW!" I screamed, my mind racing over what to do. The first boy sulked into the room, like a dog with his tail between his legs.
I turned to the second boy, and very calmly asked him to follow me outside.
He protested, but I reassured him in a soft voice that I wasn't mad. He followed me out, his eyes wide.
I shut the door behind us, knowing full well that the chaos in my room was only going to increase now that I'd left the room.
"Look," I said to the boy. "Was throwing the chair an appropriate reaction?"
"He threw that eraser at me first!" he said, his voice high pitched with anger.
"I know he did. Do you not think that the best thing to do, at that point, would have been to let me take care of it? Let me see your face"
He turned his head to the side, and I was able to examine where the eraser had hit him. It was scarlet red, and was starting to raise already. A nice welt would no doubt be there.
"Okay. You've got a welt on your face. Are you alright? Does it hurt?" I asked.
He nodded, fingering it gently.
"Okay. He was totally in the wrong to throw it at you. Don't think for a second that he's blameless. However, your reaction was 100% inappropriate. You should NOT have thrown that chair at him. Now you're going to be in just as much, if not more, trouble than him. If you'd have let it go, I would have sent him out and you would have been totally blameless."
He nodded at me. "I know miss, I shouldn't have thrown the chair, but honestly....it hurt. Who does that?!"
I nodded, and gave him a sympathetic look. "Trust me, I'd have been furious too, if he had thrown it at me. He's a little prat, and you know it. But you should have been the bigger man..."
He nodded at me. I then went on to explain that I would have no choice but to take the matter higher, and that he would likely face pretty stiff punishment. He said he understood. I then asked if he would be alright to continue in the lesson. I didn't want to have to send him out. He seemed calm, and said he would be fine.
I then went to talk to the other boy. He started crying the minute I went into the room. I wasn't buying it though, and didn't take it easy on him. I told him his behaviour was pathetic, and that he had better understand that punishment would be coming hard and fast. I think told him to cool himself down, and re-enter the lesson when he was ready.
As I re-entered the class, I surveyed the damage that had accumulated in my absence. The kids were going ape shit. One group was over by the windows, doing God knows what. I strolled over, and suddenly the group let loose a loud cheer. Then a girl screamed.
"MY SHOE! MY SHOE! HE THREW MY SHOE OUT THE WINDOW!" she screamed. She wasn't upset though; she was just being a little madam. This is the type of girl who just enjoys the attention. She's 13 years old, and cakes makeup on her face as if she were 21; she wears more than I do. Her entire existence centers around how desirable she is to boys, and it is pathetic. She spends all of my lesson mucking about, doing fuck all besides flirting with boys and giving me sass. I knew she was just being dramatic to cause a scene and be a thorn in my side.
I glared at her, but before I could say anything she ran from the room, screeching about getting her shoe. Everyone in the room ran to the window to watch her retrieve it. I spent the entire time trying to get them away from the window and back to their seats, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Instead, I gave up and simply watched them.
When she returned, I asked her to come see me for a minute.
The entire class hushed up. I tried to speak quietly, so they wouldn't hear, but it was pretty pointless.
"****, if I bent down now and tried to take your shoe off your foot, would I be successful?" I asked her.
"No," she said, giving me the 'are you an idiot' look.
"Then why exactly did you let *** take your shoe off you, and then watch him chuck it out the window?" I asked.
"We swapped shoes," she said. She flashed me a look of triumph, thinking she had outsmarted me.
"Why do you feel it is appropriate, in my lesson, to swap shoes with a boy? You were asking for him to do stupid shit with it," I said.
"No I wasn't. I didn't ask him to throw it out the window!" she said, defensively.
"Oh come on, cut the crap. You didn't do anything to stop it," I said.
She scowled at me, and tried to give me attitude, but I was having none of it.
"Shut it, I don't want to hear it. Keep your shoes on your feet, or else get out of my lesson. I've had it with you mucking about my lesson, thinking you can do whatever the hell you want," I said.
She scowled at me some more, but I turned away from her and walked the other way.
That was when the banging started.
The one student who constantly gives me grief, the student who did the shoe swapping and then chucked it out the window, had decided that that wasn't enough. He had to do more to disrupt my lesson. It couldn't just stop at that.
So he started pounding on the wall at the back of the room.
"STOP doing that," I said. "You do realize that wall is a shared wall with Ms Daniel's room...do you really think that's going to be appreciated by her?"
He flashed his cocky grin at me and said, "Sorry, miss."
I turned away from him, clearly starting to get rattled, and went to talk to a group that was actually getting on with the lesson. The minute I turned my back the banging started again.
I wheeled around to face him, but it was too late. The connecting door between my class and the department head's was thrown open. She came in, full steam, and locked onto the boy. He instantly looked the other way, knowing what was coming.
She lit right into him, telling him off for disrupting her lesson. I stood there the entire time, feeling like a total asshole; if I were any sort of teacher, I should have stopped him myself. Instead, she had to stop her lesson, and thus disrupt the learning of a whole group, to come tell my students off. I've never felt so useless in my entire life. She left without saying a word to me. The door slammed behind her, and the echo of it seemed to fill my very soul.
The students instantly started to laugh and joke with the kid who she had lit into. He seemed to be gloating again, now that she was gone.
At this point, I disconnected from myself. All I could think about was how the entire lesson had been one disaster after another. I hadn't had room to breath since it had began. I felt like I was being bombarded from all sides; as if the room were slowly filling up with water, and I was slowly drowning in it. I walked aimlessly down the aisle and over to my desk. I turned to face the room, taking in the scene. Students were standing all about the room, talking, laughing, laying on the desks, over by the windows. Only two groups seemed to be actually focused on work. I stood this way, not moving, for about two minutes. I just stared. My brain was not functioning. All I could feel was the frustration, the embarrassment, the total feeling of helplessness and the lack of control fill me. I felt behind me, without looking, for my chair. My fingers found the arm of it, and I wheeled it under my bottom, sinking into it slowly.
Spinning it around, I faced the door and stared at it a moment. I wasn't even able to process anything. The kids carried on doing whatever the hell they were doing, and I didn't care. I just sat. And then I felt my eyes water, and before I could stop it I was sitting there weeping. It started as a silent stream of tears, but my whole body started so shake, and soon it was coming out of me. I wept and wept, gasping for air.
All the girls rushed over to my desk, circling around me. I think one or two of them wanted to hug me, but they were too afraid of breaking that boundary to do it. They started cooing at me, making sweet speeches about what an amazing teacher I am, and that they love being in my lesson. They all said that it was this one boy. They all said I should have him removed. They all said that without him, the lesson would be 100% better. It was unanimous.
I heard everything they were saying, but I couldn't stop crying. I cried, and I cried. For ten minutes I cried, and for ten minutes they sat huddled around me, their soft words streaming down around me. It felt almost surreal; students comforting the teacher. Speaking to me as if I were the child, and they the adult. I didn't mind though. I let it come, and slowly their words ebbed my tears. I wiped my face, and looked around at them.
The expressions on their faces, on all their faces, was that of genuine concern and support. I forced a frail smile and in an extremely shaky voice I thanked them all. I looked past them for the boy, and did not see him. I think he had slipped out. Good thing, I think. I think the others had made him leave.
The bell rang, and they didn't move. They kept saying really sweet things to me, and I thanked them again and again for their support. The one thing they kept reiterating was that the problem was not me. It was him. They told me what I had to do, and I agreed. I had to do it. I had to refuse to let this kid back in.
The girls slowly filtered out. A crowd was growing outside my door though, and a bunch of heads, of students I don't teach, popped in.
"They are just bullies, miss," they said, "Don't let them get to you. We can't believe they made you cry. They won't live this down..."
I had to laugh at this, weakly, and thanked this random group of students.
It was kind of nice, to get supported by students that I don't even know. It made me feel somewhat vindicated, in that it's not wholly about my being total shit.
I still feel like shit now though. I think it's really hard to bounce back after something like that. I've never in my life lost it like that. I mean, I can't really even describe what happened to me. I wasn't me. I wasn't even a part of me. I feel like the rational part of my brain separated from my body, and I let the raw emotion take control. The tears...I've never cried like that before. It was a soul shattering feeling, to have such a raw cry.
I feel drained even know, hours later.
I should go make something to eat. I am starving.
I'm also going to have a large glass of wine.
Cheers for now.
I'm not sure if I'd ever bitched about this before, but in my old place the shower was non-existent. What they'd done, to make up for this lack of shower, was get some crappy device that you attach to the bath faucet. It was essentially a hose, and you had to hold it over you while you showered. It was pathetic. The pressure was shit, and it kind of defeated the purpose of a relaxing shower in the morning, because you had to do all the work of moving the water over your body manually. It was a total pain. Plus the temperature was impossible to get right, since the faucet had TWO taps; one for hot and one for cold. I don't know who invented that system, but it is total crap.
Being able to stand in a HIGH POWERED, WARM shower in the morning is something I will never take for granted again. Not having to hold the hose over my head is so liberating. I can stand there, my face turned into the stream, and just bask in the silky wet warmth as it cascades down my body. Ahhhhh.
Personally, my life is looking good. Things are going really well. I am really happy about where things are at...or at least happy with where they could be. I'm working on it.
Professionally, things could be better. I think can safely say I've just had the worst day in my entire (short) teaching career. I've written about some pretty terrible days before, but this one takes the cake.
I give you three guesses on which year group it was that gave me hassle too, and the first two don't count.
Year 9.
Last period of the day.
Thursday.
It's a recipe for disaster on a GOOD day.
I woke up this morning in such an amazing mood. I was genuinely content with life, and felt like I could tackle the day. We started the morning with an assembly; a bunch of students had spent the last month and a half rehearsing ABBA tribute performances, and today we got to see them. It was outstanding, I was clapping and laughing the entire time. Starting the day that way only aided my fabulous mood, and I went into my first three lessons feeling chipper and at peace. The lessons went really well too. I think the kids were feeding off my mood.
