Hello,
Three subjects for discussions today:
The ephemeral nature of life
I’ve started my second school placement. It’s completely
different, in terms of area, size, children, their backgrounds, the parents,
the staff, the head, the general atmosphere and expectations at the school. I’ve
been there a week and I prefer my host school. Though, I think that’s just
because I’ve only been there a week. When I started my host school back in
September, I hated that place too, because of the area, the size, the children,
their backgrounds, the parents, the general atmosphere and expectations. I’d
come from another school last summer, you see, and I just thought that place
was ten times better. No, it was more than that; the kids there were ten times
better. No class could ever replace them in my affections. And I was wrong
because after several weeks at my host school, they were everything to me. They
were everything a class should be. And now I’m at this new school and I’m
looking at these kids with an upturned nose, thinking ‘oh, who are you? You can
never replace my old class. Never ever.’ Then I caught myself. I saw the
pattern. In six weeks, will I have forgotten my host school children? Will I only feel I belong to this new class? Everything in this world is so transient. Is nothing forever? You feel
you belong to a class, you cling to them, you lament your departure, you pine,
you snub your new class. Then, you feel you belong to that new class, you cling
to them, you lament your departure, you pine, you snub your new class. Man, it’s
depressing. On the plus side, I learnt all the names of the thirty kids in my
class before my 2pm lesson on the first day. How do
you like those acorns? Yet, in six weeks, I won’t be there anymore and all
those kids names will trickle out of my head, like grains of sand in a little
hand. Sure, not at first but after six more weeks, then six months, then six
years, will I remember any of these kids from this short placement? After sixty
years, will I remember the children from my host school? Will I remember the
kids from last summer? Or will my
memories of them drift away, into the ether, as I age, and they themselves take
on new identities and personas so that, perchance our paths ever cross again, I’ll
no longer recognise them, and the deep sense of belonging I felt when standing
before them at the front of the class, and even that will be no more than one square of the
stretching patchwork of emotions of my youth.
Fairytales
So, my new school. It’s in a little leafy village, the kids
are angelic, the parents all read their children stories at night, there’s
beautiful rolling hills for playing fields, rabbits and sheep gambol past and
the trees come to life and talk to you. It’s ok, though I’m pretty sure the
woman who works in reception is a certified witch; like Brothers Grimm type
witch. I don’t know why no one has spotted this. She’s defo building chocolate
houses in the woods. It’s not just the way she looks but the way she acts. I don’t
want to say anymore in case I get found out but she put my hackles up when I
spoke to her.
Phonics
This is the term for phonics. For me, at least. Some people
have their phonics all wrapped up and sorted and I haven’t even started. There’s
two assignments we have to complete and two lesson observations and I’m not
exaggerating when I say I know next to nothing about phonics. I know less now
than I did in September. I talked to my new school about delivering a phonics
programme and they just said “no”. Like that. No follow up. No explanation. “No”.
“No?” “No”. I explained that I had all these assignments and observations and
they rolled their eyes and said “I won’t tell you what we think of that”. I
laughed because the only other alternative was to punch them. I left it there.
I plan to go back next week and just bring it up again. And if there’s no
support, I’ll have to dob them in to the training provider. Snitch.
