I also did a bit more work on a couple of displays and there’s one or two that I’m proud of now. I mean, the colour combinations do complement each other and the borders are straight. One display I did was all about popular culture, so I got to cut out pictures of people I like and show off my general knowledge about cultural icons. What, Google John Lennon's birthday? Don’t need to, miss, got all that information right here. I also led the class in a couple of activities and it went really well. This year will not be the first time that I’ve stood up in front of a class of young people and acted as a figure of authority but it will be the first time I’ve done it and had every action and every word so heavily scrutinized. That makes me really nervous. I accidentally swore under my breath when I ripped some backing paper off a display in someone else’s classroom the other day. None of the kids heard me, or if they did, swearing is so commonplace in their homes lives, they didn’t pick up on it, but imagine if I did that whilst being observed by the head, or Ofsted, or the training provider. Shit. I also hate the idea of meeting a member of staff or inspector in a regular setting, like the staff room or corridor, showing off my amazing skills of articulation, strength of personality and character, and then having to stand up in front of that same person and teach a class whilst they critically examine my teaching skills. What if they think I’m great, then see my teach and think I’m a loser? Or worse, what if they feel sorry for me because I’m so bad?
In my first two days, I have encountered two examples of behaviour that startled me and, in hindsight, I don’t think I handled well- three, actually, but one was outside of school. There was another instance of behaviour that I think I handled it quite well. I’ll start off with that one: I was on playground duty, wandering around, when two year 5 girls came up to me: “Lola called us idiots and said we can’t play in that corner of the playground but we need to practice our dance routine there”. Woah shit, my first issue to resolve. Lola was tall and thin, with really nice hair, clean clothes and a haughty expression. She reminded me of Regina out of Mean Girls, so I was instantly really scared. The girls who had complained flanked me self importantly as I walked over to confront her and that made me really nervous as well. The main thought in my mind, the point I wanted expressed, was that no one should be calling anyone else idiots. The second thought was that these girls had appealed to me in the hope that I, in my position of authority, would ensure justice prevailed, and I didn’t want to let them down. And the third, a bit further down the line, was that all year 5 girls were bitches and I didn’t want to get embroiled in a cat fight. I approached the corner and Lola turned and looked at me, then disregarded me with a shrug of her shoulder. I said “girls, there’s enough room for everyone to play in this corner. We don’t need to go around calling anyone idiots.” I then managed to make eye contact with Lola and said, “did you make class rules today, Lola?” “Yes, teacher.” “And was one of those rules to be friendly to each other and polite to everyone?” “Yes, teacher”. Lola then turned to the two girls who had fetched me and said, “Sorry, Fiona and Kay. We can all play here.” I said “well done, Lola” and then I gracefully and magnanimously left. Inside I was like “woah! Shit! I just totally handled that!” but I didn’t let it show. I was invited back a few minutes later to see the dance routine, in which Lola participated. Handled.
The first bit of bad behaviour was whilst we were playing all school P.E. on the playground. A kid from another class wasn’t staying at his station; he’d taken his ball and was playing amongst the kids who were practicing skipping. I didn’t know who this kid was and was wondering whether I should tactically ignore his flagrant disregard for the different stations. Before I could decide, a very helpful pupil shouted out to me “he’s trying to skip and he’s not meant to be here!” So I felt I had to act: I couldn’t let the other students see me allow this boy to wander away from where he should be; it’d set a precedent, and then all the kids would be going to whatever station they felt like. I approached the boy and asked him to go back to the ball throwing station. He just ran off in the opposite direction. Bang, like that. I had absolutely zero authority. He stopped a few feet away and I approached him and asked him his name, so I could relate to him or whatever, and he just ran off again. It was in the general direction of the ball station and I didn’t want to chase him, so I just let him go but still, I didn’t really know how to handle that one and I don’t think I came across as a figure of authority; I think that boy now thinks he can get away with stuff with me.