Fourth period had a few wobbly bits, but again it was pretty good. Going into lunch I was feeling good. One more period to go, and then my hated Thursday would be over. I also had a pretty fun activity planned for my 9s, and I was really apprehensive about their enjoying it. I entertained ideas of them really taking off with the idea, and producing some amazing creative work.
I pitched the idea to them, and instantly regretted it. I had assigned random groups, because I didn't want to have two or three strong performances and then two or three crap ones; I figured if I randomly mixed up groups I'd stand a better chance of the kids pulling together to pull off something decent.
Anyways, I assigned their groups, and told them to move themselves to be in a position to work out a script (the task was to take Edgar Allen Poe's poem 'The Raven' and produce a 3-5 minute performance from it). Two groups got right down to business, as I'd kind of expected; even with random assignment, it somehow worked that the stronger students were together.
I had to fight to get kids to move into their groups; there was a lot of resistance to the idea of randomized groups. One girl sat at her desk and refused to move.
"I'm not working with anyone but ***," she said, folding her arms over her chest and pulling on a pout. She refused to look at me.
"That's really not your decision. You either get to work with the group I assigned you, or you can be sent out of lesson. It's your call," I said, frustrated. This is a girl who constantly tries to be a 'madam' with me. She's a right twat.
She ignored me. Frustrated, I decided to let her sit there. I didn't have time for her dramatics.
That was when I noticed something big and red go sailing past my head. It turned out that it was one of those gigantic novelty erasers (the HUGE brick sized red ones. Very large. Very heavy). I turned to see what it was, and saw a male student (another prat) pick it up off the desk. He instantly turned and hurled it across the room at another student. It hit him square on the side of the face, on his cheek just by his ear. He was caught completely off guard, as was I.
Now, you should know that this student, the one who was hit, has a history of aggression and anger problems. He is a delightful student in my lesson, because we get on really well (we butted heads at the start of the year, but for some unknown reason he came around), but in other lessons I know he's a major problem. He's big for his age, having matured (physically) before a lot of the other boys. I think this has given him a bit of the alpha male syndrome, which explains the anger. Anyways, suffice it to say, he's not the kind of kid you want to piss off.
He turned to face the direction of the first boy, his face going red with anger.
"You little fucking asshole!" he bellows, "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why did you do that?!"
"You threw it at me first!" the first kid shouted, backing away in defense.
I ran to where they were, putting myself between the two boys. The look on the second boys face signalled danger to me. He was going to murder the first boy. His fists were clenched and his eyes were wild.
"Hey, just let it go, and I will deal with it," I said, putting my hands up between the boys.
"NO! What a fucking asshole, I will tear you APART!" the second boy screamed. He frantically searched about him with his hands, looking for an object to hurl at the first boy. I felt myself panicking, not sure what to do.
Suddenly, he grabbed a chair, and before I could do anything he'd lifted it up and hurled it at the first boy. Since I was standing between them, the chair grazed my arm before it hit the first boy clear in the stomach.
He doubled over, yelping. Everyone else in the room screamed. It was pure chaos.
"OKAY!!!! **** GET in that other room NOW!" I screamed, my mind racing over what to do. The first boy sulked into the room, like a dog with his tail between his legs.
I turned to the second boy, and very calmly asked him to follow me outside.
He protested, but I reassured him in a soft voice that I wasn't mad. He followed me out, his eyes wide.
I shut the door behind us, knowing full well that the chaos in my room was only going to increase now that I'd left the room.
"Look," I said to the boy. "Was throwing the chair an appropriate reaction?"
"He threw that eraser at me first!" he said, his voice high pitched with anger.
"I know he did. Do you not think that the best thing to do, at that point, would have been to let me take care of it? Let me see your face"
He turned his head to the side, and I was able to examine where the eraser had hit him. It was scarlet red, and was starting to raise already. A nice welt would no doubt be there.
"Okay. You've got a welt on your face. Are you alright? Does it hurt?" I asked.
He nodded, fingering it gently.
"Okay. He was totally in the wrong to throw it at you. Don't think for a second that he's blameless. However, your reaction was 100% inappropriate. You should NOT have thrown that chair at him. Now you're going to be in just as much, if not more, trouble than him. If you'd have let it go, I would have sent him out and you would have been totally blameless."
He nodded at me. "I know miss, I shouldn't have thrown the chair, but honestly....it hurt. Who does that?!"
I nodded, and gave him a sympathetic look. "Trust me, I'd have been furious too, if he had thrown it at me. He's a little prat, and you know it. But you should have been the bigger man..."
He nodded at me. I then went on to explain that I would have no choice but to take the matter higher, and that he would likely face pretty stiff punishment. He said he understood. I then asked if he would be alright to continue in the lesson. I didn't want to have to send him out. He seemed calm, and said he would be fine.
I then went to talk to the other boy. He started crying the minute I went into the room. I wasn't buying it though, and didn't take it easy on him. I told him his behaviour was pathetic, and that he had better understand that punishment would be coming hard and fast. I think told him to cool himself down, and re-enter the lesson when he was ready.
As I re-entered the class, I surveyed the damage that had accumulated in my absence. The kids were going ape shit. One group was over by the windows, doing God knows what. I strolled over, and suddenly the group let loose a loud cheer. Then a girl screamed.
"MY SHOE! MY SHOE! HE THREW MY SHOE OUT THE WINDOW!" she screamed. She wasn't upset though; she was just being a little madam. This is the type of girl who just enjoys the attention. She's 13 years old, and cakes makeup on her face as if she were 21; she wears more than I do. Her entire existence centers around how desirable she is to boys, and it is pathetic. She spends all of my lesson mucking about, doing fuck all besides flirting with boys and giving me sass. I knew she was just being dramatic to cause a scene and be a thorn in my side.
I glared at her, but before I could say anything she ran from the room, screeching about getting her shoe. Everyone in the room ran to the window to watch her retrieve it. I spent the entire time trying to get them away from the window and back to their seats, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Instead, I gave up and simply watched them.
When she returned, I asked her to come see me for a minute.
The entire class hushed up. I tried to speak quietly, so they wouldn't hear, but it was pretty pointless.
"****, if I bent down now and tried to take your shoe off your foot, would I be successful?" I asked her.
"No," she said, giving me the 'are you an idiot' look.
"Then why exactly did you let *** take your shoe off you, and then watch him chuck it out the window?" I asked.
"We swapped shoes," she said. She flashed me a look of triumph, thinking she had outsmarted me.
"Why do you feel it is appropriate, in my lesson, to swap shoes with a boy? You were asking for him to do stupid shit with it," I said.
"No I wasn't. I didn't ask him to throw it out the window!" she said, defensively.
"Oh come on, cut the crap. You didn't do anything to stop it," I said.
She scowled at me, and tried to give me attitude, but I was having none of it.
"Shut it, I don't want to hear it. Keep your shoes on your feet, or else get out of my lesson. I've had it with you mucking about my lesson, thinking you can do whatever the hell you want," I said.
She scowled at me some more, but I turned away from her and walked the other way.
That was when the banging started.
The one student who constantly gives me grief, the student who did the shoe swapping and then chucked it out the window, had decided that that wasn't enough. He had to do more to disrupt my lesson. It couldn't just stop at that.
So he started pounding on the wall at the back of the room.
"STOP doing that," I said. "You do realize that wall is a shared wall with Ms Daniel's room...do you really think that's going to be appreciated by her?"
He flashed his cocky grin at me and said, "Sorry, miss."
I turned away from him, clearly starting to get rattled, and went to talk to a group that was actually getting on with the lesson. The minute I turned my back the banging started again.
I wheeled around to face him, but it was too late. The connecting door between my class and the department head's was thrown open. She came in, full steam, and locked onto the boy. He instantly looked the other way, knowing what was coming.
She lit right into him, telling him off for disrupting her lesson. I stood there the entire time, feeling like a total asshole; if I were any sort of teacher, I should have stopped him myself. Instead, she had to stop her lesson, and thus disrupt the learning of a whole group, to come tell my students off. I've never felt so useless in my entire life. She left without saying a word to me. The door slammed behind her, and the echo of it seemed to fill my very soul.
The students instantly started to laugh and joke with the kid who she had lit into. He seemed to be gloating again, now that she was gone.
At this point, I disconnected from myself. All I could think about was how the entire lesson had been one disaster after another. I hadn't had room to breath since it had began. I felt like I was being bombarded from all sides; as if the room were slowly filling up with water, and I was slowly drowning in it. I walked aimlessly down the aisle and over to my desk. I turned to face the room, taking in the scene. Students were standing all about the room, talking, laughing, laying on the desks, over by the windows. Only two groups seemed to be actually focused on work. I stood this way, not moving, for about two minutes. I just stared. My brain was not functioning. All I could feel was the frustration, the embarrassment, the total feeling of helplessness and the lack of control fill me. I felt behind me, without looking, for my chair. My fingers found the arm of it, and I wheeled it under my bottom, sinking into it slowly.
Spinning it around, I faced the door and stared at it a moment. I wasn't even able to process anything. The kids carried on doing whatever the hell they were doing, and I didn't care. I just sat. And then I felt my eyes water, and before I could stop it I was sitting there weeping. It started as a silent stream of tears, but my whole body started so shake, and soon it was coming out of me. I wept and wept, gasping for air.
All the girls rushed over to my desk, circling around me. I think one or two of them wanted to hug me, but they were too afraid of breaking that boundary to do it. They started cooing at me, making sweet speeches about what an amazing teacher I am, and that they love being in my lesson. They all said that it was this one boy. They all said I should have him removed. They all said that without him, the lesson would be 100% better. It was unanimous.
