Today marked an important milestone in my career: I have completed my NQT year and my two years with The Programme. With my portfolio signed off, my final report filed and graduation from The Programme on Friday, I can't quite believe the changes the last year has brought.
To be honest, I can't bring myself to read previous blogs. Last year I was miserable but on the mend. I didn't enjoy teaching and I couldn't see myself going back to teaching in September. I'd survived the hardest year of my life, both personally and professionally, and felt knocked down time and time again.
Now - well, what a change. This year has seen my career metamorphose from a caterpillar of shit into, not quite a beautiful butterfly but, at least a majestic moth.
Yes, school is hard. Teaching is hard. Whoever tells you differently has either never done it or never worked with students who don't want to learn, in an institution with high standards.
This time last year I was grappling with feelings of inadequacy exacerbated by my own high standards and those of The Programme. At the time, I found it overwhelming. I remember thinking I was going to go one of two ways - drop out or knuckle down. Luckily, I chose the latter. Eventually.
So today I had my final observation as an NQT. I received an Outstanding which, if you're not in the business, is pretty bloody good. I don't mean to brag, but when you've felt like you're terrible at something, having a lesson go as well as mine did today felt like not only validation of my hard work, but respect. And it felt good.
So - the future. Yes, I'm staying in teaching. At some point over the past year I realised that this is actually the career I want. No, I don't think I'm the best, and I know many things I want to improve about my own practice and I've begun to appreciate, finally, the power and impact of The Programme.
There are many cynics who have said, at some point, being in The Programme means you get an easy ride, a fast track even. This is not true. You're not good because you're in The Programme, you're in the Programme because you're good. It's taken me a while to see that myself because, although I am hardly what you'd call a typically high-flying participant, I am finally able to see the value of the late nights, the essays, the research and the blood, sweat and literal tears I've poured into the last two years.
Someone once said to me that to be the best teacher you can, you need to be happy in yourself. This was the trickier journey. Luckily for me I met the man I want to spend the rest of my life with during my two years at the school, and the security and happiness that the relationship has brought me has meant that I am a much happier, more relaxed person, and that has had a massive impact on my experience of teaching. Although I needed the late nights and the long days of working, I am now lucky enough to have a life outside of school which is just as important and which means not everything I do revolves around my job. For the first time in two years I am happy with my life. And, I'm proud to say, my career. I am a teacher. Hear me roar.
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Monday, 21 June 2010
Day 176: N(early) Q(ualified) T(eacher)
Last Friday saw the close of what was, essentially, one of the most important weeks of my teaching career to date: The External Assessment Week. Some charming gentleman was coming in on behalf of The Programme to meet with our mentors, observe our lessons, and analyse our portfolios, all to see if we should qualify for QTS in the summer. Kind of a big deal.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn't too bothered. Sure, I wanted to do well, but after the year I've had, the last thing I was concerned about was what some chump thought of me. Or so I thought. On Monday I met one of my fellow participants and she showed me her portfolio. What you need to know is that I was previously praised for having mine in order and I thought that meant that I was ahead of the game. I was, but that was two months ago. As I flicked through my colleague's charmingly bepostitnoted tome I realised something: I was fucked. What followed was two late nights of frantic typing, sorting and printing. I had to develop two units of work that I had planned and taught, and present them with full lesson plans and evaluations. I took two nights doing one. I had planned to go out Wednesday night and as the observation was Thursday I really needed to be in a position where I was basically ready to roll by Wednesday afternoon but as it turned out, that didn't happen.
After a fabulous night out in Brixton with a little too much beer, I wafted into work at 6.30, hungover but alert. I set to prepping and printing data for my portfolio, adding myriad post-its to show where I knew I was missing work. Then I wrote a nice long list of all the work I needed to do. I am nothing if not honest. As for the observation, I had decided to teach a lesson I'd planned for year 11 way back when, because it required little reworking and the powerpoint had been used by my colleagues so I knew it was good. I was suddenly glad that I had gone out the night before, because panic had been replaced by a serenity which, although was somewhat misleading, meant that I knew I was going to be OK.
I was rather perturbed when, as I was being harassed by a certain year 9 in the corridor (apparently she wanted access to my computer "to work on stuff") my LDO appeared out of nowhere and introduced me to the new Programme Participant who would be joining English. Brave move, I thought. She seemed nice enough (was I that positive a year ago?) and I showed her around my classroom and the department, even introducing her to a few colleagues. Our little tour was interrupted by the approach of my assessor, so I let him in to my (painstakingly laid out) classroom and waited for the students to arrive.
I had bribed them the lesson before ("there's a very important person going to be observing our lesson tomorrow. Please be nice. There may be some chocolate in it for you...") so I was pleased when they, for the most part, turned up on time and got on with the starter. The rest of the lesson went pretty well - there were a few notable absentees, and the ones who were there tried really hard to participate, politely no less. I could have hugged every single one of them when the lesson ended and we got through everything. My lessons are regularly mistimed (my penchant for tangents) but this one went OK.
After the kids left the assessor asked me how I thought it went, and if I enjoyed the lesson. I had, actually, because the kids really enjoyed the short story - one of my favourites - and seemed to get into the activities. I was due to meet with him after lunch for my feedback and portfolio 'chat', so I skipped off to the English Office to eat before heading downstairs. I needn't have been concerned (not that I was, really) because he was rather nice, actually. He was probably relieved by my to-do list, because it meant he didn't have to think, really, and said that the lesson went well. He basically said that, assuming I do all the things I said I need to, I'll qualify for QTS, which is nice.
Naturally, with that day over, Friday went very quickly indeed, and it was on to the weekend I had been looking forward to so much. I turned up to work today feeling pretty down in the dumps, not only because I only woke up at 7.55 (two hours later than planned) and bombed into school without even getting a shower first, just making it to briefing in time to hear our professional mentor congratulating us on our hard work the week before, and a rather embarrassing round of applause. Cringe.
I only had one lesson today - year 7 - and it was a new subject: Stories With a Twist. I was a little slow in getting their assessment for the last half term done, so we are only starting it now, but the kids seemed to like it. I even managed to put together a powerpoint for it, despite how late I was. What was really interesting, alas for me and not the students, was that this exact lesson was one I had observed on my visit to the school a whole year ago. How bizarre. It's so odd to think back to a year ago, and the life I was living then, the expectations I had, and the misconceptions. I remember it had been the day after I'd gotten back from Thailand, so I was jet lagged and extremely spaced out. I had met a couple of colleagues who chatted to me and showed me some work, and I'd politely shown an interest. Apparently I'd talked about painting the classroom then, which had been 'annoying'.
It may be strange, but only now am I really in a position (despite how much marking I have) to sit back and think about the year. There was a girl from The Programme doing her School Observation Experience, which I'd done in late June last year in an academy in Peckham. I talked to her frankly (although not that frankly) about what the year had been like ("it has been horrible at times...") and offered to show her my portfolio. Apparently her year won't be doing the RJAs which is nice. Speaking of which, that's something else I have to do this week.
Finally, I was shown my potential new timetable for next year by my mentor. Although it will more than likely change, I will be teaching a year 7, a bottom set year 8 (ARGH) a top set year 10 and 9, no year 11, but a retake year 12. I was pretty pleased about 7, 9 and 10, although absolutely gutted that I won't be teaching year 11 because I was supposed to keep my class. Having said that, they are rearranging the classes into three bands rather than two, so they would have all been split up anyway.
