Since splitting up some hardcore slackers in my Year 11 class last Friday after a "bit of a stern talking-to" (I'm not usually the shout-in-your-face type that other teachers enjoy being from the sounds of things), the group is still freaking me out with their knuckling-down-to-work attitudes. The phrase "silent but deadly" doesn't just apply to farts, it also applies to innocent -looking students, so I'm waiting to see what they are really up to...
Even more disconcerting was the amount of younger pupils in corridors at lunchtime today who greeted me with cheery "hellos". Year 7s are always naive enough to be nice; it's the swiftly fading memory of cheery little primary school still playing about their persons. But Year 8s saying "hello" is just a little more freaky. Hey, maybe I'm just a cynic. But Year 8s normally know better than to show any kind of positive emotion towards a teacher in front of their peers, especially when you're not even in the classroom.
Ah well, Friday tomorrow. Plenty of time for the little beggars to get me wound up ready for the weekend...
Thursday, 18 September 2008
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Fashion watch
The latest fashion adornment requires just a red pen, probably swiped from a teacher's desk. Take the red pen and scrawl pseudo-slashes across your wrists and up your arm. And voila - you now look like you are a self-harmer as all "emo"s allegedly are, according to the misinformed members of my school.
Bee-zarr.
Bee-zarr.
Too quiet
Today I am very disconcerted. After all the grief I got yesterday from noisy and unco-operative children, today they were mostly as good as finding out I had exactly the right change for the vending machine at lunchtime. My raucous Year 11 group were studying their texts so attentively I had to keep giving them sideways glances to make sure they were still there. In addition, I had two free periods and I wasn't taken for cover on either of them, even though I checked the list a dozen times or so, not quite believing my eyes.
Ah well, I'm sure the shit will hit the fan tomorrow.
Ah well, I'm sure the shit will hit the fan tomorrow.
Monday, 15 September 2008
Headache and a half
I'm off to bed in a minute. I have a banging headache. It was caused, ultimately, by my own bellowing at a couple of classes who would not SHUT UP today.
Week 3 is always a pain. Novelty has faded away and the grim reality of being back at school has sunk in for pupils and teachers alike. New friendships are forged between class members, and new enemies are made and disbanded every day. Newish books appear slightly dog-eared, pencil cases lack pens, and there have already been a few playground fights.
Add to the mix that today is a full moon, meaning hyperactivity and madness all round. There wasn't particularly any naughtiness, although I'm sure a hundred years ago it would have been the type of behaviour to earn a few sound thrashings. It was just the inability of some people in each group to stop talking for more than 30 seconds to listen to instructions or the register. Even when they had all listened to the instruction to remain silent for the register, within milliseconds the talking had started again.
My form group is the worst. If I hear one more time about how cool their last form teacher was, and how she let them do this and get away with that, I shall throw all their PE kits out of the window when they're not looking. The girls are noisier than the boys because they just sit there and gossip and twitter away even when addressed directly and asked to be quiet. The boys give out the odd bellow and stupid noise, but their conversation seems very limited from what I've overheard: mostly crude comments about girls. A lot of them are nice kids, but en masse they are an incessant cloud of noise. Form time each morning is the thing I dread most at the moment. The thought of it ruins my whole evening.
In fact the only good thing about today was that Mondays mean the scent of freshly washed uniforms wafts around the school corridors and out of over-crowded classrooms.
Week 3 is always a pain. Novelty has faded away and the grim reality of being back at school has sunk in for pupils and teachers alike. New friendships are forged between class members, and new enemies are made and disbanded every day. Newish books appear slightly dog-eared, pencil cases lack pens, and there have already been a few playground fights.
Add to the mix that today is a full moon, meaning hyperactivity and madness all round. There wasn't particularly any naughtiness, although I'm sure a hundred years ago it would have been the type of behaviour to earn a few sound thrashings. It was just the inability of some people in each group to stop talking for more than 30 seconds to listen to instructions or the register. Even when they had all listened to the instruction to remain silent for the register, within milliseconds the talking had started again.
My form group is the worst. If I hear one more time about how cool their last form teacher was, and how she let them do this and get away with that, I shall throw all their PE kits out of the window when they're not looking. The girls are noisier than the boys because they just sit there and gossip and twitter away even when addressed directly and asked to be quiet. The boys give out the odd bellow and stupid noise, but their conversation seems very limited from what I've overheard: mostly crude comments about girls. A lot of them are nice kids, but en masse they are an incessant cloud of noise. Form time each morning is the thing I dread most at the moment. The thought of it ruins my whole evening.