I heard everything they were saying, but I couldn't stop crying. I cried, and I cried. For ten minutes I cried, and for ten minutes they sat huddled around me, their soft words streaming down around me. It felt almost surreal; students comforting the teacher. Speaking to me as if I were the child, and they the adult. I didn't mind though. I let it come, and slowly their words ebbed my tears. I wiped my face, and looked around at them.
The expressions on their faces, on all their faces, was that of genuine concern and support. I forced a frail smile and in an extremely shaky voice I thanked them all. I looked past them for the boy, and did not see him. I think he had slipped out. Good thing, I think. I think the others had made him leave.
The bell rang, and they didn't move. They kept saying really sweet things to me, and I thanked them again and again for their support. The one thing they kept reiterating was that the problem was not me. It was him. They told me what I had to do, and I agreed. I had to do it. I had to refuse to let this kid back in.
The girls slowly filtered out. A crowd was growing outside my door though, and a bunch of heads, of students I don't teach, popped in.
"They are just bullies, miss," they said, "Don't let them get to you. We can't believe they made you cry. They won't live this down..."
I had to laugh at this, weakly, and thanked this random group of students.
It was kind of nice, to get supported by students that I don't even know. It made me feel somewhat vindicated, in that it's not wholly about my being total shit.
I still feel like shit now though. I think it's really hard to bounce back after something like that. I've never in my life lost it like that. I mean, I can't really even describe what happened to me. I wasn't me. I wasn't even a part of me. I feel like the rational part of my brain separated from my body, and I let the raw emotion take control. The tears...I've never cried like that before. It was a soul shattering feeling, to have such a raw cry.
I feel drained even know, hours later.
I should go make something to eat. I am starving.
I'm also going to have a large glass of wine.
Cheers for now.
Monday, March 16, 2009
On Moving to Cambridge
...well, Girton at any rate. If you know the area at all, Girton isn't really in Cambridge proper, but in the grand scheme of things it certainly counts. It's a suburb of Cambridge, kind of like how Galt is a suburb of the Canadian version of Cambridge. If that makes any sense. It's like Beachville is to Woodstock, or Ostrander to Tillsonburg; it's about that far away from the center. A simple 5 minute bus ride and I'm in the heart of it all. It's a hell of a lot closer than I was, and I'm enjoying every second of it, thus far. It is a million times more convienient, and I feel as if I have my own life now. I also don't dread coming home, because I feel like an unwelcome guest. I've only been here a few days, and I already feel more welcomed than I did at the last place. It was just too bizarre at the old house, and the more I'm out of there the more I see that.
Anyways, I'll comment more later, on my move and being closer to Cambridge. Hopefully this move will signal a change in my personal life, and maybe my blogs will reflect less negativity.
Cheers.
Anyways, I'll comment more later, on my move and being closer to Cambridge. Hopefully this move will signal a change in my personal life, and maybe my blogs will reflect less negativity.
Cheers.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
On Bullying
So Friday I went to this NQT (Newly Qualified Teacher) training day. For some reason they decided to allow me to attend these meetings, despite the fact that I wasn't trained in England, and therefore technically shouldn't really attend. Despite that, I am quite thankful for being allowed to attend, because the meetings are beneficial to me; they are mostly skills building meetings, in which we discuss various things that may affect a first year teacher. You don't have to have trained in England to experience the same problems, across the board. In my experience, children are children, no matter where they come from. Sure, you might run into a few cultural differences (for example, I will always be of the belief that British children are more pampered, and therefore more stuck up), but at the end of the day the behaviour is mostly the same.
Anyways, I digress.
I was at this meeting, and they were putting on a seminar about bullying. For most of the lecture, I tuned out, because it was all stuff I'd heard before; that bullying is hard to pin down because the definition of what constitutes bullying changes, and that sometimes it isn't detectable, blah blah blah.
While the rest of the group was yammering on, I became lost in my own memories. Few people who know me as an adult would surmise that I've had a rather turbulent past, in terms of bullying. I don't come across as the type of person who'd be subjected to bullying, for a number of reasons. I've been told by many people that I have an air of confidence and security about me. I've never really come to grips with how exactly I project this image, which only leads me to believe that my confidence is either a) purely for show or b) something that is so innately a part of me that I don't even know I project it. Whatever it is, I'm glad that I appear that way to people, because it makes them less likely to hassle me.
It wasn't always this way. In high school I suffered from extremely low self esteem. I'd argue it lingers with me, at least a little, to this day. I've never been truly comfortable in my own skin. I am intensely critical of myself, to the point where if asked to rate myself on a scale of one to ten, I would still say "5". In high school I may have said lower.
I have intense memories of looking at myself in the mirror, and degrading every part of my face. I felt my forehead was too big (I used to moan continually about having a "five finger forehead"), my eyes to close together (and the glasses, I felt, were the only thing that hid that), my nose too fat at the end (this wasn't aided by the fact that a friend of mine once remarked that, when viewed from the bottom, my nose looked like the nipple of a babies bottle), my hair too scraggly, my teeth not white enough, and my skin a horrid mess of oil, grease and blackheads.
With a face like that, I would say, how could I ever hope to be liked?
You see, at the time I felt that in order to be popular one had to be beautiful. It seemed that all the popular people were the ones that were 'stereotypically' attractive on some level. Apparently, the idea that I wasn't desirable to any boy meant that I was worthless on all levels.
I did, however, concede that despite my disgustingly unfortunate face, I had managed to pull out a pretty decent body. I never struggled with my weight in high school, and always admired the fact that I had nice curvaceous hips. I was let down in the boob department, but that wasn't really a huge concern to me. It was all about the face.
Walking around with a face like mine, I felt it was impossible to become popular. I remember trying in vain to make myself appealing.
To fix my scraggly hair I had it all lobbed off. I worked the cute boyish cut, as an attempt to a) be slightly different, and b) because I simply had no clue what to do with long hair. The idea of blow drying it was foreign and scary to me, so the easiest solution was to chop it off. That worked for awhile, in that I did get some admiration, but mostly it was a failure. Unsure of what to do next, I went through the painstaking process of growing it out. The phases of growing short hair long are awkward, and I think that perhaps cutting it wasn't the best idea. I made it through in the end though, only to be faced with the same problem I'd started out with; what could I do with this hair?
The answer, unfortunately, was a perm. I permed my hair, for lack of knowing what to do with it straight. The result, as we all know, was terrible. Perms are never a good idea.
So what did I do? I lobbed it all off again.
It was a constant battle, with me.
Eventually, I got it right in OAC, when I managed to customize a mixture of short and long; I worked the 'Paige Davis' (if you watched Trading Spaces at all, in those early days, you'll know what I mean). It worked alright for me, I suppose. It wasn't until I went to university that I discovered the wonders of a straightening iron; it was then that my hair became manageable.
The eyes, I felt, were never going to get better. I felt insecure and weird without my glasses, but was painfully aware of the social stigma attached to them. Only dorky people wore glasses. I tried a number of different frames, but I never felt I could pull off the look without looking like a complete loser. Contacts, at the time, were too disgusting and scary for me to even consider. The idea of sticking my finger in my eye was enough to make my head spin, so I politely declined that idea. Besides, I really did believe that because my eyes were too close together, glasses provided me with some 'cover'. So I wrote off the idea of not wearing the glasses, and resigned myself to the fact that they would forever be a burden to me.
I remember experimenting with makeup as well, and whenever I look back at pictures of myself I can't help but laugh at how horribly I applied it. I'm not saying I'm a pro at it now, but I certainly know when to avoid applying bright blue colours to my lids. Subtly wasn't my thing, I guess.
Despite all my best efforts, I never made it into the 'cool' crowd. I was always just outside it, too shy to try to enter, and too down on myself to think I could.
Grade 7 and 8 are pretty fuzzy to me these days, and I don't remember a whole lot about those years. I know I wasn't the happiest girl, but I wasn't overly sad either. I had the usual fall-outs with girls, but most of that I attributed to being chronically labelled 'the new girl'. I never really fit into any social group in town, and wandered from one group of friends to the next. We were the indistinguishable girls. The ones that kind of fly under the radar of teachers, who do well academically, but aren't athletically able. In short, we didn't really register at all. We were just names on the register, bodies that filled seats, and minds that took in what was taught with little objection. I did the projects assigned, never handed anything in late, and generally made very little noise, aside from the occasional giggle-fest.
Boys terrified me, so I stayed away from them as best I could.
It wasn't until grade 9 that things started to get really bad for me. It was at this point where my insecurities about my appearance, and my subsequent place in the social hierarchy, really started to come to the fore.
As previously mentioned, I'd never really fit in with any group for long, and found myself bumping from one group of girls to another. In grades 7 and 8 I was good friends with Kyla and Samantha; the three of us hung out a lot, had sleepovers, and were the best of friends. I had fun with them, and for the most part, have only fond memories. For some reason (I can't really recall what that is, but I think it had something to do with a falling out with Amanda Ungar), the three of us drifted apart. There was some unpleasantness, where they stopped talking to me, or I got pushed out. To this day, I'm left with a feeling of being 'short shifted' in that regard; I still can't talk to those girls in a normal conversation without feeling some weirdness and tension. I couldn't tell you why, though...
After Sam and Kyla, I started to hang out with Ashley. Ashley and I were really close, and remained so until I screwed that up by becoming obsessively involved with my first (and only for a very long time) boyfriend, Adam. I made the classic girl mistake of becoming so involved in my boyfriend that I neglected my true friendships, and I lost them. I have a lot of regrets about my relationship with Adam, and losing Ashley is probably the biggest one. It's the only thing I never got back.