So there you go. Only 4 weeks left. I can't really believe it's gone so quickly. I just hope I can get on top of everything I need to by the end of term. There's so much I'm excited about next year: Latin Club, having a tutor group, being more established as a teacher, perhaps starting the rugby club like I'd wanted, and actually working on making sure I'm a happy person and understanding the importance of putting that before getting shit done for school.
I guess I need to get through the rest of this term first. Roll on, summer.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn't too bothered. Sure, I wanted to do well, but after the year I've had, the last thing I was concerned about was what some chump thought of me. Or so I thought. On Monday I met one of my fellow participants and she showed me her portfolio. What you need to know is that I was previously praised for having mine in order and I thought that meant that I was ahead of the game. I was, but that was two months ago. As I flicked through my colleague's charmingly bepostitnoted tome I realised something: I was fucked. What followed was two late nights of frantic typing, sorting and printing. I had to develop two units of work that I had planned and taught, and present them with full lesson plans and evaluations. I took two nights doing one. I had planned to go out Wednesday night and as the observation was Thursday I really needed to be in a position where I was basically ready to roll by Wednesday afternoon but as it turned out, that didn't happen.
After a fabulous night out in Brixton with a little too much beer, I wafted into work at 6.30, hungover but alert. I set to prepping and printing data for my portfolio, adding myriad post-its to show where I knew I was missing work. Then I wrote a nice long list of all the work I needed to do. I am nothing if not honest. As for the observation, I had decided to teach a lesson I'd planned for year 11 way back when, because it required little reworking and the powerpoint had been used by my colleagues so I knew it was good. I was suddenly glad that I had gone out the night before, because panic had been replaced by a serenity which, although was somewhat misleading, meant that I knew I was going to be OK.
I was rather perturbed when, as I was being harassed by a certain year 9 in the corridor (apparently she wanted access to my computer "to work on stuff") my LDO appeared out of nowhere and introduced me to the new Programme Participant who would be joining English. Brave move, I thought. She seemed nice enough (was I that positive a year ago?) and I showed her around my classroom and the department, even introducing her to a few colleagues. Our little tour was interrupted by the approach of my assessor, so I let him in to my (painstakingly laid out) classroom and waited for the students to arrive.
I had bribed them the lesson before ("there's a very important person going to be observing our lesson tomorrow. Please be nice. There may be some chocolate in it for you...") so I was pleased when they, for the most part, turned up on time and got on with the starter. The rest of the lesson went pretty well - there were a few notable absentees, and the ones who were there tried really hard to participate, politely no less. I could have hugged every single one of them when the lesson ended and we got through everything. My lessons are regularly mistimed (my penchant for tangents) but this one went OK.
After the kids left the assessor asked me how I thought it went, and if I enjoyed the lesson. I had, actually, because the kids really enjoyed the short story - one of my favourites - and seemed to get into the activities. I was due to meet with him after lunch for my feedback and portfolio 'chat', so I skipped off to the English Office to eat before heading downstairs. I needn't have been concerned (not that I was, really) because he was rather nice, actually. He was probably relieved by my to-do list, because it meant he didn't have to think, really, and said that the lesson went well. He basically said that, assuming I do all the things I said I need to, I'll qualify for QTS, which is nice.
Naturally, with that day over, Friday went very quickly indeed, and it was on to the weekend I had been looking forward to so much. I turned up to work today feeling pretty down in the dumps, not only because I only woke up at 7.55 (two hours later than planned) and bombed into school without even getting a shower first, just making it to briefing in time to hear our professional mentor congratulating us on our hard work the week before, and a rather embarrassing round of applause. Cringe.
I only had one lesson today - year 7 - and it was a new subject: Stories With a Twist. I was a little slow in getting their assessment for the last half term done, so we are only starting it now, but the kids seemed to like it. I even managed to put together a powerpoint for it, despite how late I was. What was really interesting, alas for me and not the students, was that this exact lesson was one I had observed on my visit to the school a whole year ago. How bizarre. It's so odd to think back to a year ago, and the life I was living then, the expectations I had, and the misconceptions. I remember it had been the day after I'd gotten back from Thailand, so I was jet lagged and extremely spaced out. I had met a couple of colleagues who chatted to me and showed me some work, and I'd politely shown an interest. Apparently I'd talked about painting the classroom then, which had been 'annoying'.
It may be strange, but only now am I really in a position (despite how much marking I have) to sit back and think about the year. There was a girl from The Programme doing her School Observation Experience, which I'd done in late June last year in an academy in Peckham. I talked to her frankly (although not that frankly) about what the year had been like ("it has been horrible at times...") and offered to show her my portfolio. Apparently her year won't be doing the RJAs which is nice. Speaking of which, that's something else I have to do this week.
Finally, I was shown my potential new timetable for next year by my mentor. Although it will more than likely change, I will be teaching a year 7, a bottom set year 8 (ARGH) a top set year 10 and 9, no year 11, but a retake year 12. I was pretty pleased about 7, 9 and 10, although absolutely gutted that I won't be teaching year 11 because I was supposed to keep my class. Having said that, they are rearranging the classes into three bands rather than two, so they would have all been split up anyway.
So there you go. Only 4 weeks left. I can't really believe it's gone so quickly. I just hope I can get on top of everything I need to by the end of term. There's so much I'm excited about next year: Latin Club, having a tutor group, being more established as a teacher, perhaps starting the rugby club like I'd wanted, and actually working on making sure I'm a happy person and understanding the importance of putting that before getting shit done for school.
I guess I need to get through the rest of this term first. Roll on, summer.
Monday, 7 June 2010
Day 166: New Directions
After the shit storm I kicked up on the last day of term, I saw this playing out one of two ways. Either I pulled myself together, sought the help and support I required and got back on track to become the teacher I want to be or... I decided to quit, turned this blog into a juicy tell-all book (with the odd elaboration) and got myself into more trouble.
You may be surprised to read that I went for the first option.
To be honest, this was purely down to the reaction of The Programme. I of course did not tell them about the rather less pleasant option two, but they (my LDO and tutor) listened to me, gave me advice and reminded me of my good points as a teacher and, well, supported me to the point that it didn't all feel like a massive waste of time.
So, on the back of their advice, and a week of relaxation, I got up this morning with all the determination and positivity of... yeah, well you get the idea. After a minor detour to help a little old lady find her way to hospital (I ended up walking her the whole way there) I walked into school, not quite ready to get back into it after such a nice week off.
After morning briefing I quickly scrabbled together a lesson for my year 7s which ended up going ok. They are a pretty nice group, and will usually do whatever I ask them. Since getting to know them better I find it quite embarrassing knowing that the more able ones are probably bored by the pace of the class, but it tends to be a lot of group discussions. Maybe I should try to incorporate more group work. I have been determined to try some of the things suggested by the lilac-lite course I did with school.
The rest of the day was free, as I didn't expect my year 11s to turn up in period 5 for their last lesson before their exam tomorrow. I spent the next few periods marking my year 7 APPs. By 5.15 I had actually finished them all. I was so pleased - the folders were up to date and a massive weight was taken off my shoulders. I tried to repeat this success with my outstanding year 9 APPs but I realised it was too big a mission so late in the day so I went through the behaviour manager for the new kids I'm getting in the class. Only two look like real problems. I have no idea what to expect, but during my mentor meeting I talked through what to teach them - Romeo and Juliet. Argh! I quite enjoyed teaching this to my year 10s, but the thought of going from top set year 10 to bottom set year 9 was a little bit depressing. I'm hoping my colleagues who taught bottom set year 10 will be able to help me out. I'm hoping to turn my year 9 class into a development one - so they don't think of themselves as bottom set, and so we can do lots of basic literacy things to get them up to scratch. Well, that's the idea anyway. I'm hoping the influx of girls and rigid-er setting will make a difference to the dynamic of the group, but either way I need to prepare a kick-ass first lesson to get them on side. I imagine tomorrow will be a tad chaotic with room changes, seating plans and just getting their books together. I hope that they are a bit nicer this time around...
