Jesus wept! Teaching pupils again in Dalkeith High which is actually in Woodburn, kind of in the middle of a field which no doubt had a wood with an undiscovered burn running somewhere through it, if it's still there.
And Jesus went lachrymose, they're clones of the pupils at Newbattle Community High School (where I taught for years) with similar names like Lynsey, Amie, Linsay, Callum, Lindsay, Aimee, Lyndsay, Amy, Robert, Aimy, Linzay and Linzee. I'm thrust back into the past here.
Of course, in the staff base you hear the usual euphemisms: "Oh, they're OK really. Of course, there are a few bad ones but on the whole they are not too bad."
But still, the claustrophobic atmosphere in the base, crowded out with women, provides a platform for the usual complaints:
"...so I told him and he just shrugged his shoulders."
"He never does his homework."
"I said, 'Just you bring in your mother. I'd like to meet her.'"
As well as the quick there's the thick and dead. But I have a lot of sympathy with these kids because the demands of the educational system have made them that way. There seems to be something missing in their lives-as if they have been educationally modified. They're potential is not in the academic, but in the vocational. Instead of trying to interpret a passage to find out the purpose of a piece of writing or the uses of figures of speech and why they are effective, these pupils should have been exposed to the vast array of skills that are available in order to discover their true interests and what their aptitudes are.
However, I still had to deal with Cheryl, a very unlikable girl of 16 who sat with her mates and decided not to work and disrupt others. Our exchange went something like this:
Cheryl, stop swearing.
Sorry, Sir. I'll not do it again.
Cheryl, that's the C word. You can't talk like that in class.
You judging me? You judging me?
Well, yes. I have to judge you. I'm your teacher and you're a pupil.
Well, I can judge you. You have no right to judge me.
After kicking off like this, she seemed to have the whole class behind her, so I retreated and got the whole situation into perspective. "I'm here to babysit this class...I'm a mercenary...I'm doing this for the money" mantra took over my attempts at logic. "Don't problematise the situation," I thought, using the latest buzz word I'd picked up.
Well, what choice did I have? Being a supply teacher, there was no use getting involved in any meaningful dialogue with this class. Although small in number, no one was intent in doing any work and no attempt at trying to convince them of the values of an education seemed to work. Telling them that they had to leave school with a certificate seemed to make no difference to them, so I thought, "What's the point?"
But contrary to my feeling of doom, in came the second year class. Jesus cried, they all sat down quietly, a couple of pupils gave out books and jotters, and listened to words of wisdom from their guru, me. At the end of the lesson, some girls, on their way out asked, "Are you coming here again? We really like you, sir."
The tears of relief almost welling up, I said, "I don't know if I'll be back...and I like you too. ."
So, teaching does have its small mercies.
And Jesus went lachrymose, they're clones of the pupils at Newbattle Community High School (where I taught for years) with similar names like Lynsey, Amie, Linsay, Callum, Lindsay, Aimee, Lyndsay, Amy, Robert, Aimy, Linzay and Linzee. I'm thrust back into the past here.
Of course, in the staff base you hear the usual euphemisms: "Oh, they're OK really. Of course, there are a few bad ones but on the whole they are not too bad."
But still, the claustrophobic atmosphere in the base, crowded out with women, provides a platform for the usual complaints:
"...so I told him and he just shrugged his shoulders."
"He never does his homework."
"I said, 'Just you bring in your mother. I'd like to meet her.'"
As well as the quick there's the thick and dead. But I have a lot of sympathy with these kids because the demands of the educational system have made them that way. There seems to be something missing in their lives-as if they have been educationally modified. They're potential is not in the academic, but in the vocational. Instead of trying to interpret a passage to find out the purpose of a piece of writing or the uses of figures of speech and why they are effective, these pupils should have been exposed to the vast array of skills that are available in order to discover their true interests and what their aptitudes are.
However, I still had to deal with Cheryl, a very unlikable girl of 16 who sat with her mates and decided not to work and disrupt others. Our exchange went something like this:
Cheryl, stop swearing.
Sorry, Sir. I'll not do it again.
Cheryl, that's the C word. You can't talk like that in class.
You judging me? You judging me?
Well, yes. I have to judge you. I'm your teacher and you're a pupil.
Well, I can judge you. You have no right to judge me.
After kicking off like this, she seemed to have the whole class behind her, so I retreated and got the whole situation into perspective. "I'm here to babysit this class...I'm a mercenary...I'm doing this for the money" mantra took over my attempts at logic. "Don't problematise the situation," I thought, using the latest buzz word I'd picked up.
Well, what choice did I have? Being a supply teacher, there was no use getting involved in any meaningful dialogue with this class. Although small in number, no one was intent in doing any work and no attempt at trying to convince them of the values of an education seemed to work. Telling them that they had to leave school with a certificate seemed to make no difference to them, so I thought, "What's the point?"
But contrary to my feeling of doom, in came the second year class. Jesus cried, they all sat down quietly, a couple of pupils gave out books and jotters, and listened to words of wisdom from their guru, me. At the end of the lesson, some girls, on their way out asked, "Are you coming here again? We really like you, sir."
The tears of relief almost welling up, I said, "I don't know if I'll be back...and I like you too. ."
So, teaching does have its small mercies.