The second instance of behaviour that I couldn’t deal with was during class P.E. We were playing a game and a boy was upset that he was out on the first go; he sat on the benches and just sobbed and sobbed. Even when other kids got out and sat around him, he still sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I felt sorry for this kid because, at the start of the activity, everyone had had to get into pairs and he’d wanted to be in a three with his best mates, but I’d been firm and told him to pair up with another kid (he was annoyed about this and flung his arms about, scowling and kicking the floor but I tactically ignored this secondary behaviour, and focused on ensuring he did as I requested, which he did). So there he was, not paired up with his mates and then out on the first go. I’d have been upset. I didn’t know how to handle it though. I couldn’t just let him stay in. And if I’d chosen someone else to be out on the first go, when it was blatantly him that was out, that would have been unfair. So there he was, just crying to himself, sitting in a really weird position between the wall and the play equipment, until the real teacher came over and shouted at him for not sitting properly. I felt baddddddd. How are you meant to react in that situation?
The third instance of bad behaviour was when I was walking home and I passed Regina from Mean Girls. This was the real Regina though, not Lola, who was clearly just a wannabe. This girl was in year six and I’d first encountered her during that all school P.E. lesson. She was being a bitch then, in that really spiteful eleven year old girl way: not letting the dirty kids play with the equipment, hording it, talking loudly, attention seeking, etc. I asked her what her name was and she was like “Bob, Bob, Bob, my name’s Bob”, then ran off. You can’t do anything about that. You can’t reprimand her for it, she clearly just didn’t acknowledge my authority. So, there I was, walking home like a loser, and this girl is standing at her garden fence with a couple of teenagers who could have been her brother and sister. The brother muttered something under his breath as I drew near and little Regina shouted “you idiot! That’s a teacher at school!” I felt I had to acknowledger her here, to try and establish my authority, so I just turned to her as I strode passed and, without stopping, said “Hey, how you doing”, then continued on my way. Regina started giggling and then the female teenager shouted “Oh, not cool!” and all three of them roared like hyenas and I was left feeling like an utter freak. What should I have done there? Just ignored them altogether? Then I’d have looked weak, you know. If Bruce Wayne was walking down the street and people were muttering about him, you wouldn’t expect him to just walk on with his head held high and ignore it. You’d expect him to stand up and define himself. Oh no, shit, you would, you’d totally expect Bruce Wayne to stride passed, as though such mortals were beneath him. By acknowledging such corporeal behaviour, he immediately places himself level with it. Shit. I let Bruce down. Man. At least this blog is a good way for me to work through these things, like a psychotherapy session.
I undergo a debate with myself everyone morning about whether to walk or drive in. On the one hand, school is only 1.7 miles away and it seems like a total waste of petrol. On the other, don’t be such a miser, that’s 30 minutes walking, which is an hour a day I could otherwise be doing something productive and effective for my students, and I have to go right through the estate where my students might spit on me and their parents might mug me. I was once at a school though where a teacher drove 700m to get into school and I ripped her to shreds for that. There must be a line between what is acceptable to walk and what isn’t but I can’t get it into my head that 1.7 miles is too far. I’ll see how it goes. If Regina keeps laughing at me, I might have to drive… but then, that means she’s won.
I’m also unsure how late to stay on Fridays. At the other school, teachers used to stay passed five on Fridays all the time, but at this school, everyone felt sorry for me for thinking I had to stay any later than 3:30 at the end of the week. Poor newbie teacher, it’s the weekend, go enjoy yourself, we’re all going home now, yeah, lol, stay if you want, but we’re off, it’s Friday, Friday, we leave early. Ok, I get it. But I don’t want to end up working weekends or cramming Monday morning, when I can just stay an extra hour on a Friday. It worked well at that other school; but then, at the other school, a guy’s wife threatened to leave him if he didn’t cut down on all the hours he was doing. I also guess it’s better to walk home through the estate before the sun sets and my cheap, battered, school prescribed laptop gets me into trouble with Regina’s brother.
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