So after 12 hours at school I ran home, changed, and went straight to the gym for a class. It felt good to sweat out the day, and although I'm still not enjoying the exercise right now, I am determined to get in shape and I know it'll help me feel better in the long run. I am also trying to be more positive in general, and most importantly, try to be more balanced at work. I think stress and fatigue got the better of me last term and I know that in order to keep my colleagues on side, and be more professional, I need to stop yoyo-ing between misery and jubilation.
I've made a mental list of all the things I am going to do this half term and so here it is:
1. Be more positive.
2. Be more calm and less emotional.
3. Try not to shout if I can avoid it.
4. Blog every day and think about professional development when I do.
5. Stay on top of paperwork.
6. Remember why I'm doing this. The real reasons.
7. Do enough outside of school to keep me sane.
8. Try not to leave school until I've planned lessons for the next day (oops...)
I think that's it for now. Anyway, on that note - ciao.
You may be surprised to read that I went for the first option.
To be honest, this was purely down to the reaction of The Programme. I of course did not tell them about the rather less pleasant option two, but they (my LDO and tutor) listened to me, gave me advice and reminded me of my good points as a teacher and, well, supported me to the point that it didn't all feel like a massive waste of time.
So, on the back of their advice, and a week of relaxation, I got up this morning with all the determination and positivity of... yeah, well you get the idea. After a minor detour to help a little old lady find her way to hospital (I ended up walking her the whole way there) I walked into school, not quite ready to get back into it after such a nice week off.
After morning briefing I quickly scrabbled together a lesson for my year 7s which ended up going ok. They are a pretty nice group, and will usually do whatever I ask them. Since getting to know them better I find it quite embarrassing knowing that the more able ones are probably bored by the pace of the class, but it tends to be a lot of group discussions. Maybe I should try to incorporate more group work. I have been determined to try some of the things suggested by the lilac-lite course I did with school.
The rest of the day was free, as I didn't expect my year 11s to turn up in period 5 for their last lesson before their exam tomorrow. I spent the next few periods marking my year 7 APPs. By 5.15 I had actually finished them all. I was so pleased - the folders were up to date and a massive weight was taken off my shoulders. I tried to repeat this success with my outstanding year 9 APPs but I realised it was too big a mission so late in the day so I went through the behaviour manager for the new kids I'm getting in the class. Only two look like real problems. I have no idea what to expect, but during my mentor meeting I talked through what to teach them - Romeo and Juliet. Argh! I quite enjoyed teaching this to my year 10s, but the thought of going from top set year 10 to bottom set year 9 was a little bit depressing. I'm hoping my colleagues who taught bottom set year 10 will be able to help me out. I'm hoping to turn my year 9 class into a development one - so they don't think of themselves as bottom set, and so we can do lots of basic literacy things to get them up to scratch. Well, that's the idea anyway. I'm hoping the influx of girls and rigid-er setting will make a difference to the dynamic of the group, but either way I need to prepare a kick-ass first lesson to get them on side. I imagine tomorrow will be a tad chaotic with room changes, seating plans and just getting their books together. I hope that they are a bit nicer this time around...
So after 12 hours at school I ran home, changed, and went straight to the gym for a class. It felt good to sweat out the day, and although I'm still not enjoying the exercise right now, I am determined to get in shape and I know it'll help me feel better in the long run. I am also trying to be more positive in general, and most importantly, try to be more balanced at work. I think stress and fatigue got the better of me last term and I know that in order to keep my colleagues on side, and be more professional, I need to stop yoyo-ing between misery and jubilation.
I've made a mental list of all the things I am going to do this half term and so here it is:
1. Be more positive.
2. Be more calm and less emotional.
3. Try not to shout if I can avoid it.
4. Blog every day and think about professional development when I do.
5. Stay on top of paperwork.
6. Remember why I'm doing this. The real reasons.
7. Do enough outside of school to keep me sane.
8. Try not to leave school until I've planned lessons for the next day (oops...)
I think that's it for now. Anyway, on that note - ciao.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Day 165: The Beginning of The End
I actually don't know where to start. I suppose I'll just come out with it. I'm in trouble. Real trouble. I genuinely don't know what is going to happen now, or what I can do about it. I'm going to try to sort through this for my own sanity rather than anything else.
So yesterday was the last day of half-term. It was also the last day that I could hand in my notice if I wanted to leave in September and receive a good reference. I had let this fact go quietly, because I suppose I had made up my mind that I would stick at it. I wasn't teaching because I'd booked a hospital appointment for the morning (it had been rearranged to that day - by the time I realised it wasn't during half term it was too late to change.) After a nice morning being prodded followed by drinking coffee with my friends in the hospital canteen, I swanned in around 12, thinking I could spend the last couple of hours planning for Latin Club. I came in just in time for the last ten minutes of my year 7's lesson, so relieved the cover teacher and watched 5 minutes of Enchanted with them (and ignoring the mothers' meeting that was occurring in the back corner) before wishing them well on their way.
I went to the English Office and excitedly booked tickets to Yorkshire with two of my colleagues; we're going to stay with my northern colleague's family and see the moors, or whatever it is you do up there (I lived there as a young child but have no recollection whatsoever, other than our treehouse.) When the bell rang for period 5 I skipped off to my classroom to plan my lesson for Latin Club. I was pretty nervous about it - I'd sent out an email the night before but as it was the end of term and I'd cancelled last week I wasn't sure who would come. I ended up extending the activity I'd done a few weeks ago which had been really successful, adding bits of information about Rome. As it turned out, four students turned up, and my two colleagues came to support. They ended up joining in, along with the librarian, and I found that two of my students were able to explain it better than I could. Although there weren't many there, it was nice to see the enthusiasm of the four boys who showed up. I thought to myself that I'd have to seriously plan out the next one to reward their enthusiasm.
Finishing early, my colleagues and I arranged with the librarian to go for a drink, and we went off to sort ourselves out. I decided to leave everything at work and come in on Tuesday to sort it out - I didn't want to think about marking just yet. I sat in reception waiting for my colleagues when a group of students were brought in by the school's PC. Something about "trouble at the bus stop". The librarian and I exchanged knowing looks and a woman who'd led our after school training came in, and I chatted to her briefly until my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered it, and it was my LDO. I remember she's called us all in the beginning on the last day of the first week or something, so I was expecting a similar "how did it go" chat when she asked me if I had a few minutes to spare.
"Yeah, now's fine." I said. I was still waiting for a couple of people to turn up.
"OK, well I'm just going to come out and say it... a 2010 participant found your blog and read it, and called our graduate recruitment department saying that they were concerned and frightened by it."
"Oh... dear." I stammered. Shame, fear, and something else, probably a cold sweat, washed over me.
"Now, I'm not saying you're in trouble, and I'm not going to tell you to take it down, but now it's been brought to our attention, we have read it, and I have read it, and your tutor and I are worried. Are you ok? I know how hard it is but we're really concerned about you."
I felt tears prick my eyes, and became suddenly very aware of my colleagues waiting behind me and the students waiting to see the PC. I can't remember what I said, but it was apologetic. It got worse. She suggested I meet with her and my tutor in half term for a chat. Then she said:
"Also, have you heard of [person I had heard of]? He's the external relations director for the programme, and he's read it too and he'd like to meet you. He'd like a little chat about being 'media-savvy'."
