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Ego

After a week out of the classroom, and a concerted effort to plan cover lessons in fool-proof detail (see here), I returned with a heavy heart. This feeling was vindicated when I saw my classroom after my short absence. I doubt that my desk had been intact for even one day, let alone several.

And yet there is some gratification to be had from the experience, which is just enough to sustain me as I try to work my way through the confetti on my desk, and try to ascertain what, if any, work my classes managed to do when I was away. Because children, even if they spend half their time rallying against you, cursing you, bitching about you, slagging you off to their parents and friends, refusing to work for you, etc, do actually like the familiarity of the routine. Even if that routine is turning up late to your lessons, chatting for ten minutes after their arrival, not bothering to do any work or listen or join in. They seem to be comforted by the fact that they know it’s you there, at the front of the class, and when they are actually forced to do something productive, you’re not going to be that hard on them when they produce a pile of twaddle, and so they can get on with the more important things like passing notes or texting under the table. Or if they do end up in detention, well that’s a fair cop, and they know they deserved it, and although they may shout for a bit or act up in front of their friends, they know their time has come for retribution.

So when they swan up to your room late and find out that it’s not you there, but some sergeant major type, or a flaky woman past retirement age, or a nervous NQT, several emotions must swim through their minds, ranging from “Shit! I’m going to get in trouble for being late now” to “Great! A free lesson ‘cos teacher’s away” and including “Right, so what’s this duffer’s Achilles heel then” (although I suspect the last one is only for public school types and those who understood “Troy”). But strangely enough, the most common reaction to having a stranger in the classroom seems to be a slightly unsettling feeling. The kids don’t like feeling unsettled. It’s bad enough being a kid anyway, without further unsettling things happening.

And although I have no control over who covers my lessons, I always hope it will be a competent, clever disciplinarian and subject specialist who can’t stop themselves tidying as they go and feel compelled to mark bits of work completed in the lesson. But after returning to the classroom this week I found out there is another type of teacher I should now wish for when I have time off, and that’s the competent disciplinarian who’s an absolute bore. You see, there’s nothing like inflating your own sense of self-worth, and children are very quick to massage your ego when they’ve been kept on task for an hour by somebody very boring who follows the lesson plans you left without an ounce of flair or excitement. My return was greeted with shocking enthusiasm by one class in particular, who ordered me never again to leave them to the clutches of The Most Boring Teacher In The World, who made them do this and do that and wouldn’t let them do this or that, and who shouted at them.

Now I’m not one to fall for these tricks; I know they were just gutted that they had to do some proper work for a change, and full marks to the Boring Teacher for actually managing to extract writing from them and keep them on task for such a long time. I know these children are fickle and will flatter you endlessly if they think it will get them out of doing something. But isn’t it nice to think that in some small way you are actually less boring than somebody else, and the kids would rather have you as their teacher than the other guy?

Of course, I did try to stick up for The Most Boring Teacher In The World, even though we’ve never met. “It’s not easy coming in and taking a new class,” I said in the teacher’s defence. “Especially you lot.” At this they continued their cries of injustice and tried to convey to me exactly how boring this teacher had been. And I had to cream it just a little bit more. “It sounds as though you had a great time. Look at all the work you managed to do.” And as the protests got too much, I tried to suppress my smug grin, whilst my ego resisted the voice of reason within for just a little longer… It’s small compensation for the lunchtime tidying I’m going to have to carry out, let me tell you!

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added 23/4/05