Ashley was my best mate from when I was in grade 9 until grade 11. We did everything together. We had great fun. However, I must admit that I harboured feelings of jealousy towards Ashley, because she was liked by everyone. She could talk to anyone in the school, and they'd treat her like an equal. If I had tried to do that, I would have been sneered at, or flat out ignored. I think a lot of the reasons why I wasn't treated worse than I was was because of Ashley's presence. I like to think so, anyways. I think her support and friendship with me kind of put everyone off from really ostracizing me. I used to envy the way Ashley could talk to anyone,but never more so than when she talked to boys. For some reason, Ashley was not afraid of boys like I was. I had the hugest crush on a boy named Danny, and it never failed to irk me when she'd engage him in conversation. I knew she'd never 'make a move' on him, because she knew how I felt, but it still bothered me that it was so easy for her and so hard for me. He couldn't even look at me, without my face becoming insanely hot, a sure sign that I was blushing profusely. Any attempt, on my behalf, to talk to him came out in stutters and mumbles. It was embarrassing.
There was, however, a group of girls from the primary school I'd attended for a year, who were always on the outside of everything I was doing, looking in and judging. I'm not entirely sure why, but for some reason they were opposed to my infiltrating their group, or any other group that was remotely cool, for some reason. To this day I can't tell you what their motives were, but I do know that they didn't care for me, and they made certain that I knew.
Snide comments were made behind my back, though always within enough earshot that I'd know it was me they directed their scorn at. Looks were shot my direction. Laughs issued any time I went by. I was generally made to feel like a worthless piece of shit.
The first day of grade 9, I remember going to school in my favourite new shirt. The week before school started, my Mum always took us 'back to school shopping'. I remember picking a few outfits, and then eagerly storing them in my closet, untouched, until the first day. I thought my outfit out over and over, rationalizing it and changing it until I thought I had it just right.
Maybe today would be the day that I'd fit in.
In hindsight, I should have realized that wearing a shirt with Sailor Moon on it wasn't a good choice. However, I had stumbled upon the shirt in 'Backstage Pass', which at the time had a kind of edgy-hip thing going on. Cool kids shopped there, I told myself. Finding the Sailor Moon shirt had been a moment of extreme joy for me. I'd loved that show since grade 6, and the artist me in had really latched onto the Anime style of drawing. I drew nothing but Anime all through high school. I wasn't an Anime/Manga geek, by any means though. I didn't buy the stuff, I merely appreciated the style, and copied it. I suppose people wouldn't have known that though, if they'd seen me doodling in lesson. Or wearing the shirt.
I proudly wore my Sailor Moon shirt that day though. I even thought it clever to put my hair in messy-bun pigtails. Very cute, I thought. Maybe even a tiny bit attractive.
I was horrified, upon entering my home room, to see that there was no one present that I could call a 'friend' in any capacity. The room was full of girls who detested me and boys who enjoyed nothing more than teasing the crap out of me; and not in that flirtatious way, either. In the malicious 'we don't like you, and we hope you know it' way. I distinctly remember two of them, a guy and a girl, exchange a knowing look and a smirking grin when they saw me walk in.
I put my head down, instantly regretting the shirt and the hair, and tried to find a seat that was far away from them.
Throughout the day, the two badgered me constantly.
"Nice shirt, Sailor Moon," they'd taunt. "God, how old are you? You're such a baby!"
"Did your mommy do your hair for you? Who wears pigtails?!"
"Saaaaailoooorrr.....Moooooon"
I tried my best to ignore them at first. I knew that they were looking to get a reaction from me, but I wasn't going to give it to them. I thought they'd get bored, and stop.
They didn't get bored. If anything, they got more intense. When the name calling wasn't enough they started to throw bits of eraser at me. And then paper. I'd flinch, but I tried not to acknowledge it.
Then fingers started to jab me.
At that point, I couldn't ignore them. They had gotten into my physical space, and it was highly offensive.
I remember vividly sitting in French, in a portable, when the boys finger poked me hard in the back.
"Hey, Sailor Moon," he said.
I turned around, trying my best to glare at him, but failing miserably when met with his cocky grin.
"Leave me alone," I spat at him.
"Leave me alone," he mimicked. "You're such a baby! What a loser!"
"Shut up!" I said.
Bingo. They'd started to get a rise out of me, and now I was doomed. The taunting increased, names hurling forward at me with such voracity, it was hard to keep up. Fingers jabbed, names flew, and my emotions rose higher and higher.
I remember looking to the teacher, time and again, for support. However, because I didn't verbally say "EXCUSE ME, but these people are bothering me..." nothing was done. It seemed to me that he turned a blind eye to what was going on. There was no way in hell he couldn't have noticed. I'm a teacher now, and I notice when kids are picking on someone. It is blatantly obvious. The tone of voice a kid uses to tease a friend is completely different to the tone used to tease an enemy. And the reactions are evidently different too. My voice became more and more high pitched, more and more strenuous, the longer their assault on me took place.
No one could withstand that for long, and I am certainly no champion. I started to cry at one point, in the middle of trying to complete a task in French.
You'd think my tears would have caused the teacher to rush to my aid.
He never once approached me.
My crying was like music to my tormentors ears. They didn't relent, and kept hounding. When the bell rang, it was all I could do not to leave my bag behind and flee. But I packed my things, and then left. I speed walked into the school, to my locker. I could hear the tinkling sound of laughter behind me. I remember feeling the hot sun beating on my back, coupling with the sweat that had started to pour out of me during my barrage. My messy-bun pigtails were unravelling almost as fast as my composure.
At my locker, Ashley was waiting. When she saw me, she asked what was wrong, and I burst into tears. I explained that all day I'd been badgered by these two kids. She told me I should tell someone. I said, in my strongest voice, that I would not return to that group. I was going to tell my parents.
I did tell my parents. I'm not sure what they told the school, or even what was done. I wasn't forced to sit in front of anyone though, and explain my side. At least, I don't remember doing that. All I remember is requesting to be put in Ashley's group, and having that request granted. Fast.
I should hope the school did SOMETHING to those students, but I don't know. If they were talked to, I don't know. If they got detention, I don't know. All I know is that I avoided them at all costs from that moment on. When I saw them in the hall I would either slip into the bathroom to escape them, or turn around and walk the other way. I'm sure they noticed, but I couldn't have cared less. I didn't want to have to face them, ever again.
Things didn't get worse from that point, but they remained on a plateau of indifferent normalcy. The girl and the boy regarded me with contempt all through high school. I was never treated fairly by them or anyone in their group. To this day I'm still regarded with that same snide and sneering look. I still can't fit into that social circle. I could go into detail, about events that took place last summer, when the girls were confronted for their standoffish attitude towards me, but I won't. Suffice it to say, that years later, things remain exactly the same.
The only difference is me.
I'm not that girl. I am not passively going to take their abuse. I am also no longer as insecure as I once was. They can't cow me with their 'holier than thou' attitude anymore, because I see them for what they are.
I wish I had seen it then, but I guess that is all part of growing up.
Sitting in the NQT meeting, these thoughts were all swirling through my head. My issues with bullying will never leave me. I can never escape them, but I can sure as hell make sure that other kids can. I don't let anything pass me by. I watch with a keen eye the way kids behave in my classroom, because I will never, ever, let a student feel the way I felt that day. Or any other day in my high school experience.
At least I can rest easy knowing that I'm a better person because of my experiences. The bullies of my day may remain to be bullies now, but I think it's their last grab at power. If it makes them feel like bigger people to lord themselves over me (for no reason other than high school popularity) then I'll let them have it.
At the end of the day I can't be bothered.
Anyways, I digress.
I was at this meeting, and they were putting on a seminar about bullying. For most of the lecture, I tuned out, because it was all stuff I'd heard before; that bullying is hard to pin down because the definition of what constitutes bullying changes, and that sometimes it isn't detectable, blah blah blah.
While the rest of the group was yammering on, I became lost in my own memories. Few people who know me as an adult would surmise that I've had a rather turbulent past, in terms of bullying. I don't come across as the type of person who'd be subjected to bullying, for a number of reasons. I've been told by many people that I have an air of confidence and security about me. I've never really come to grips with how exactly I project this image, which only leads me to believe that my confidence is either a) purely for show or b) something that is so innately a part of me that I don't even know I project it. Whatever it is, I'm glad that I appear that way to people, because it makes them less likely to hassle me.
It wasn't always this way. In high school I suffered from extremely low self esteem. I'd argue it lingers with me, at least a little, to this day. I've never been truly comfortable in my own skin. I am intensely critical of myself, to the point where if asked to rate myself on a scale of one to ten, I would still say "5". In high school I may have said lower.
I have intense memories of looking at myself in the mirror, and degrading every part of my face. I felt my forehead was too big (I used to moan continually about having a "five finger forehead"), my eyes to close together (and the glasses, I felt, were the only thing that hid that), my nose too fat at the end (this wasn't aided by the fact that a friend of mine once remarked that, when viewed from the bottom, my nose looked like the nipple of a babies bottle), my hair too scraggly, my teeth not white enough, and my skin a horrid mess of oil, grease and blackheads.
With a face like that, I would say, how could I ever hope to be liked?
You see, at the time I felt that in order to be popular one had to be beautiful. It seemed that all the popular people were the ones that were 'stereotypically' attractive on some level. Apparently, the idea that I wasn't desirable to any boy meant that I was worthless on all levels.
I did, however, concede that despite my disgustingly unfortunate face, I had managed to pull out a pretty decent body. I never struggled with my weight in high school, and always admired the fact that I had nice curvaceous hips. I was let down in the boob department, but that wasn't really a huge concern to me. It was all about the face.
Walking around with a face like mine, I felt it was impossible to become popular. I remember trying in vain to make myself appealing.
To fix my scraggly hair I had it all lobbed off. I worked the cute boyish cut, as an attempt to a) be slightly different, and b) because I simply had no clue what to do with long hair. The idea of blow drying it was foreign and scary to me, so the easiest solution was to chop it off. That worked for awhile, in that I did get some admiration, but mostly it was a failure. Unsure of what to do next, I went through the painstaking process of growing it out. The phases of growing short hair long are awkward, and I think that perhaps cutting it wasn't the best idea. I made it through in the end though, only to be faced with the same problem I'd started out with; what could I do with this hair?