I agreed to said meeting, and said "chat" for the following week. I said goodbye and walked out the door. My colleagues (there were about four of them now) looked confused and I blurted out what had been said. I was mortified. I have never felt so stupid, so embarrassed and so terrified. What were they going to do to me? A colleague joked that they might try to have me sectioned. I don't really know what to think right now. Fortunately there was wireless in the pub, so although the blog has not been taken down, I was able to make it private so that only I can read it. I'm simply cataloguing this for my memory. It reminds me of a column I read in the guardian magazine, where the author, who often wrote about his neighbour, was confronted by said neighbour about it and denied that he was writing about him.
I feel like I'd been writing a note insulting my teacher and she found it and read it. I know that this blog turned from a reflective tool into a bit of a bitch fest by the end of it, and maybe if I'd written throughout the whole of the last term I would have been a bit more balanced. I am mortified that the last post was read by all these people. I have gone out of my way to never mention the school or the students or colleagues by name, but I suppose that doesn't matter. I guess all my complaining that I'm not coping has finally been heard by someone. I just have to see what will happen.
Now, as if that bombshell wasn't enough, I made the mistake of getting rather trollied at the pub, and my colleague, now my senior, tried to have a heart to heart with me. After 7 hours (literally) of drinking, this was not the best idea.
"You and I need to have a chat" he said, as we sat in the beer garden surrounded by North London's finest.
"What about?"
This went on for a little while, then he said:
"You need to curb your behaviour."
"What?"
What the fuck did that mean? What behaviour? I remembered all the crying in the office recently, the swearing, the complaining. I suppose he was right about that but it wasn't like I was doing it to get attention. I had just been really really unhappy and I didn't think to hide it from anyone. Maybe that was a mistake.
"Kicking down doors." he finally offered, "I wasn't even there, but..."
Now I was upset.
"That is bullshit." I spat.
I have never, ever, kicked in a door. Yes, I've closed one with my foot when my hands were full, and maybe slammed it by accident, but I have never, EVER, 'kicked in' a door. I was furious. This meant that they (who?) were talking about me, and twisting what I was doing into some sort of mental behaviour. I stormed out of the pub, which I suppose did little to dissuade anyone that I am prone to overreaction. I cried the whole way home, and I am still mulling over what he said now.
I actually feel like not going back after half term now. I suppose I am really quite angry about this whole thing, and maybe after an incredibly stressful 6 weeks and an evening in the pub I shouldn't overreact, but I am now not sure if they even want me back. Have I become some sort of unpredictable nightmare? Am I that bad? If I am that shit at my job, why didn't someone say something sooner? I suppose I am going to have to wait for the meeting on Tuesday and speak to them then about what I can do. Maybe they don't want me to go back. At this point in time, I really, really don't know what to do. Part of me, assuming they're not going to suggest I leave, wants to stick it out just to spite them. But then a bigger part of me isn't sure how I can go back to work after that. I guess I'll just have to wait till Tuesday.
So yesterday was the last day of half-term. It was also the last day that I could hand in my notice if I wanted to leave in September and receive a good reference. I had let this fact go quietly, because I suppose I had made up my mind that I would stick at it. I wasn't teaching because I'd booked a hospital appointment for the morning (it had been rearranged to that day - by the time I realised it wasn't during half term it was too late to change.) After a nice morning being prodded followed by drinking coffee with my friends in the hospital canteen, I swanned in around 12, thinking I could spend the last couple of hours planning for Latin Club. I came in just in time for the last ten minutes of my year 7's lesson, so relieved the cover teacher and watched 5 minutes of Enchanted with them (and ignoring the mothers' meeting that was occurring in the back corner) before wishing them well on their way.
I went to the English Office and excitedly booked tickets to Yorkshire with two of my colleagues; we're going to stay with my northern colleague's family and see the moors, or whatever it is you do up there (I lived there as a young child but have no recollection whatsoever, other than our treehouse.) When the bell rang for period 5 I skipped off to my classroom to plan my lesson for Latin Club. I was pretty nervous about it - I'd sent out an email the night before but as it was the end of term and I'd cancelled last week I wasn't sure who would come. I ended up extending the activity I'd done a few weeks ago which had been really successful, adding bits of information about Rome. As it turned out, four students turned up, and my two colleagues came to support. They ended up joining in, along with the librarian, and I found that two of my students were able to explain it better than I could. Although there weren't many there, it was nice to see the enthusiasm of the four boys who showed up. I thought to myself that I'd have to seriously plan out the next one to reward their enthusiasm.
Finishing early, my colleagues and I arranged with the librarian to go for a drink, and we went off to sort ourselves out. I decided to leave everything at work and come in on Tuesday to sort it out - I didn't want to think about marking just yet. I sat in reception waiting for my colleagues when a group of students were brought in by the school's PC. Something about "trouble at the bus stop". The librarian and I exchanged knowing looks and a woman who'd led our after school training came in, and I chatted to her briefly until my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered it, and it was my LDO. I remember she's called us all in the beginning on the last day of the first week or something, so I was expecting a similar "how did it go" chat when she asked me if I had a few minutes to spare.
"Yeah, now's fine." I said. I was still waiting for a couple of people to turn up.
"OK, well I'm just going to come out and say it... a 2010 participant found your blog and read it, and called our graduate recruitment department saying that they were concerned and frightened by it."
"Oh... dear." I stammered. Shame, fear, and something else, probably a cold sweat, washed over me.
"Now, I'm not saying you're in trouble, and I'm not going to tell you to take it down, but now it's been brought to our attention, we have read it, and I have read it, and your tutor and I are worried. Are you ok? I know how hard it is but we're really concerned about you."
I felt tears prick my eyes, and became suddenly very aware of my colleagues waiting behind me and the students waiting to see the PC. I can't remember what I said, but it was apologetic. It got worse. She suggested I meet with her and my tutor in half term for a chat. Then she said:
"Also, have you heard of [person I had heard of]? He's the external relations director for the programme, and he's read it too and he'd like to meet you. He'd like a little chat about being 'media-savvy'."
I agreed to said meeting, and said "chat" for the following week. I said goodbye and walked out the door. My colleagues (there were about four of them now) looked confused and I blurted out what had been said. I was mortified. I have never felt so stupid, so embarrassed and so terrified. What were they going to do to me? A colleague joked that they might try to have me sectioned. I don't really know what to think right now. Fortunately there was wireless in the pub, so although the blog has not been taken down, I was able to make it private so that only I can read it. I'm simply cataloguing this for my memory. It reminds me of a column I read in the guardian magazine, where the author, who often wrote about his neighbour, was confronted by said neighbour about it and denied that he was writing about him.
I feel like I'd been writing a note insulting my teacher and she found it and read it. I know that this blog turned from a reflective tool into a bit of a bitch fest by the end of it, and maybe if I'd written throughout the whole of the last term I would have been a bit more balanced. I am mortified that the last post was read by all these people. I have gone out of my way to never mention the school or the students or colleagues by name, but I suppose that doesn't matter. I guess all my complaining that I'm not coping has finally been heard by someone. I just have to see what will happen.
Now, as if that bombshell wasn't enough, I made the mistake of getting rather trollied at the pub, and my colleague, now my senior, tried to have a heart to heart with me. After 7 hours (literally) of drinking, this was not the best idea.
"You and I need to have a chat" he said, as we sat in the beer garden surrounded by North London's finest.
"What about?"
This went on for a little while, then he said:
"You need to curb your behaviour."
"What?"
