This week I set a new record. Not for aspirin consumption, although I did have to pop
quite a few pills for headaches along the way. No, this record was for falling asleep on
the settee when I got home from work on Friday. Usually I manage to take in at least an
hour of Friday evening telly before the eyelids droop to the point of no return. But
this week, it took approximately twenty minutes from the moment I sat down for the TV
to fade into the background and for the dribbling to begin. So after a good night’s
sleep I decided to review my week – which, in retrospect, doesn’t seem that much
different to any other.
After collecting in too many sets of books I kicked myself for setting
homework all due in at once. I tried to clear a bit of space on my desk, but when I
turned away for a moment the paper pixies had strewn documents everywhere once more,
so I got a bit flustered, especially as I had three children all trying to tell me
something at the same time.
Felt temporary relief when a meeting due to be held in my free period was cancelled, only to draw the short straw of covering a class in a subject that makes me grind my teeth in agony, with a bunch of kids who need constant nagging, sorry: “reminders”, to get on with their work. Some of them surprised me though; it seems it’s just my subject that they don’t get on with, as they quite happily plodded away with repetitive exercises that didn’t require much independent thinking.
Suddenly realised that it’s almost the Easter holidays. Tore up my dogmatic lesson
plan and surprised my classes with a hint of joie de vivre. We all had a great time
avoiding the scheme of work and doing much more interesting stuff instead. They worked
well, we all felt relaxed, and there was no need to reprimand a single child all day.
Why can’t school be like this every day? Their project work looks like great fun, and
I shall actually be looking forward to reading it all once it’s finished. Unlike the
uninspiring mess contained within the exercise books on my desk…
Watched a video with one class that illuminated a topic area, and warned them it would be sad at the end. Surprisingly, it was a boy who buried his head in his jumper afterwards to hide his teary eyes. The girls went back to doodling on their exercise books in a variety of gel pens.
Another class were demob happy as they counted down
their remaining days in the school, and most of them hadn’t even bothered coming in.
We decamped to a computer room where I was shown websites devoted to a pop star whose
head is, in my opinion, abnormally large, and should be starring in Tim Burton films
rather than wailing out angst-ridden songs that melt teenage hearts. The girls argued
back vociferously when I pointed this out, whilst I laughed so hard my sides hurt.
My mood changed later, back in my room, where I continued to stare in despair at
the pile of dog-eared books littering my desk, wondering when I would get an
uninterrupted hour to mark them.
A day in which Beelzebub’s disciples crossed my path not once, but twice, thanks
to some study-session timetable filler that landed in my lap, so I busied myself with
filing papers while they supposedly caught up with coursework. I told them I’m here to
help but secretly hoped that none actually need it in any of my wobbly subjects. Of
course they didn’t ask. Instead I tried not to listen to an annoying girl drone on
and on about her “amazing” social life (that seems to consist of hanging round
somebody’s flat, smoking fags and being sick from tequila) whilst those in fear and
awe of her lapped up all her bullshit stories. I was half-tempted to correct her
current interpretation of street slang, but didn’t really want to get dragged down
the “how do you know?” route. But by the time the lesson ended I felt weary and
despondent, and spent the evening trying not to picture dead-beat girls fluttering
their gunked-up eye-lashes at waster boys who steal cars and rob off-licences, and
dwelling on a depressing vision of souls beyond help and redemption. Cheery, aren’t I?!
As I like to appeal to all types of learner – kinis-wotsit, etc. – I thought it was time to get the kids out of their seats, scrape back the chairs and tables, and engage in some drama activities as a change from the usual scrawling in books and on tables. Well, to be honest, the end of term was nigh, only half the class was in, and they would be demanding a free lesson or video, which may be their idea of fun but it certainly isn’t mine. One boy in the group, who happens to be one of the brightest but also one of the most confrontational, had a familiar glint of mischief in his eye and decided to engage me in a debate about the sexuality of somebody we all knew. Now isn’t this just one of the moments that the new crop of TTA adverts promise us: the chance to debate with somebody who hasn’t already made up their mind? Especially, and I add my own info to the tag-line here, when their step-dad is the kind of bloke who mixes up “paedophile” with “paediatrician”, and therefore could probably do with some form of enlightenment. But I wasn’t really in the mood to explain the intricacies of human foibles with somebody whose ears were wide shut but whose eyes were checking that every other pupils’ attention was fixed on him. Besides, I’m still not sure where I legally stand when it comes to discussing that type of thing with under 16s. So I insisted we get back to the role-plays.
Next time I looked over the same lad was trying to fashion a hat out of a precious
textbook. I dashed over to save the book from his hair gel. I was prepared for an
argument, but it turns out that he only wanted a crown for his character. I spent
the next five minutes bending, sticking and cutting card into shape, decorating it
with red shapes, and then plonking it on his head. He looked bloody stupid. He
thought it was great, took control of his group’s activity, and I didn’t hear another
peep out of him all lesson. Must do more drama. The kids are happy and I don’t end up
with more marking.
added 26/3/05
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