The answer, unfortunately, was a perm. I permed my hair, for lack of knowing what to do with it straight. The result, as we all know, was terrible. Perms are never a good idea.
So what did I do? I lobbed it all off again.
It was a constant battle, with me.
Eventually, I got it right in OAC, when I managed to customize a mixture of short and long; I worked the 'Paige Davis' (if you watched Trading Spaces at all, in those early days, you'll know what I mean). It worked alright for me, I suppose. It wasn't until I went to university that I discovered the wonders of a straightening iron; it was then that my hair became manageable.
The eyes, I felt, were never going to get better. I felt insecure and weird without my glasses, but was painfully aware of the social stigma attached to them. Only dorky people wore glasses. I tried a number of different frames, but I never felt I could pull off the look without looking like a complete loser. Contacts, at the time, were too disgusting and scary for me to even consider. The idea of sticking my finger in my eye was enough to make my head spin, so I politely declined that idea. Besides, I really did believe that because my eyes were too close together, glasses provided me with some 'cover'. So I wrote off the idea of not wearing the glasses, and resigned myself to the fact that they would forever be a burden to me.
I remember experimenting with makeup as well, and whenever I look back at pictures of myself I can't help but laugh at how horribly I applied it. I'm not saying I'm a pro at it now, but I certainly know when to avoid applying bright blue colours to my lids. Subtly wasn't my thing, I guess.
Despite all my best efforts, I never made it into the 'cool' crowd. I was always just outside it, too shy to try to enter, and too down on myself to think I could.
Grade 7 and 8 are pretty fuzzy to me these days, and I don't remember a whole lot about those years. I know I wasn't the happiest girl, but I wasn't overly sad either. I had the usual fall-outs with girls, but most of that I attributed to being chronically labelled 'the new girl'. I never really fit into any social group in town, and wandered from one group of friends to the next. We were the indistinguishable girls. The ones that kind of fly under the radar of teachers, who do well academically, but aren't athletically able. In short, we didn't really register at all. We were just names on the register, bodies that filled seats, and minds that took in what was taught with little objection. I did the projects assigned, never handed anything in late, and generally made very little noise, aside from the occasional giggle-fest.
Boys terrified me, so I stayed away from them as best I could.
It wasn't until grade 9 that things started to get really bad for me. It was at this point where my insecurities about my appearance, and my subsequent place in the social hierarchy, really started to come to the fore.
As previously mentioned, I'd never really fit in with any group for long, and found myself bumping from one group of girls to another. In grades 7 and 8 I was good friends with Kyla and Samantha; the three of us hung out a lot, had sleepovers, and were the best of friends. I had fun with them, and for the most part, have only fond memories. For some reason (I can't really recall what that is, but I think it had something to do with a falling out with Amanda Ungar), the three of us drifted apart. There was some unpleasantness, where they stopped talking to me, or I got pushed out. To this day, I'm left with a feeling of being 'short shifted' in that regard; I still can't talk to those girls in a normal conversation without feeling some weirdness and tension. I couldn't tell you why, though...
After Sam and Kyla, I started to hang out with Ashley. Ashley and I were really close, and remained so until I screwed that up by becoming obsessively involved with my first (and only for a very long time) boyfriend, Adam. I made the classic girl mistake of becoming so involved in my boyfriend that I neglected my true friendships, and I lost them. I have a lot of regrets about my relationship with Adam, and losing Ashley is probably the biggest one. It's the only thing I never got back.
Ashley was my best mate from when I was in grade 9 until grade 11. We did everything together. We had great fun. However, I must admit that I harboured feelings of jealousy towards Ashley, because she was liked by everyone. She could talk to anyone in the school, and they'd treat her like an equal. If I had tried to do that, I would have been sneered at, or flat out ignored. I think a lot of the reasons why I wasn't treated worse than I was was because of Ashley's presence. I like to think so, anyways. I think her support and friendship with me kind of put everyone off from really ostracizing me. I used to envy the way Ashley could talk to anyone,but never more so than when she talked to boys. For some reason, Ashley was not afraid of boys like I was. I had the hugest crush on a boy named Danny, and it never failed to irk me when she'd engage him in conversation. I knew she'd never 'make a move' on him, because she knew how I felt, but it still bothered me that it was so easy for her and so hard for me. He couldn't even look at me, without my face becoming insanely hot, a sure sign that I was blushing profusely. Any attempt, on my behalf, to talk to him came out in stutters and mumbles. It was embarrassing.
There was, however, a group of girls from the primary school I'd attended for a year, who were always on the outside of everything I was doing, looking in and judging. I'm not entirely sure why, but for some reason they were opposed to my infiltrating their group, or any other group that was remotely cool, for some reason. To this day I can't tell you what their motives were, but I do know that they didn't care for me, and they made certain that I knew.
Snide comments were made behind my back, though always within enough earshot that I'd know it was me they directed their scorn at. Looks were shot my direction. Laughs issued any time I went by. I was generally made to feel like a worthless piece of shit.
The first day of grade 9, I remember going to school in my favourite new shirt. The week before school started, my Mum always took us 'back to school shopping'. I remember picking a few outfits, and then eagerly storing them in my closet, untouched, until the first day. I thought my outfit out over and over, rationalizing it and changing it until I thought I had it just right.
Maybe today would be the day that I'd fit in.
In hindsight, I should have realized that wearing a shirt with Sailor Moon on it wasn't a good choice. However, I had stumbled upon the shirt in 'Backstage Pass', which at the time had a kind of edgy-hip thing going on. Cool kids shopped there, I told myself. Finding the Sailor Moon shirt had been a moment of extreme joy for me. I'd loved that show since grade 6, and the artist me in had really latched onto the Anime style of drawing. I drew nothing but Anime all through high school. I wasn't an Anime/Manga geek, by any means though. I didn't buy the stuff, I merely appreciated the style, and copied it. I suppose people wouldn't have known that though, if they'd seen me doodling in lesson. Or wearing the shirt.
I proudly wore my Sailor Moon shirt that day though. I even thought it clever to put my hair in messy-bun pigtails. Very cute, I thought. Maybe even a tiny bit attractive.
I was horrified, upon entering my home room, to see that there was no one present that I could call a 'friend' in any capacity. The room was full of girls who detested me and boys who enjoyed nothing more than teasing the crap out of me; and not in that flirtatious way, either. In the malicious 'we don't like you, and we hope you know it' way. I distinctly remember two of them, a guy and a girl, exchange a knowing look and a smirking grin when they saw me walk in.
I put my head down, instantly regretting the shirt and the hair, and tried to find a seat that was far away from them.
Throughout the day, the two badgered me constantly.
"Nice shirt, Sailor Moon," they'd taunt. "God, how old are you? You're such a baby!"
"Did your mommy do your hair for you? Who wears pigtails?!"
"Saaaaailoooorrr.....Moooooon"
I tried my best to ignore them at first. I knew that they were looking to get a reaction from me, but I wasn't going to give it to them. I thought they'd get bored, and stop.
They didn't get bored. If anything, they got more intense. When the name calling wasn't enough they started to throw bits of eraser at me. And then paper. I'd flinch, but I tried not to acknowledge it.
Then fingers started to jab me.
At that point, I couldn't ignore them. They had gotten into my physical space, and it was highly offensive.
I remember vividly sitting in French, in a portable, when the boys finger poked me hard in the back.
"Hey, Sailor Moon," he said.
I turned around, trying my best to glare at him, but failing miserably when met with his cocky grin.
"Leave me alone," I spat at him.
"Leave me alone," he mimicked. "You're such a baby! What a loser!"
"Shut up!" I said.
Bingo. They'd started to get a rise out of me, and now I was doomed. The taunting increased, names hurling forward at me with such voracity, it was hard to keep up. Fingers jabbed, names flew, and my emotions rose higher and higher.
I remember looking to the teacher, time and again, for support. However, because I didn't verbally say "EXCUSE ME, but these people are bothering me..." nothing was done. It seemed to me that he turned a blind eye to what was going on. There was no way in hell he couldn't have noticed. I'm a teacher now, and I notice when kids are picking on someone. It is blatantly obvious. The tone of voice a kid uses to tease a friend is completely different to the tone used to tease an enemy. And the reactions are evidently different too. My voice became more and more high pitched, more and more strenuous, the longer their assault on me took place.
No one could withstand that for long, and I am certainly no champion. I started to cry at one point, in the middle of trying to complete a task in French.
You'd think my tears would have caused the teacher to rush to my aid.
He never once approached me.
My crying was like music to my tormentors ears. They didn't relent, and kept hounding. When the bell rang, it was all I could do not to leave my bag behind and flee. But I packed my things, and then left. I speed walked into the school, to my locker. I could hear the tinkling sound of laughter behind me. I remember feeling the hot sun beating on my back, coupling with the sweat that had started to pour out of me during my barrage. My messy-bun pigtails were unravelling almost as fast as my composure.
At my locker, Ashley was waiting. When she saw me, she asked what was wrong, and I burst into tears. I explained that all day I'd been badgered by these two kids. She told me I should tell someone. I said, in my strongest voice, that I would not return to that group. I was going to tell my parents.
I did tell my parents. I'm not sure what they told the school, or even what was done. I wasn't forced to sit in front of anyone though, and explain my side. At least, I don't remember doing that. All I remember is requesting to be put in Ashley's group, and having that request granted. Fast.
I should hope the school did SOMETHING to those students, but I don't know. If they were talked to, I don't know. If they got detention, I don't know. All I know is that I avoided them at all costs from that moment on. When I saw them in the hall I would either slip into the bathroom to escape them, or turn around and walk the other way. I'm sure they noticed, but I couldn't have cared less. I didn't want to have to face them, ever again.