What the fuck did that mean? What behaviour? I remembered all the crying in the office recently, the swearing, the complaining. I suppose he was right about that but it wasn't like I was doing it to get attention. I had just been really really unhappy and I didn't think to hide it from anyone. Maybe that was a mistake.
"Kicking down doors." he finally offered, "I wasn't even there, but..."
Now I was upset.
"That is bullshit." I spat.
I have never, ever, kicked in a door. Yes, I've closed one with my foot when my hands were full, and maybe slammed it by accident, but I have never, EVER, 'kicked in' a door. I was furious. This meant that they (who?) were talking about me, and twisting what I was doing into some sort of mental behaviour. I stormed out of the pub, which I suppose did little to dissuade anyone that I am prone to overreaction. I cried the whole way home, and I am still mulling over what he said now.
I actually feel like not going back after half term now. I suppose I am really quite angry about this whole thing, and maybe after an incredibly stressful 6 weeks and an evening in the pub I shouldn't overreact, but I am now not sure if they even want me back. Have I become some sort of unpredictable nightmare? Am I that bad? If I am that shit at my job, why didn't someone say something sooner? I suppose I am going to have to wait for the meeting on Tuesday and speak to them then about what I can do. Maybe they don't want me to go back. At this point in time, I really, really don't know what to do. Part of me, assuming they're not going to suggest I leave, wants to stick it out just to spite them. But then a bigger part of me isn't sure how I can go back to work after that. I guess I'll just have to wait till Tuesday.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Day 162: I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living
SO where am I now?
Well, there are exactly three days left until half term. After that, I have six weeks until I am finished for the summer. 6 1/2, technically, but I'm refusing to count those last couple. So all in all, that adds up to about 35 1/2 days left of school. If I was a little less stressed, I think I would probably add up exactly how many hours that is. But I won't.
I'm a little disappointed that I wasn't able to keep up the blog the whole way but it just became impossible. You see, I had managed to go all those weeks before the paperwork caught up with me and, now that it has, I just want to die.
I actually joined the gym last week because I decided that perhaps exercise would make me feel better. So far, it hasn't.
I'll be honest, I'm feeling insanely miserable right now. I actually walked home from the gym in tears. I don't know why I was expecting some wave of euphoria to wash over me when I finally did a little exercise, but when it didn't come and I was left with that same gnawing feeling of inadequacy which has been eroding my self confidence for the past lord-knows-how many weeks.
I suppose this is what being stressed feels like. I had year 8 today (today being Tuesday) and I was so frustrated with their behaviour I was actually imagining pushing one of them in my head. That terrifies me. Whenever stories crop up in the red tops, detailing frazzled ancient teachers coming to the end of their tether and finally bitch-slapping a kid, you never assume they're in their first year of teaching.
I think I've been working around the same idea for a few months now. Do I really want to come back in September? If I don't, I have until Friday, being half term, to hand in my notice if I want a good reference. So what's stopping me?
I guess I should just weigh up the pros and cons:
Why I should leave:
I am miserable, and have been for a long, long time.
I don't feel like I am any good at it.
I don't really feel supported by several people in school.
I don't feel I'm able to say anything about that.
I genuinely hate some of the children. I also hate the people who tell me I shouldn't.
I feel that no matter how many hours I plough into preparing things, my lessons are no better than they were in September.
My behaviour management is worse.
I'm tired, all the time.
I miss my friends. I miss doing things mid-week. I miss having the whole weekend to myself.
I miss coming home at 5 and switching off.
This isn't what I want to do in the long run.
When the kids tell me I'm shit at teaching, I believe them.
I hate being bad at anything. I feel that constantly here.
I really don't think they are learning anything.
I have a headache all the fucking time.
I have never felt so unhappy. Really, never.
For all the hours I do, I seem to be constantly out of money. The pay is terrible.
I feel undermined by everyone.
I feel like everyone fucking hates me. Staff and children.
I'm beginning to hate everyone else too.
Sometimes when I'm feeling really low I'm scared I'm going to do something stupid.
If this was any other job I would have walked out the door 9 months ago.
I get so stressed out that the only thing I was looking forward to, Latin Club, is being pushed to the background and has been cancelled three times now.
I honestly can't imagine putting myself through this all again next year.
Oh god. That hurt.
Why I should stay:
I don't want to fail.
I actually don't know what else I'd do.
If I quit now, I would never be able to apply for something else high-pressured. The army would definitely say no.
I've invested this much in it, it's only another year. And it will get easier.
I don't want to let anyone down.
I work with some wonderful people; I've made some wonderful friends.
Some parts of it I do like. I can't think of any right now.
I genuinely love some of the children.
I really want to see some of the kids do well.
I have developed my teacher voice to the point that I can clear a corridor pretty quick.
I've done some of the most stupid things ever since starting this, and I managed to get through them unscathed.
Since joining the gym I have something else to think about, although I hate that too.
There are times when I feel I'm doing a good job. Sometimes. Ok, rarely.
I've achieved some good things.
Despite all the bullshit I've only had two sick days all year, and I was genuinely sick on both.
I quit smoking and kept that up.
I really love Latin club, and the enthusiasm of some of the kids.
I want to see the end of this. I don't want to leave it now.
I like the idea of being an English teacher.
I don't know where that leaves me. I need to stop moaning. I need to stop saying I want to leave; my colleagues are already growing tired of me, I can tell. I feel at the moment I'm just trying to get through the week before half term, so I can reassess and sort myself out then. I just feel like I need to get through a mountain of paperwork and I'll never do it. I hate the idea that somethings will just never get done. That upsets me.
I suppose I should go to bed now, and deal with the rest of the bullshit in the morning. Only three more get-ups to go now. I cannot wait till Friday.
Well, there are exactly three days left until half term. After that, I have six weeks until I am finished for the summer. 6 1/2, technically, but I'm refusing to count those last couple. So all in all, that adds up to about 35 1/2 days left of school. If I was a little less stressed, I think I would probably add up exactly how many hours that is. But I won't.
I'm a little disappointed that I wasn't able to keep up the blog the whole way but it just became impossible. You see, I had managed to go all those weeks before the paperwork caught up with me and, now that it has, I just want to die.
I actually joined the gym last week because I decided that perhaps exercise would make me feel better. So far, it hasn't.
I'll be honest, I'm feeling insanely miserable right now. I actually walked home from the gym in tears. I don't know why I was expecting some wave of euphoria to wash over me when I finally did a little exercise, but when it didn't come and I was left with that same gnawing feeling of inadequacy which has been eroding my self confidence for the past lord-knows-how many weeks.
I suppose this is what being stressed feels like. I had year 8 today (today being Tuesday) and I was so frustrated with their behaviour I was actually imagining pushing one of them in my head. That terrifies me. Whenever stories crop up in the red tops, detailing frazzled ancient teachers coming to the end of their tether and finally bitch-slapping a kid, you never assume they're in their first year of teaching.
I think I've been working around the same idea for a few months now. Do I really want to come back in September? If I don't, I have until Friday, being half term, to hand in my notice if I want a good reference. So what's stopping me?
I guess I should just weigh up the pros and cons:
Why I should leave:
I am miserable, and have been for a long, long time.
I don't feel like I am any good at it.
I don't really feel supported by several people in school.
I don't feel I'm able to say anything about that.
I genuinely hate some of the children. I also hate the people who tell me I shouldn't.
I feel that no matter how many hours I plough into preparing things, my lessons are no better than they were in September.
My behaviour management is worse.
I'm tired, all the time.
I miss my friends. I miss doing things mid-week. I miss having the whole weekend to myself.
