Classroom and colleagues handling strategies

I got to witness another teacher with my class the other day. It was quite an eye opener. The teacher that I work with is very firm, very direct. Their smile is calculated and controlled and children are made to work for their praise. The class all love this teacher though and there is never any fuss, never any trouble and everyone knows what to do and what is expected of them.

With this other teacher, it couldn’t be more different. First off, this other teacher encouraged the children to just wander over to him if they want to tell him something, even if they had work to be doing. He didn’t call for total silence in Guided Reading, there was no expectation to stand behind chairs or queue up correctly. Even the way he delivered the lesson was done with less confidence; he read his lesson plan from a sheet and referred a lot of queries to me. The class obviously liked him but they also, obviously, didn’t recognise him as the be-all and end-all of authority in the room. There was fuss, there was kids deciding they weren’t going to work, there was kids moving chairs and throwing notes across the room, there were kids talking (yes, talking), whilst he was talking. I couldn’t believe it was the same class.

The experience was an eye opener for me. On a basic level, it meant I had more work to do in terms of planning and delivering lessons because I was the only source of consistency for those few days. I don’t think I was OUTSTANDING in the work I did. I probably had some elements of GOOD and most elements of IMPROVEMENT REQUIRED, but I’ll take that for four weeks in. On a more complex level, it taught me about the different styles of classroom management. Sometimes, I guess, you have to be a bit of a hard ass to get the environment that you want. There’s always room for banter and warmth within a class but the starting point, the foundation, the biscuit base, has to be expectation, routine and the undisputed, all-powerful authority of the teacher. If you try and make the base out of cream and chocolate mousse, and then put the biscuit bit on top, it’s all going to collapse in on itself. Discipline won’t stick, is what I’m saying. Start with the rules and then lather on the sweet stuff.

We were having a little planning session the other day; a couple of trainees, a couple of class teachers, some cover supervisors and me. They were all throwing their ideas into the ring; how about this, no, this! That! Omigod, yes! Great idea! Sure! Even the other trainees were whipping out amazing, out of the box, kooky, cool teacher ideas, and getting standing ovations from everyone else. I had no such ideas. I don’t know why. Maybe if I was pressed, or if it was an exam, or if someone gave me a blank sheet of paper and a pen, I could have rattled off a nice list of decent plans. I just wasn’t very good at gathering my thoughts and then interjecting them into the fast flowing discussion, which was already interspersed with lewd puns and quips about people’s extra curricula activities. I am so socially awkward. I couldn’t get a word in. If it had been a Whatsassp conversation or classic MSN, I think I’d have been the STAR because no one is faster with their fingers than I am. This blog proves that. I’m writing this as you’re reading it. I’m the fastest typist in the east. Typing just unlocks my ideas. But talking? Articulating them with my mouth? I am as good as mute.

Thus, there I am, sitting there passively, contributing only “yes” or “ok!” or, sometimes, “great!”, and I think, you know, I have to define myself here. I have to establish myself as a key member of this team. The other trainees have done so, ten times over. I don’t want to be the weakest link. I don’t want to be the dud trainee. I don’t want to fall flat on the pop after such a successful snap and crackle. I have to say something, anything, of value. It doesn’t matter what they think of it, just get a flipping comment out there! So I pointed something out that had caught my attentions (namely the percentage of time we cover one subject). Man, you have never seen such a series of shoot downs in your life. It was like I was a wooden aeroplane, flying low, my propeller puttering apprehensively in the cold, morning air, and they just turned on the machine guns and tore my wings to shreds. The passion of their opposition to my comments startled me. I did a nosedive, plummeting rudderlessly towards the ground, smoke and fire streaming out behind me, scarlet flares shooting from the cockpit, parachute ready to deploy, and still they continued with their merciless barrage. It was as though I’d said “can’t we just leave out maths?” A series of emotions took place in me. The first, of course, was shock that my tentative comment had inspired such irritation from the rest of the team. This, however, was quickly followed by stone cold, steaming rage; because I had a bloody point, or so I believe. I was so angry, I couldn’t even articulate said point. Instead, my ears started to go red as I stared back at my main contender, plane valiantly trying to pull clean from the nose drive, swinging wildly left and right in an attempt to evade further rounds of machine gun fire. I didn’t say anything. I just went red and stuck my jaw out, thinking that if I opened my mouth, even for a second, it wouldn’t spin forth a concise, succinct and intelligent response to the discussion, but instead a series of cutting insults and threats. I, readers, was speechless. Then, some kind, decent, wonderful, fantastic! Glorious! Saviour! Decided to point out to me, in their nicest, most polite, most not-condescending-or-patronising-at-all tone, that, no, actually, in fact, it’s not what you think, no, it’s not like that, it’s like this. This began my third emotion of the scene: unadulterated frustration. Have you ever been in such a stressful or adrenaline-filled situation that when you replay the events to yourself later, you can’t remember minute details and the order that things happen? (there’s a book that details this exact phenomena but I’ve gone and forgotten it. If I remember, I’ll drop back). When I think back to that exchange, I honestly can’t remember what my retort was. I think, finally, I did manage to say something and, mercifully, it was on point and not a BARBARIC JAB, but I have no idea what it was.

All I can remember clearly, after the smoke had cleared from the ruins of my little wooden plane, buried head first in a freshly ploughed field, the discharge from the machine guns still drifting in the air, is that the table was suddenly very quiet and all the other trainees were studying their pens in a determined way, and the main teachers were gathering their papers with airs of sharp disappointment that they reserve for unruly students. Man, I think I made a few enemies today. Or, maybe, it’s all in my head and I just exaggerated the entire exchange and no one else thought twice about it or my conduct. I am socially awkward (see above). I hope that’s the case because, if it’s not, I really don’t know what I said wrong. I do believe I had a valid point- hence my untainted frustration. The helpful patroniser only pointed out what I already knew, and didn’t address the matter I had raised at all. No one had understood my point; my articulation was awful! I failed! Oh, Whatsapp! Where for art thou?! I have two choices. Find a way to articulate myself on another occasion and rub their faces in the validity of my point, or just move on and prove my worth in the standard of my teaching. I’ll get back to you on that too.

Highlights from the week: doing comparatives. Big, bigger, biggest. Tall, taller, tallest. Little, littler… Midget? No. Doing plurals: One monkey, two…. Trees? Two gentlemen, one…. Glass? No. Or how about the low ability child who wrote an amazing descriptive paragraph, filled with similes and metaphors, utilising his five senses, touching on personification, describing trees as dark as moonlit nights, snaking paths winding into the crystal clear sky, and finishing it with “and suddenly there was roast chicken”.

Cross country club went well. I lost a child from the week before but gained two more. I tried a variety of running based games with the kids and I think they enjoyed it. And I’ll tell you what; a cross country team we might be lacking, but if there was a primary school Ultimate Frisbee league, we’d be top.