In fact the only good thing about today was that Mondays mean the scent of freshly washed uniforms wafts around the school corridors and out of over-crowded classrooms.
Sunday, 14 September 2008
My new school
Random stuff about my new school:
a) The Senior Management Team is mostly older time-served teachers, which is a relief after a succession of young whipper-snappers who talk the talk but don't walk if they can possibly drive around in their flash Audis instead. There is one younger senior teacher whose main role seems to be making highly colourful charts and wearing the flashiest designer clothes and brand new white trainers on Inset days, so I already have him marked out for possible future ridicule.
b) I've been there two weeks and I still don't really know much about what goes on outside of my classroom. But now I'm almost over being a complete "newbie" and people keep telling me about things I've never heard of and assuming that I know what they are talking about. Ditto with people's names. "Can you let Mrs H know as soon as you can?" - a typical phrase that sends me into a panic as there are at least three teachers with the same names and I can't put any names to faces.
c) There are some very helpful people who have gone out of their way to assist me with various things and have made my whole experience much more pleasant with their thoughtfulness. The smallest of gestures can mean a big deal to somebody new. Thanks guys.
d) The classrooms don't have many cupboards. So there's nowhere to stash all my resources or go to pull faces when the kids annoy me or take the mickey out of my accent.
e) It took me over a week to stop thinking about the last school as "my school" and to stop texting my old colleagues every lunchtime to catch up on the gossip.
f) Things that look shiny on your interview day must only look that way through the sheen of nerves. When you're actually there, for real, you can see the literal and metaphorical cracks.
So there you have just a few first impressions. Some things don't change though. I've left it until tea-time on Sunday to do my homework - that is, make resources for several schemes of work I've never taught before. And week three is when the novelty of new school / back at school wears off for the pupils, so I'm expecting a rougher ride over the next few days...
a) The Senior Management Team is mostly older time-served teachers, which is a relief after a succession of young whipper-snappers who talk the talk but don't walk if they can possibly drive around in their flash Audis instead. There is one younger senior teacher whose main role seems to be making highly colourful charts and wearing the flashiest designer clothes and brand new white trainers on Inset days, so I already have him marked out for possible future ridicule.
b) I've been there two weeks and I still don't really know much about what goes on outside of my classroom. But now I'm almost over being a complete "newbie" and people keep telling me about things I've never heard of and assuming that I know what they are talking about. Ditto with people's names. "Can you let Mrs H know as soon as you can?" - a typical phrase that sends me into a panic as there are at least three teachers with the same names and I can't put any names to faces.
c) There are some very helpful people who have gone out of their way to assist me with various things and have made my whole experience much more pleasant with their thoughtfulness. The smallest of gestures can mean a big deal to somebody new. Thanks guys.
d) The classrooms don't have many cupboards. So there's nowhere to stash all my resources or go to pull faces when the kids annoy me or take the mickey out of my accent.
e) It took me over a week to stop thinking about the last school as "my school" and to stop texting my old colleagues every lunchtime to catch up on the gossip.
f) Things that look shiny on your interview day must only look that way through the sheen of nerves. When you're actually there, for real, you can see the literal and metaphorical cracks.
So there you have just a few first impressions. Some things don't change though. I've left it until tea-time on Sunday to do my homework - that is, make resources for several schemes of work I've never taught before. And week three is when the novelty of new school / back at school wears off for the pupils, so I'm expecting a rougher ride over the next few days...
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Wondering about wandering
Maybe this is my shortest ever rant, but I just want to say that I really, really, really hate it when people muddle up "wander" with "wonder". There are some other idiot mistakes that annoy me, but I've just watched a promotional video online where the presenter mixes them up and I just wanted to go "arghhhhhhh grrrrrrrrrrr".
Friday, 22 August 2008
Bully Teacher
I thought I'd shaken off the shackles of my old school, but having been in this week to see the exam results, I feel wound up again by some of my (ex) colleagues. Like every workplace, schools have a number of people working there who really shouldn't be, and like the public sector in general, it's quite difficult to get rid of incompetent members of staff. And then there are staff who should be booted right out of the door but for some reason Management thinks they are valuable assets to the school who should be rewarded and retained with promotions.