Things didn't get worse from that point, but they remained on a plateau of indifferent normalcy. The girl and the boy regarded me with contempt all through high school. I was never treated fairly by them or anyone in their group. To this day I'm still regarded with that same snide and sneering look. I still can't fit into that social circle. I could go into detail, about events that took place last summer, when the girls were confronted for their standoffish attitude towards me, but I won't. Suffice it to say, that years later, things remain exactly the same.
The only difference is me.
I'm not that girl. I am not passively going to take their abuse. I am also no longer as insecure as I once was. They can't cow me with their 'holier than thou' attitude anymore, because I see them for what they are.
I wish I had seen it then, but I guess that is all part of growing up.
Sitting in the NQT meeting, these thoughts were all swirling through my head. My issues with bullying will never leave me. I can never escape them, but I can sure as hell make sure that other kids can. I don't let anything pass me by. I watch with a keen eye the way kids behave in my classroom, because I will never, ever, let a student feel the way I felt that day. Or any other day in my high school experience.
At least I can rest easy knowing that I'm a better person because of my experiences. The bullies of my day may remain to be bullies now, but I think it's their last grab at power. If it makes them feel like bigger people to lord themselves over me (for no reason other than high school popularity) then I'll let them have it.
At the end of the day I can't be bothered.
Friday, March 6, 2009
On Wanting To Punch People
I'm really frustrated right now. There was nothing I fancied more tonight than the thought of tucking into a pint perhaps, or else grabbing a disgustingly butter drenched popcorn and watching some lame scary movie. It wasn't even the actual act of watching the movie or drinking the pint that I fancied. No, what I was really looking forward to was the SHEER act of getting out of the house. Getting out of this stifling house, for just a few hours, and escaping the fact that my life is a complete bore.
Instead, I'm left sitting on my bed, my laptop on my lap, all dressed up with nowhere to go, typing in my blog. I feel like some lame twenty-something computer geek who hasn't been laid in years. I'm not so far off from that. Is this really my life? Is this really the life I have chosen to live? Being reliant on people deciding when they have time to hang out with me? When did I totally lose control of my life? How is it that I'm constantly waiting on other people to make room for me? I sometimes wish I could, for once, be the one making room for other people. I wonder what it's like to call the shots, and be in control.
Maybe it's just a problem with me. Maybe I pick friends that are flakes. Or perhaps I'm deluding myself into thinking I even have friends. Admittedly, the friendships I have are shaky at best. I'd more likely call them acquaintances. I suppose, if I admit to that truth, then it makes sense that people are constantly cancelling on me. If it's 'just Krista', then really it's not that much of a bother.
Don't bother thinking this rant is aimed at one person in particular. It's aimed at a few. It's aimed at nearly every person I've met in England; all of whom didn't deem it important enough to come out two weeks ago and meet my friends from Canada when I asked them to come out. Apparently the 'it's just Krista' also applies if you tack on 'and her friends from Canada'. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm stumbling upon the horrid truth of the matter; that British people are extraordinarily self centered assholes, who don't give two shits about what other people are thinking. Instant gratification for yourself is key to survival in this country, I've learnt.
Well, fuck you all. You can kiss my white Canadian ass. I'm sorry I'm nice. I'm sorry that when I say 'I'm in' I mean it. Most of all, I'm bloody sorry I even cared at all. The British way is to stop caring, so maybe I should do just that.
Sod it.
The worst of it all is that I was having a really marvelous day today. I even got PRAISED at work - and this is the kicker - twice. I nearly pissed my pants. Twice. I kid you not.
But anyways, the day's been marred and now I'm in a hell of a grumpy mood.
I think the best thing to do is head into Waitrose and try to wrangle up something to eat.
And a large bottle of wine, if I can afford it.
I'd go without a meal, for a bottle of wine right now.
I'm developing a problem.
Instead, I'm left sitting on my bed, my laptop on my lap, all dressed up with nowhere to go, typing in my blog. I feel like some lame twenty-something computer geek who hasn't been laid in years. I'm not so far off from that. Is this really my life? Is this really the life I have chosen to live? Being reliant on people deciding when they have time to hang out with me? When did I totally lose control of my life? How is it that I'm constantly waiting on other people to make room for me? I sometimes wish I could, for once, be the one making room for other people. I wonder what it's like to call the shots, and be in control.
Maybe it's just a problem with me. Maybe I pick friends that are flakes. Or perhaps I'm deluding myself into thinking I even have friends. Admittedly, the friendships I have are shaky at best. I'd more likely call them acquaintances. I suppose, if I admit to that truth, then it makes sense that people are constantly cancelling on me. If it's 'just Krista', then really it's not that much of a bother.
Don't bother thinking this rant is aimed at one person in particular. It's aimed at a few. It's aimed at nearly every person I've met in England; all of whom didn't deem it important enough to come out two weeks ago and meet my friends from Canada when I asked them to come out. Apparently the 'it's just Krista' also applies if you tack on 'and her friends from Canada'. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm stumbling upon the horrid truth of the matter; that British people are extraordinarily self centered assholes, who don't give two shits about what other people are thinking. Instant gratification for yourself is key to survival in this country, I've learnt.
Well, fuck you all. You can kiss my white Canadian ass. I'm sorry I'm nice. I'm sorry that when I say 'I'm in' I mean it. Most of all, I'm bloody sorry I even cared at all. The British way is to stop caring, so maybe I should do just that.
Sod it.
The worst of it all is that I was having a really marvelous day today. I even got PRAISED at work - and this is the kicker - twice. I nearly pissed my pants. Twice. I kid you not.
But anyways, the day's been marred and now I'm in a hell of a grumpy mood.
I think the best thing to do is head into Waitrose and try to wrangle up something to eat.
And a large bottle of wine, if I can afford it.
I'd go without a meal, for a bottle of wine right now.
I'm developing a problem.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
On Constantly Singing the Same Note
I feel as if the only thing I do these days is moan; if its not one thing, its the other. Optimists would say that in order to get out of my funk I need to adopt a positive attitude. Perhaps there is some validity in that claim. I often think back to the first few weeks that immediately followed my Christmas trip home; I was so full of positivity and enthusiasm. It's seemed to be on a steady decline since then. A part of me was hoping that, after the visit from Trevor and Matty, I would experience that high again. Unfortunately for me, it seems to have only compounded the problem, making me more miserable than I was before.
Maybe my feeling this way has nothing to do with their visit. I'm not entirely sure. I'd like to think that the slump I've been in is entirely of my own doing, and not reliant on anything else. However, I'm not stupid enough to buy into that. If the solution was as simple as thinking positively and casting out these feelings, then no one would ever be sad; they've got pills to change your attitude.
I really do like to think that the majority of reasons that I'm miserable is because I'm treated miserably. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because I've got a lot of time on my hands (and to myself), and I've decided that my problem isn't entirely with the children treating me like dirt. In fact, if anything, it actually goes above that. Lately I've been muddling over the idea that it is the administration that's getting me down. If I pursue this train of thought, it starts to make a lot more sense.
Feeling positive in your job has a lot to do with how you are perceived to be working by others. Often, I feel as if I am under appreciated; I rarely get positive praise.
In fact, I often get heaps of moaning piled on me. Mind you, it is often veiled criticism, and is rarely ever an outright accusation of inadequacy. Well. Except for the other day.
You see, there was this one boy - I believe in the past I'd referred to him as Fat Bastard, or something of the like - that I flat out refused to teach, because he was a waste of space. Just this week, it had been decided that the time was ripe for him to try returning to my lessons. Not wanting to stir the pot, I agreed to have him back. A few moments after this was decided, I was sitting in my classroom preparing, when I received an e-mail stating that after further consideration it was deemed best for the student to NOT return to my classroom, but to instead go work with the 'Lord' of the department. Their explanation was that he'd be doing exam skills in THAT class, which was far more beneficial than what I was doing with my class.
I sat there for a moment, mulling this e-mail over.
"More beneficial than what you are doing in your classes..." I read aloud a few time. Each time I turned it over, the meaning of what they'd said grew more and more insulting.
"MORE beneficial? What exactly do they think I am teaching?!" I asked myself.
Tucking my hair behind my ears (which, for the unknowing, is a sure sign of my frustration) I lit into an e-mail, in which I - not trying to mask my sarcastic tone - asked them to elaborate on WHAT exactly they thought I was teaching that was so useless.
I didn't get a reply back, and instead was left to seethe and fume all through my next lesson. Once lunch rolled around, I was in a right mood; it was time to kick ass first, and take names later. I walked into the Orwell Office, and silently (this was the form of my anger; silent protest) collected my lunch from the fridge. No one seemed to take notice of me, OR my anger.
I sat down, and was sure to tuck into my lunch without looking at anyone else. Surely that would make them notice. My passive aggressiveness could only go unheeded for so long! (I do hope you know that I am mocking myself, at this point. I am a pansy-assed pussy).
Finally, the Department head spoke.
"I do hope you're aware that we had no ulterior motives in pulling *said student* from your lessons. It is by no means a comment on what you're teaching," she said.
"Sure doesn't feel that way," I spat.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"If you must know, I'm actually teaching the very same thing that HE'S teaching, so why you've decided to take him out of my lessons remains a mystery to me. Far be it for me to question your judgement though," I said.
"Oh, it's not a question of what you're teaching," she lied, "It's the people in your lesson. You said yourself you suspected he wanted to come back because his new girlfriend is in the class. He shouldn't be in your lessons for the wrong reasons. We need to assure he gets the work done."
I put on a smile for her, "Oh yes. Alright then."