I miss coming home at 5 and switching off.
This isn't what I want to do in the long run.
When the kids tell me I'm shit at teaching, I believe them.
I hate being bad at anything. I feel that constantly here.
I really don't think they are learning anything.
I have a headache all the fucking time.
I have never felt so unhappy. Really, never.
For all the hours I do, I seem to be constantly out of money. The pay is terrible.
I feel undermined by everyone.
I feel like everyone fucking hates me. Staff and children.
I'm beginning to hate everyone else too.
Sometimes when I'm feeling really low I'm scared I'm going to do something stupid.
If this was any other job I would have walked out the door 9 months ago.
I get so stressed out that the only thing I was looking forward to, Latin Club, is being pushed to the background and has been cancelled three times now.
I honestly can't imagine putting myself through this all again next year.
Oh god. That hurt.
Why I should stay:
I don't want to fail.
I actually don't know what else I'd do.
If I quit now, I would never be able to apply for something else high-pressured. The army would definitely say no.
I've invested this much in it, it's only another year. And it will get easier.
I don't want to let anyone down.
I work with some wonderful people; I've made some wonderful friends.
Some parts of it I do like. I can't think of any right now.
I genuinely love some of the children.
I really want to see some of the kids do well.
I have developed my teacher voice to the point that I can clear a corridor pretty quick.
I've done some of the most stupid things ever since starting this, and I managed to get through them unscathed.
Since joining the gym I have something else to think about, although I hate that too.
There are times when I feel I'm doing a good job. Sometimes. Ok, rarely.
I've achieved some good things.
Despite all the bullshit I've only had two sick days all year, and I was genuinely sick on both.
I quit smoking and kept that up.
I really love Latin club, and the enthusiasm of some of the kids.
I want to see the end of this. I don't want to leave it now.
I like the idea of being an English teacher.
I don't know where that leaves me. I need to stop moaning. I need to stop saying I want to leave; my colleagues are already growing tired of me, I can tell. I feel at the moment I'm just trying to get through the week before half term, so I can reassess and sort myself out then. I just feel like I need to get through a mountain of paperwork and I'll never do it. I hate the idea that somethings will just never get done. That upsets me.
I suppose I should go to bed now, and deal with the rest of the bullshit in the morning. Only three more get-ups to go now. I cannot wait till Friday.
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Week 27: Thanks, Iceland
Oh, hello there! Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it? I suppose there's not much excuse, apart from the fact that I just couldn't be bothered. I've decided that I can't keep up with the daily updates (as evidenced by the lack of posts) so I'm going to switch to weekly ones instead. Here we go...
So, I'll be honest, last week was tough. The first week back from a holiday is always tough, and when the school is missing twelve members of staff due a particularly inconsiderate volcano, things get a little tougher.
Monday morning started with panicked texts sent between a fellow Teachy Firster and myself on the journey in, hoping desperately that enough teachers would be absent that we could close the school. I knew of at least 5, but alas, there were not enough. The motley crew left behind who were not honeymooning in Jamaica or stuck rather less luxuriously in Madrid shared the same shell-shocked appearance.
Personally, I had been looking forward to a day off teaching, as we had planned to moderate our coursework all day. As four members of the department were abroad, this was cancelled and I had to come up with a quick lesson for year 7 (test - ha!) and year 11.
The lessons themselves weren't too bad, although I was somewhat disheartened to see that K was back to his irritating couldn't-care-less in year 11. What was difficult was the rest of the children. Our corridor can be rather frantic at times, and four well-meaning substitute teachers do not help. The kids actually cheer when they see they have a cover lesson, because they know it means they aren't expected to actually do any work.
The day was rounded off with training, which I was disappointed to learn would be the last in a line of really great Lilac-esque training. I had thoroughly enjoyed the course, and it had actually made the Monday afternoons interesting.
So the week was set up well, but I was not prepared for what was going to come next: Tuesday. Having had a week to process, reflect on and over-analyse that day to the nth degree, I can honestly say that I've forgotten what was so terrible. As with every Tuesday, it ended with year 8. I did my classic holding them all back for a class detention, as, per usual, they were infuriating. W walked out after arguing with me, and I let him go. Booster class after was attended by the faithful three, but my professional tutor popped in to speak to me. We talked about various bits of paperwork, from my journal, to portfolio, to general marking, that I am woefully behind, and I began to get upset. An hour later, I went home feeling utterly miserable. I cried non-stop for two hours, literally crying myself to sleep, and decided I wouldn't be coming in the next day.
I woke up at 6 the next morning and thought it through. I can't go into that thought process now, mainly because I'm tired, but I decided that if I didn't go in on Wednesday, I knew I wouldn't ever go back. I also thought about my damn year 11s, and how I didn't want them to waste the last lessons they have. It also comes down to the fact that I knew that I couldn't make the decision to drop out on one bad day.
So, I went in. And the next day, and the day after that. It did, luckily, get better. I spent Thursday preparing my first Latin lesson which, as it turned out, was attended by no fewer than twenty students. By Friday I was laughing. Thank god for the weekend!
So yes, what a shitter. I can't believe I didn't even go to the pub! I actually had a very pleasant weekend with my housemates (and my father on Saturday) which made a real difference to my own frame of mind. Unfortunately, I wasn't at all productive on the Sunday, which meant that the usual Sunday-night blues hit me, with a vengeance. Just another week down, and 5 more to go till half term. I have to make the decision then as to whether or not I'll leave in the summer. Although it's not a publicised option, I know it exists, and I'm holding on to it as my mental safety net. I don't have to do it. And right now, that's getting me through.
So, I'll be honest, last week was tough. The first week back from a holiday is always tough, and when the school is missing twelve members of staff due a particularly inconsiderate volcano, things get a little tougher.
Monday morning started with panicked texts sent between a fellow Teachy Firster and myself on the journey in, hoping desperately that enough teachers would be absent that we could close the school. I knew of at least 5, but alas, there were not enough. The motley crew left behind who were not honeymooning in Jamaica or stuck rather less luxuriously in Madrid shared the same shell-shocked appearance.
Personally, I had been looking forward to a day off teaching, as we had planned to moderate our coursework all day. As four members of the department were abroad, this was cancelled and I had to come up with a quick lesson for year 7 (test - ha!) and year 11.
The lessons themselves weren't too bad, although I was somewhat disheartened to see that K was back to his irritating couldn't-care-less in year 11. What was difficult was the rest of the children. Our corridor can be rather frantic at times, and four well-meaning substitute teachers do not help. The kids actually cheer when they see they have a cover lesson, because they know it means they aren't expected to actually do any work.
The day was rounded off with training, which I was disappointed to learn would be the last in a line of really great Lilac-esque training. I had thoroughly enjoyed the course, and it had actually made the Monday afternoons interesting.
So the week was set up well, but I was not prepared for what was going to come next: Tuesday. Having had a week to process, reflect on and over-analyse that day to the nth degree, I can honestly say that I've forgotten what was so terrible. As with every Tuesday, it ended with year 8. I did my classic holding them all back for a class detention, as, per usual, they were infuriating. W walked out after arguing with me, and I let him go. Booster class after was attended by the faithful three, but my professional tutor popped in to speak to me. We talked about various bits of paperwork, from my journal, to portfolio, to general marking, that I am woefully behind, and I began to get upset. An hour later, I went home feeling utterly miserable. I cried non-stop for two hours, literally crying myself to sleep, and decided I wouldn't be coming in the next day.