One of these disgraces is Mr A. When you first meet him, you will probably recognise his type: one of the lads, seemingly popular with the kids, likes a joke and a laugh and has many of the LSAs swooning. Add into the mix that he teaches a shortage subject and filled a vacancy that had been wide open for a long time, and you can see why he looks like an attractive proposition.
But then you dig deeper. Why do the kids love him so much? Well, he takes lunchtime sports training every now and again, and he is the king of practical jokes. Oh yes, he's always having a laugh and a joke with the kids. But then you start to hear complaints from members of your form.
"We don't learn anything from him."
"He picked up my pencil case and emptied it all over the desk, and everyone was laughing but I didn't think it was funny."
"We're always playing games but we didn't cover what we needed for the exam."
"I wanted to ask him something but he told me to go away because he was emailing his friends."
"He scribbled on my book right in front of me then told me off and said I'd done it."
"He shouted at us all for not doing the homework but he hadn't set any."
"He lost my book and then told me off for forgetting it. But he's lost it."
"We watch lots of videos. Last lesson we watched 'Die Hard'. It's really good but it had nothing to do with (the subject)."
Now some of these you would be inclined to explain away. What teacher hasn't been accused of losing a child's book? Who hasn't shown a video at the end of term? Surely these games are educational, but he's such a great teacher that the kids don't even realise they are learning? But after having given Mr A the benefit of the doubt, there comes a time when these comments start to add up into something more than the occasional slackery.
Mr A is a bully. He commands a group of laddish teachers whose behaviour deteriorates in his presence as they compete to keep up with his "jokes". At least one NQT has emulated his behaviour, seeing how popular it makes him, and has gone from being a really promising teacher to an arrogant slacker. Mr A bullies the children. Messing about with their stuff might seem like a laugh to the class, but it's the kind of thing the class bully does to intimidate others and make themselves look popular.
Mr A is also really thick. In his shortage subject, the barriers for recruitment must be lower, and whilst he knows enough (allegedly) to teach his own subject (if he could ever be bothered), his general knowledge and common sense are way below par. He can't write very well, and so his corrections and notes read like an illiterate Year 7's.
And in September Mr A's reward for all of this? - a promotion to head of year, where he can continue to bully children and charm their parents.
One of these disgraces is Mr A. When you first meet him, you will probably recognise his type: one of the lads, seemingly popular with the kids, likes a joke and a laugh and has many of the LSAs swooning. Add into the mix that he teaches a shortage subject and filled a vacancy that had been wide open for a long time, and you can see why he looks like an attractive proposition.
But then you dig deeper. Why do the kids love him so much? Well, he takes lunchtime sports training every now and again, and he is the king of practical jokes. Oh yes, he's always having a laugh and a joke with the kids. But then you start to hear complaints from members of your form.
"We don't learn anything from him."
"He picked up my pencil case and emptied it all over the desk, and everyone was laughing but I didn't think it was funny."
"We're always playing games but we didn't cover what we needed for the exam."
"I wanted to ask him something but he told me to go away because he was emailing his friends."
"He scribbled on my book right in front of me then told me off and said I'd done it."
"He shouted at us all for not doing the homework but he hadn't set any."
"He lost my book and then told me off for forgetting it. But he's lost it."
"We watch lots of videos. Last lesson we watched 'Die Hard'. It's really good but it had nothing to do with (the subject)."
Now some of these you would be inclined to explain away. What teacher hasn't been accused of losing a child's book? Who hasn't shown a video at the end of term? Surely these games are educational, but he's such a great teacher that the kids don't even realise they are learning? But after having given Mr A the benefit of the doubt, there comes a time when these comments start to add up into something more than the occasional slackery.
Mr A is a bully. He commands a group of laddish teachers whose behaviour deteriorates in his presence as they compete to keep up with his "jokes". At least one NQT has emulated his behaviour, seeing how popular it makes him, and has gone from being a really promising teacher to an arrogant slacker. Mr A bullies the children. Messing about with their stuff might seem like a laugh to the class, but it's the kind of thing the class bully does to intimidate others and make themselves look popular.
Mr A is also really thick. In his shortage subject, the barriers for recruitment must be lower, and whilst he knows enough (allegedly) to teach his own subject (if he could ever be bothered), his general knowledge and common sense are way below par. He can't write very well, and so his corrections and notes read like an illiterate Year 7's.
And in September Mr A's reward for all of this? - a promotion to head of year, where he can continue to bully children and charm their parents.
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