I let the matter go there, at least on an outward level. Inside, I was still bubbling over with frustration at her blatant lie. Why would they first say it was because it would be more 'beneficial' in terms of what was being taught, and then change it to mean more 'beneficial' to the student, in terms of behaviour and motivation? It was absolute rubbish, and I think I was right to be offended.
That said, they can keep the Fat Bastard for all I care. I don't want him in my lessons, anyways. He's an annoyance.
One of many that I teach, to be honest.
I've had a trying few days.
I feel a bit hypocritical, saying that it's not really the students causing me grief, considering just this afternoon I nearly broke into a flood of tears again in front of my year 9s. Clearly I was a bit hasty in letting my students entirely off the hook for my melancholy ways.
I should begin by (perhaps repeating) saying that Thursdays are my worst day. It is the only day of the week that I teach five periods straight through. I never look forward to Thursdays. I especially hate that I end with my year 9s. You see, if I get them in the morning, they can be a semi-delightful bunch, who actually can do the work if pressed slightly. In the afternoon though, when I have them the rest of the week, they are an unmanageable,unruly lot. I have zero control over them, and they know it.
Nearly every lesson I have with them is a constant struggle. I try to talk over them, to get the lesson across to the few students who listed. At the end of lesson, my throat is usually dry and sore and the quality and tone of my voice takes on a bizarre, otherworldly tone. It sounds unattractive and annoying, and it only reverts back to normalcy with the aid of copious amounts of liquid (usually in the form of a sickly sweet tea).
Today I went into this ritual again. I tried in vain to get my lesson across, but most of the students simply could not be bothered to end their private conversations and listen to my 'boring' lesson on language and atmosphere in 'The Monkey's Paw'. They have an essay due soon on the story, and I was working through an analysis of the language. Basically, if they had been paying attention, they could have gotten a lot of examples to incorporate into their paper, thus increasing the likelihood of receiving a decent mark.
I struggled through it until the last ten minutes of class. Then, fed up, I hollered at them that I 'gave up' trying to help them. I told them to get their books out and silently work on their creative writing piece for the last ten minutes of class.
I explicitly said that any talking would result in detention.
No one bothered to take heed.
I issued my warning yet again.
Still nothing.
Exasperated, I wasn't sure what to do. I felt my frustrations boiling over, as I looked from face to face. Only a few looked back at me with genuine concern and annoyance (regarding the other students behaviour). I knew that my reaction at this point could go one of two ways. Either I could slam my fists into the nearest desk to get their attention, and then launch into a screaming match, or I could break into tears and leave the room.
I pursued the latter, though modified it somewhat.
Instead of breaking into tears, I place my pen down, walked towards the door, opened it, and walked out closing it behind me.
I stood there, with my back against the door for a moment or two.
Allisson was outside in the hall as well, lecturing a student. She stopped, and both of them looked at me.
"Are you alright, Miss Carson? Want me to go yell at your class?" she asked.
"No thank you," I said calmly. "I just need to breathe a minute."
She nodded at me, then continued in on her student. I turned around, and stared into the window of my classroom. The students were motionless in the room, staring back out at me. I took a few breaths, then opened the door.
I closed it behind me.
I stood there a moment, soaking in the silence. You could have heard a pin drop. They stared at me, expectantly. I think they thought I was going to burst into tears.
"I've said this before, but I'll say it again. This type of behaviour...this notion that your private conversations are more important that what I'm trying to teach you...is going to stop. This is not social hour, and I'm not going to let you treat it as such. This is English. This is my classroom. I've done nothing to deserve being disrespected like this. I'd like to think I'm a pretty nice person, but clearly being that nice person isn't getting me anywhere with you. At the end of the day, there are things I need to teach you, and I'm just not able to do it. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being treated like crap. You KNOW you shouldn't be acting like this. Yet you continue to do it. It's going to stop, and I'm going to be the one to stop it."
I said all this in a controlled and calm voice. I looked from face to face as I spoke, making sure each student knew I was talking to THEM. All of them.
"Now. I asked for silence earlier. I'm not sure what you didn't understand about that. I want it for the remaining 4 minutes. I am dead serious. Don't push me anymore on this."
They instantly tucked into their work.
I went to my desk and sat down. For four minutes not a sound was made. I stared at the clock the entire time. Just before the bell rang I quietly finished my rant.
"You are all in for a huge shock if you go into year 10 with the current amount of knowledge and skill you have. It's not for my lack of trying. If you have any hopes of succeeding in GCSE English, then you'd best reform yourselves. The days of 'nice' Miss Carson are over. Until you can prove to me that that person can return, you're going to be faced with a very different English lesson. This is not my choosing. This is what you've forced me to become..."
The bell rang, and they filed silently out. Most shot looks of guilt at me. Three girls remained behind, helping me put chairs up.
"Are you alright," one asked.
"Yes, thank you, I am fine," I said.
"We're sorry...that our class is so bad. We know we are bad...and we're....just, sorry," she said.
"It's fine, ladies. Thank you for being sweet, though," I smiled.
They left.
I sat.
I sit.
Maybe my feeling this way has nothing to do with their visit. I'm not entirely sure. I'd like to think that the slump I've been in is entirely of my own doing, and not reliant on anything else. However, I'm not stupid enough to buy into that. If the solution was as simple as thinking positively and casting out these feelings, then no one would ever be sad; they've got pills to change your attitude.
I really do like to think that the majority of reasons that I'm miserable is because I'm treated miserably. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because I've got a lot of time on my hands (and to myself), and I've decided that my problem isn't entirely with the children treating me like dirt. In fact, if anything, it actually goes above that. Lately I've been muddling over the idea that it is the administration that's getting me down. If I pursue this train of thought, it starts to make a lot more sense.
Feeling positive in your job has a lot to do with how you are perceived to be working by others. Often, I feel as if I am under appreciated; I rarely get positive praise.
In fact, I often get heaps of moaning piled on me. Mind you, it is often veiled criticism, and is rarely ever an outright accusation of inadequacy. Well. Except for the other day.
You see, there was this one boy - I believe in the past I'd referred to him as Fat Bastard, or something of the like - that I flat out refused to teach, because he was a waste of space. Just this week, it had been decided that the time was ripe for him to try returning to my lessons. Not wanting to stir the pot, I agreed to have him back. A few moments after this was decided, I was sitting in my classroom preparing, when I received an e-mail stating that after further consideration it was deemed best for the student to NOT return to my classroom, but to instead go work with the 'Lord' of the department. Their explanation was that he'd be doing exam skills in THAT class, which was far more beneficial than what I was doing with my class.
I sat there for a moment, mulling this e-mail over.
"More beneficial than what you are doing in your classes..." I read aloud a few time. Each time I turned it over, the meaning of what they'd said grew more and more insulting.
"MORE beneficial? What exactly do they think I am teaching?!" I asked myself.
Tucking my hair behind my ears (which, for the unknowing, is a sure sign of my frustration) I lit into an e-mail, in which I - not trying to mask my sarcastic tone - asked them to elaborate on WHAT exactly they thought I was teaching that was so useless.
I didn't get a reply back, and instead was left to seethe and fume all through my next lesson. Once lunch rolled around, I was in a right mood; it was time to kick ass first, and take names later. I walked into the Orwell Office, and silently (this was the form of my anger; silent protest) collected my lunch from the fridge. No one seemed to take notice of me, OR my anger.
I sat down, and was sure to tuck into my lunch without looking at anyone else. Surely that would make them notice. My passive aggressiveness could only go unheeded for so long! (I do hope you know that I am mocking myself, at this point. I am a pansy-assed pussy).
Finally, the Department head spoke.
"I do hope you're aware that we had no ulterior motives in pulling *said student* from your lessons. It is by no means a comment on what you're teaching," she said.
"Sure doesn't feel that way," I spat.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"If you must know, I'm actually teaching the very same thing that HE'S teaching, so why you've decided to take him out of my lessons remains a mystery to me. Far be it for me to question your judgement though," I said.
"Oh, it's not a question of what you're teaching," she lied, "It's the people in your lesson. You said yourself you suspected he wanted to come back because his new girlfriend is in the class. He shouldn't be in your lessons for the wrong reasons. We need to assure he gets the work done."
I put on a smile for her, "Oh yes. Alright then."
I let the matter go there, at least on an outward level. Inside, I was still bubbling over with frustration at her blatant lie. Why would they first say it was because it would be more 'beneficial' in terms of what was being taught, and then change it to mean more 'beneficial' to the student, in terms of behaviour and motivation? It was absolute rubbish, and I think I was right to be offended.
That said, they can keep the Fat Bastard for all I care. I don't want him in my lessons, anyways. He's an annoyance.
One of many that I teach, to be honest.
I've had a trying few days.
I feel a bit hypocritical, saying that it's not really the students causing me grief, considering just this afternoon I nearly broke into a flood of tears again in front of my year 9s. Clearly I was a bit hasty in letting my students entirely off the hook for my melancholy ways.
I should begin by (perhaps repeating) saying that Thursdays are my worst day. It is the only day of the week that I teach five periods straight through. I never look forward to Thursdays. I especially hate that I end with my year 9s. You see, if I get them in the morning, they can be a semi-delightful bunch, who actually can do the work if pressed slightly. In the afternoon though, when I have them the rest of the week, they are an unmanageable,unruly lot. I have zero control over them, and they know it.
Nearly every lesson I have with them is a constant struggle. I try to talk over them, to get the lesson across to the few students who listed. At the end of lesson, my throat is usually dry and sore and the quality and tone of my voice takes on a bizarre, otherworldly tone. It sounds unattractive and annoying, and it only reverts back to normalcy with the aid of copious amounts of liquid (usually in the form of a sickly sweet tea).