I woke up at 6 the next morning and thought it through. I can't go into that thought process now, mainly because I'm tired, but I decided that if I didn't go in on Wednesday, I knew I wouldn't ever go back. I also thought about my damn year 11s, and how I didn't want them to waste the last lessons they have. It also comes down to the fact that I knew that I couldn't make the decision to drop out on one bad day.
So, I went in. And the next day, and the day after that. It did, luckily, get better. I spent Thursday preparing my first Latin lesson which, as it turned out, was attended by no fewer than twenty students. By Friday I was laughing. Thank god for the weekend!
So yes, what a shitter. I can't believe I didn't even go to the pub! I actually had a very pleasant weekend with my housemates (and my father on Saturday) which made a real difference to my own frame of mind. Unfortunately, I wasn't at all productive on the Sunday, which meant that the usual Sunday-night blues hit me, with a vengeance. Just another week down, and 5 more to go till half term. I have to make the decision then as to whether or not I'll leave in the summer. Although it's not a publicised option, I know it exists, and I'm holding on to it as my mental safety net. I don't have to do it. And right now, that's getting me through.
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Day 127: Yours ever, Boris
Dear ***,
It was lovely to meet you on my visit to *** School.
Well done for signing up for T*** F***. It's a fantastic programme.
However, the purpose of this letter is to say how pleased I was to learn that you are running a Latin class for students. As you know I am passionate about the classics and want all young people to have the opportunity to study the subjects which interest and inspire them.
For further information on how we are taking classics further in London, please contact B*** in my Culture team at b***.
Keep up the good work!
Yours ever,
Boris
Boris Johnson
Mayor of London
It was lovely to meet you on my visit to *** School.
Well done for signing up for T*** F***. It's a fantastic programme.
However, the purpose of this letter is to say how pleased I was to learn that you are running a Latin class for students. As you know I am passionate about the classics and want all young people to have the opportunity to study the subjects which interest and inspire them.
For further information on how we are taking classics further in London, please contact B*** in my Culture team at b***.
Keep up the good work!
Yours ever,
Boris
Boris Johnson
Mayor of London
Sunday, 28 March 2010
No-Idea-What-Day #: Re-evaluation
I'm not entirely sure how long it's been since I last wrote a post. I suppose I could just check but, frankly, I can't be bothered.
So why so long? Well, if I'm totally honest, I just haven't wanted to. This half term has been beastly. From desperately stressful lows to utterly sublime highs, I feel like I've been through a mangle and am just starting to emerge through the other side.
That's right: I have 3.5 days left of this term. Boy, has it sucked.
I'm a little disappointed that I haven't blogged it, because it has in some ways been the most exciting. However, I have been so exhausted, physically and mentally, that I just have not felt like writing about it. Perhaps I will be able to fill in the gaps at another time. I doubt it.
Anyway, here are some key words to sum up the last three or so weeks you've missed:
bomb scare; sexual assault; academy madness; Boris Johnson; Latin Club; appalling behaviour; tears (student's); tears (mine); year 9 parents' evening; marking-induced stress; one good observation; the odd fight; carnival; Roald Dahl and the first year 9 lesson I have actually enjoyed.
I'm going to try to return to daily blogging, because I feel that I have lost perspective somehow on what I'm doing, and am just going through the miserable motions, and bitching a LOT. So yeah, I suppose it's time for me to go to bed, so that I might be refreshed enough tomorrow to actually prepare my lessons in time.
So why so long? Well, if I'm totally honest, I just haven't wanted to. This half term has been beastly. From desperately stressful lows to utterly sublime highs, I feel like I've been through a mangle and am just starting to emerge through the other side.
That's right: I have 3.5 days left of this term. Boy, has it sucked.
I'm a little disappointed that I haven't blogged it, because it has in some ways been the most exciting. However, I have been so exhausted, physically and mentally, that I just have not felt like writing about it. Perhaps I will be able to fill in the gaps at another time. I doubt it.
Anyway, here are some key words to sum up the last three or so weeks you've missed:
bomb scare; sexual assault; academy madness; Boris Johnson; Latin Club; appalling behaviour; tears (student's); tears (mine); year 9 parents' evening; marking-induced stress; one good observation; the odd fight; carnival; Roald Dahl and the first year 9 lesson I have actually enjoyed.
I'm going to try to return to daily blogging, because I feel that I have lost perspective somehow on what I'm doing, and am just going through the miserable motions, and bitching a LOT. So yeah, I suppose it's time for me to go to bed, so that I might be refreshed enough tomorrow to actually prepare my lessons in time.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Day 113: Wednesday
You might have noticed that the post titles are a tad lackluster. Well, that's because I'm knackered. I plan on going to bed in ooh, about 4 minutes' time, so before then I'll quickly spill on another unremarkable day.
Year 9 (irritating, although one of them produced the most hilarious piece of "homework" based on my task for them to find out why Virgin is called Virgin.), Year 11 (K was again excellent, other kids not so much.), Year 10 (hilarious discussion about phallic worms.)
At lunch time we created an effigy of out HoD using a pineapple and various props from around the room, which we wheeled into the classroom for the departmental meeting after school. I was a tad embarrassed when the HoD pointed out it was the first time we had SLT present in the meeting. Oops.
Year 9 (irritating, although one of them produced the most hilarious piece of "homework" based on my task for them to find out why Virgin is called Virgin.), Year 11 (K was again excellent, other kids not so much.), Year 10 (hilarious discussion about phallic worms.)
At lunch time we created an effigy of out HoD using a pineapple and various props from around the room, which we wheeled into the classroom for the departmental meeting after school. I was a tad embarrassed when the HoD pointed out it was the first time we had SLT present in the meeting. Oops.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Day 112: Tuesday
Not much else to say. I hate Tuesdays, although admittedly week 2 is far worse, and so I never have high hopes for them.
Today I started with year 11, and I've got to say they're getting lovelier and lovelier. I was trying to race through more poetry which makes it all a little rubbish but they were pretty good.
Year 9 were pretty irritating, and behaviour wasn't great, and we didn't finish what I wanted to so the lesson was a bit of a mess. I don't really know what to do with them tomorrow so that's a bit annoying.
Year 10 were frustrating in as much as the exercise took ages and lots had not brought in their coursework. Infuriating. I made a few risque jokes which didn't go down too well. Oops.
Year 8 were, well, vile. Not completely hideous, but frankly not good by any stretch of the imagination.
I stayed behind to sort out my things and did prep one of the lessons for tomorrow, which was nice.
I'm still far too disorganised and have lots of marking to catch up with. D'oh.
Today I started with year 11, and I've got to say they're getting lovelier and lovelier. I was trying to race through more poetry which makes it all a little rubbish but they were pretty good.
Year 9 were pretty irritating, and behaviour wasn't great, and we didn't finish what I wanted to so the lesson was a bit of a mess. I don't really know what to do with them tomorrow so that's a bit annoying.
Year 10 were frustrating in as much as the exercise took ages and lots had not brought in their coursework. Infuriating. I made a few risque jokes which didn't go down too well. Oops.
Year 8 were, well, vile. Not completely hideous, but frankly not good by any stretch of the imagination.
I stayed behind to sort out my things and did prep one of the lessons for tomorrow, which was nice.
I'm still far too disorganised and have lots of marking to catch up with. D'oh.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Day 111: This is pain. This is what pain feels like. Just accept it.
When I have a hard time doing something I try to be philosophical about it. That is to say, I spend a good, long time whining about it, then I try to be philosophical. This was mostly the case when I was rejected by Teachy Firsty the first time I applied. Although I was utterly disconsolate for weeks, after a while I realised that I should see it as a "learning experience" and take something from it to do better next time. Cliche, but true. It was the wise words of my rather burly tattoo artist that inspired my title to this post, and my new philosophy.
