Teaching (that other thing I do)

The late sunflowers are doing their best to flower before the season ends, rushing to catch up to the fully-formed, seed-producing lushness of their older siblings, planted much earlier. We smile at them and are parentally proud of their efforts. They have done so well to come so far.

My students bring out the same parental fondness in me.

It’s easier to love them when there aren’t too many discovering their identity by pushing back against the system they are in. Good-natured eye-rolling and ‘do we have to?’ are not the same as being looked through and called ‘miss’—even though you’ve been a ‘Mrs’ for longer than they have been alive—in that diminished, dehumanising way. I refuse to be called ‘miss’ and lecture students about how real people have real names. If they see me as real, they have a better chance of learning.

I fuss over my classes—boss them around, laugh with them, wheel-and-deal with them—all the while knowing that one of the greatest influences on their learning, aside from home, will be me: who I am, how I see them, what I believe about them.

And how much I like them.

Friday afternoon, an hour before the bell, I bumped into one of my students who finds learning hard. We smiled at each other. I said my normal ‘hallo’—generosity tends to round my vowels, bringing out my English heritage. He warmly replied ‘Good afternoon’.

Those words—good afternoon—said so much. He chose sophisticated language—my students know I like that—and he acted like a gentleman. This is a young man who, last year, oscillated between avoidance and anger.

I felt my step lighten as I continued on my errand. The genuineness of his smile filled my teacher-heart with that warm, golden glow that keeps a teacher going. It’s a glow that comes from being fully student-focused. Everything I do at school is for them.

Well, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Administrative tasks and paperwork dulls the glow quicker than a candle gutting out. Then, once the warmth drains, it can be hard to remember why you are there, why you front up to the challenge of relationship-building in the hope that students leave your classroom more intelligent than when they entered.

This year my classes are unusual. My classes last year were full of challenges, leaving me exhausted at the end of every lesson. The juggle between the emotional and behavioural needs meant that the learning needs sometimes got lost. The result?

Chaos.

The chaos can take you down and burn you out. Especially when you add in all of the other things teachers must do and the depressing way society sees them.

We don’t get paid any ‘danger’ money, despite angry young people being aggressive.

We don’t get paid overtime. I work 0.65. What this means is that for every ten workdays, I only work six and a half. The timetable has me on-site all ten days. My time off is in dribs and drabs. And when it doesn’t suit the full-timers to meet in the time when I am actually at school, I am expected to turn up anyway.

Out of school preparation/marking time. I’m a senior English teacher. To teach to the standard I like, I need to work out of hours. No questions about it.

And what does the world around me think about teachers? Not much. There is not a lot of respect or reward for being a teacher. Loads of people know they don’t want to be teachers. I’m not sure it’s because it’s a tough job but, rather, that they wouldn’t lower themselves. They seem to forget that it is their kids we are with all day long.

Yes, I get school holidays.

It’s just as well.

I’d quit otherwise and go and work in a job where parents can’t abuse me and students can’t blame me for things that are their responsibility. I have seriously considered Undertaking—some days it feels like working with the dead would be better.

But not this year.

The luck of the draw—the timetable—, despite having me at school every day, has given me three truly delightful English classes. My teacher-heart is beginning to fill up again. I’ve started getting up early and cooking myself breakfast. I get to school before most other people so I can be ready. I want my students to have their best shot at learning how to communicate.

It comes down to one very simple thing: I have remembered that I want to be that teacher.

The teacher who believed in you, who cheered you on, who expected you to be your best, who cared so much that they occasionally lost their cool with you, who saw you.

That teacher whose name you will never forget.

Mr Bright. Ms Bell.