Today I went into this ritual again. I tried in vain to get my lesson across, but most of the students simply could not be bothered to end their private conversations and listen to my 'boring' lesson on language and atmosphere in 'The Monkey's Paw'. They have an essay due soon on the story, and I was working through an analysis of the language. Basically, if they had been paying attention, they could have gotten a lot of examples to incorporate into their paper, thus increasing the likelihood of receiving a decent mark.
I struggled through it until the last ten minutes of class. Then, fed up, I hollered at them that I 'gave up' trying to help them. I told them to get their books out and silently work on their creative writing piece for the last ten minutes of class.
I explicitly said that any talking would result in detention.
No one bothered to take heed.
I issued my warning yet again.
Still nothing.
Exasperated, I wasn't sure what to do. I felt my frustrations boiling over, as I looked from face to face. Only a few looked back at me with genuine concern and annoyance (regarding the other students behaviour). I knew that my reaction at this point could go one of two ways. Either I could slam my fists into the nearest desk to get their attention, and then launch into a screaming match, or I could break into tears and leave the room.
I pursued the latter, though modified it somewhat.
Instead of breaking into tears, I place my pen down, walked towards the door, opened it, and walked out closing it behind me.
I stood there, with my back against the door for a moment or two.
Allisson was outside in the hall as well, lecturing a student. She stopped, and both of them looked at me.
"Are you alright, Miss Carson? Want me to go yell at your class?" she asked.
"No thank you," I said calmly. "I just need to breathe a minute."
She nodded at me, then continued in on her student. I turned around, and stared into the window of my classroom. The students were motionless in the room, staring back out at me. I took a few breaths, then opened the door.
I closed it behind me.
I stood there a moment, soaking in the silence. You could have heard a pin drop. They stared at me, expectantly. I think they thought I was going to burst into tears.
"I've said this before, but I'll say it again. This type of behaviour...this notion that your private conversations are more important that what I'm trying to teach you...is going to stop. This is not social hour, and I'm not going to let you treat it as such. This is English. This is my classroom. I've done nothing to deserve being disrespected like this. I'd like to think I'm a pretty nice person, but clearly being that nice person isn't getting me anywhere with you. At the end of the day, there are things I need to teach you, and I'm just not able to do it. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being treated like crap. You KNOW you shouldn't be acting like this. Yet you continue to do it. It's going to stop, and I'm going to be the one to stop it."
I said all this in a controlled and calm voice. I looked from face to face as I spoke, making sure each student knew I was talking to THEM. All of them.
"Now. I asked for silence earlier. I'm not sure what you didn't understand about that. I want it for the remaining 4 minutes. I am dead serious. Don't push me anymore on this."
They instantly tucked into their work.
I went to my desk and sat down. For four minutes not a sound was made. I stared at the clock the entire time. Just before the bell rang I quietly finished my rant.
"You are all in for a huge shock if you go into year 10 with the current amount of knowledge and skill you have. It's not for my lack of trying. If you have any hopes of succeeding in GCSE English, then you'd best reform yourselves. The days of 'nice' Miss Carson are over. Until you can prove to me that that person can return, you're going to be faced with a very different English lesson. This is not my choosing. This is what you've forced me to become..."
The bell rang, and they filed silently out. Most shot looks of guilt at me. Three girls remained behind, helping me put chairs up.
"Are you alright," one asked.
"Yes, thank you, I am fine," I said.
"We're sorry...that our class is so bad. We know we are bad...and we're....just, sorry," she said.
"It's fine, ladies. Thank you for being sweet, though," I smiled.
They left.
I sat.
I sit.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
On Writing For The Sake Of Writing
I think it's been just over a week since I've updated, and I often feel like I should write more than I do. It's not for lack of time that my updates aren't more regular, it's just that I always seem to forget that I have this space to vent. I also don't think it's read nearly as much as it could be, so perhaps these notions that I SHOULD write more are just vanity on my part. I'm not entirely sure. I wish people would at least admit to me when they read this, so that I know who my audience is. That said, I suppose anonymity has it's virtues.
I should also admit to something; if this post rambles on in any fashion, you can chalk it up to my having consumed two stiff vodka and cokes. With lemon. As it were, I seem to be in the habit of consuming an alcoholic beverage with most meals. I'm not entirely sure why this is, and I'd like to justify it in saying that I'm absolutely stressed to the max, and therefore require it as an 'out'. However, should I say this I would be lying. In fact, in calling it 'an' alcoholic beverage I am also lying. It's usually more than one. Any reasonable person, after hearing this, is likely asking why. I wish I could tell you.
While my life is by no means perfect, I am not stressed to the point of being driven to drink. Admittedly, I do hate much of my existence on a daily basis; this is, however, not due to the strenuous lifestyle that I lead. On some days I would argue it is, but most days it is not. If I am honest about it, I drink because I am bored. Or, perhaps if I searched harder for a better definition...lonely.
I realise that is a terrible reason. You don't have to lecture me. I've told it to myself time and time again. It is actually a piss-poor reason, and I should be ashamed. Trust me, I am. I don't think it is a problem though; I am by no means an alcoholic. Rather, I have nothing better to do but to have a few drinks to numb the senses.
Perhaps that's what all alcoholics say though. I'm not sure. I doubt it.
The good news is I've got a tight budget, and the only reason I have so much booze in the house right now is that I've recently had guests. Before their visit, I stocked up on booze. As such, I've got a bit of a surplus now. I drink because I can. It is here. On a normal day, it is not. I used to only buy booze on weekends, in the rare event that I had plans. I'm nearly down to the last of my stock though, which means my days of a nightly whistle wetting are winding down. Take comfort in that, at least.
I am just so horribly home sick and lonely. I really do wish I had more friends in this country, who would drag me out of the house during the week on occasion. I think if I were to be living at home again, I wouldn't spend nearly as much time alone in my room. At least at home I would have the option of being social in front of the tv. That's something. At the moment, I can watch television shows on my laptop, but that is almost the extent of it. It gets mighty boring, watching television off of a tiny screen on your lap. Most days, when I get home from work I don't open my mouth once to talk to another human being. I type most correspondences. How pathetic is that?
I really do need to make friends that are not teachers. Friends that don't go home from work and then continue to work.
I've been really good this year (since Christmas), in terms of getting ALL my school-related work done AT school. I rarely bring work home, aside from some minor marking and planning. The workload I do at home has decreased a lot since before Christmas, simply because I've decided to use my time at work more productively. That often means not leaving the building until 6pm; however, I'd rather stay there until that hour and get a lot done than bring it home and do it. I hate associating my home life with my work life. If I kept doing that, I really WOULD develop a drinking problem.
Anyways, I'm in the process of looking for a new place to live. I'm not sure if I will actually follow through with moving (it's a lot of work, considering I don't have a car), but it's nice to see myself actually putting in the effort, instead of blindly complaining.
I should be off now though.
Please don't bombard me with messages about my drinking. I promise you it is not bad, it's just something I've been doing because I'm bored and because I can. When my supplies dry up, so will I.
Cheers.
I should also admit to something; if this post rambles on in any fashion, you can chalk it up to my having consumed two stiff vodka and cokes. With lemon. As it were, I seem to be in the habit of consuming an alcoholic beverage with most meals. I'm not entirely sure why this is, and I'd like to justify it in saying that I'm absolutely stressed to the max, and therefore require it as an 'out'. However, should I say this I would be lying. In fact, in calling it 'an' alcoholic beverage I am also lying. It's usually more than one. Any reasonable person, after hearing this, is likely asking why. I wish I could tell you.
While my life is by no means perfect, I am not stressed to the point of being driven to drink. Admittedly, I do hate much of my existence on a daily basis; this is, however, not due to the strenuous lifestyle that I lead. On some days I would argue it is, but most days it is not. If I am honest about it, I drink because I am bored. Or, perhaps if I searched harder for a better definition...lonely.
I realise that is a terrible reason. You don't have to lecture me. I've told it to myself time and time again. It is actually a piss-poor reason, and I should be ashamed. Trust me, I am. I don't think it is a problem though; I am by no means an alcoholic. Rather, I have nothing better to do but to have a few drinks to numb the senses.
Perhaps that's what all alcoholics say though. I'm not sure. I doubt it.
The good news is I've got a tight budget, and the only reason I have so much booze in the house right now is that I've recently had guests. Before their visit, I stocked up on booze. As such, I've got a bit of a surplus now. I drink because I can. It is here. On a normal day, it is not. I used to only buy booze on weekends, in the rare event that I had plans. I'm nearly down to the last of my stock though, which means my days of a nightly whistle wetting are winding down. Take comfort in that, at least.
I am just so horribly home sick and lonely. I really do wish I had more friends in this country, who would drag me out of the house during the week on occasion. I think if I were to be living at home again, I wouldn't spend nearly as much time alone in my room. At least at home I would have the option of being social in front of the tv. That's something. At the moment, I can watch television shows on my laptop, but that is almost the extent of it. It gets mighty boring, watching television off of a tiny screen on your lap. Most days, when I get home from work I don't open my mouth once to talk to another human being. I type most correspondences. How pathetic is that?
I really do need to make friends that are not teachers. Friends that don't go home from work and then continue to work.
I've been really good this year (since Christmas), in terms of getting ALL my school-related work done AT school. I rarely bring work home, aside from some minor marking and planning. The workload I do at home has decreased a lot since before Christmas, simply because I've decided to use my time at work more productively. That often means not leaving the building until 6pm; however, I'd rather stay there until that hour and get a lot done than bring it home and do it. I hate associating my home life with my work life. If I kept doing that, I really WOULD develop a drinking problem.
Anyways, I'm in the process of looking for a new place to live. I'm not sure if I will actually follow through with moving (it's a lot of work, considering I don't have a car), but it's nice to see myself actually putting in the effort, instead of blindly complaining.
I should be off now though.
Please don't bombard me with messages about my drinking. I promise you it is not bad, it's just something I've been doing because I'm bored and because I can. When my supplies dry up, so will I.
Cheers.
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