This is hell. And I hate it. But there's nothing I can do about it, so I better just get used to living in it.
So it was with this new philosophy firmly emblazoned in my mind that I skipped into work this morning. As my routine doesn't change much, there's not a lot to say, but it was a pretty OK day.
I had a chat at break time with one of the TAs, who's actually an ex pupil himself. It was weird to hear that he's the same age as me, and has obviously experienced a very different side to the school. He also agreed that the kids have been exceedingly unsettled over the last couple of weeks; there's definitely something in the water. Well, I think it's actually a combination of things, but mainly the fact that so much is going on with the school, some of which I can't even write about. There is definitely a feeling of unspent energy building up; it's as if something is going to happen, and the kids know it, like dogs before a storm.
Anyway, I only had two classes today, and they were both unremarkable. Having said that, my year 11s were a little boisterous but otherwise OK, and K was brilliant. He finished his starter first, and even offered to write the answers on the board. I gave him his Oreos (from winning Hide and Seek last lesson) and a postcard to take home.
I had another brilliant Lilac-lite session after school, which I really enjoyed, and was encouraged by the woman running it to start my Latin class. I'm going to put together a little presentation to be sent out to VT groups, to see if any of the kids might want to do it.
I stayed late at work, but still didn't get everything done, so now I've got to get on it for tomorrow. Yawn.
This is hell. And I hate it. But there's nothing I can do about it, so I better just get used to living in it.
So it was with this new philosophy firmly emblazoned in my mind that I skipped into work this morning. As my routine doesn't change much, there's not a lot to say, but it was a pretty OK day.
I had a chat at break time with one of the TAs, who's actually an ex pupil himself. It was weird to hear that he's the same age as me, and has obviously experienced a very different side to the school. He also agreed that the kids have been exceedingly unsettled over the last couple of weeks; there's definitely something in the water. Well, I think it's actually a combination of things, but mainly the fact that so much is going on with the school, some of which I can't even write about. There is definitely a feeling of unspent energy building up; it's as if something is going to happen, and the kids know it, like dogs before a storm.
Anyway, I only had two classes today, and they were both unremarkable. Having said that, my year 11s were a little boisterous but otherwise OK, and K was brilliant. He finished his starter first, and even offered to write the answers on the board. I gave him his Oreos (from winning Hide and Seek last lesson) and a postcard to take home.
I had another brilliant Lilac-lite session after school, which I really enjoyed, and was encouraged by the woman running it to start my Latin class. I'm going to put together a little presentation to be sent out to VT groups, to see if any of the kids might want to do it.
I stayed late at work, but still didn't get everything done, so now I've got to get on it for tomorrow. Yawn.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Day 107: Yes, it is fucking boring
What a fucking disaster. I feel like I'm going to explode. I am so tired; I'm getting headaches whenever the coffee wears off and my temper is at an all time high. I'm so fucking miserable. I just want to quit this fucking bollocks. Really, what I want is a fucking cigarette.
I had my absolute worst lesson since before Christmas, with my year 9s (once again I had them on my own because the TA fucked off to an exam) who were atrocious. The lesson itself was doomed to failure because, despite trying to change it around, it was too challenging for them so I couldn't even set them work and get on with it, I had to talk them through it, but spent ages waiting for silence and seemingly arguing with the kids fucking around. At one point I told them I was going to wait for silence for like 10 minutes (why did I even think that was a good idea?) and agreed with one kid when she said it was "fucking boring" which made all the kids gasp and I tried to turn it into a lecture on not swearing. Any attempts I'd wanted to make to be friendlier with the kids fell to pieces and I was overwhelmed with apathy and attention seeking behaviour.
"Miss, why did even you become a teacher?"
I don't know what the fuck to do. I even thought the other lesson I might be able to teach them on my own, but they're unbearable. Half the kids did no work, and the ones that did got restless waiting for the rest of the group to catch up. It was a fucking nightmare, and I was actually relieved to get year 8 in after, although only because I agreed with my colleague to show them the film of the book we're reading to save myself any more stress.
I really am so fucking fed up with this shit. I am the least exceptional fucking graduate around right now and all I want to do is go home to my mum and dad and stay there for a long, long time. Fuck the lot of them.
I had my absolute worst lesson since before Christmas, with my year 9s (once again I had them on my own because the TA fucked off to an exam) who were atrocious. The lesson itself was doomed to failure because, despite trying to change it around, it was too challenging for them so I couldn't even set them work and get on with it, I had to talk them through it, but spent ages waiting for silence and seemingly arguing with the kids fucking around. At one point I told them I was going to wait for silence for like 10 minutes (why did I even think that was a good idea?) and agreed with one kid when she said it was "fucking boring" which made all the kids gasp and I tried to turn it into a lecture on not swearing. Any attempts I'd wanted to make to be friendlier with the kids fell to pieces and I was overwhelmed with apathy and attention seeking behaviour.
"Miss, why did even you become a teacher?"
I don't know what the fuck to do. I even thought the other lesson I might be able to teach them on my own, but they're unbearable. Half the kids did no work, and the ones that did got restless waiting for the rest of the group to catch up. It was a fucking nightmare, and I was actually relieved to get year 8 in after, although only because I agreed with my colleague to show them the film of the book we're reading to save myself any more stress.
I really am so fucking fed up with this shit. I am the least exceptional fucking graduate around right now and all I want to do is go home to my mum and dad and stay there for a long, long time. Fuck the lot of them.
Monday, 1 March 2010
Day 106: An Attractive Six-Figure Package...
...is offered to the new principal of our school, when it becomes an academy. I suppose I'm naive in that I didn't realise just how much they get paid these days, but it seems extraordinary.
I'm beginning to worry about my own mental health right now. A colleague has suggested I have stress-related depression. Though a little unlikely, I am beginning to panic about work.
I don't seem to be able to concentrate. I can't work in the evening: I just come home and switch off. I can't sleep at night, I stay up late doing stupid things then get up at 6am to get into work early.
Needless to say, I'm exhausted, stressed, and at the end of a rather short, frayed tether. I just spoke to my poor mother who coached me through what I should do, and so on her advice I am retiring to bed.
I'm beginning to worry about my own mental health right now. A colleague has suggested I have stress-related depression. Though a little unlikely, I am beginning to panic about work.
I don't seem to be able to concentrate. I can't work in the evening: I just come home and switch off. I can't sleep at night, I stay up late doing stupid things then get up at 6am to get into work early.
Needless to say, I'm exhausted, stressed, and at the end of a rather short, frayed tether. I just spoke to my poor mother who coached me through what I should do, and so on her advice I am retiring to bed.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Day 102: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!
My parents were boarding the ferry. I was skeptical: it was full of water. Whether or not it would sail was not my chief concern, rather I was concerned about how I would fit on there with all the water. I followed my parents but stopped when they walked into the the choppy blue liquid. I turned and ran, up to walkway above. It was only then that I realised they must have drowned. I panicked, racked with guilt, then I woke up.
I felt that sweet, lazy Saturday-morning inertia that comes from waking naturally, then rolled over and saw the time. 6 seconds later, I realised it wasn't Saturday.
My alarm clock went off at 6am. At 10.15am, I woke up.
I have never felt panic like it. I jumped out of bed, and dithered as to whether or not I should even shower. The expletives emanating from my mouth put to an end my giving up swearing for Lent. I decided to shower, realising that my year 11 lesson was occurring as I did so. When I returned to my room, dressed frantically, and threw my things together I called the lovely man at school who is in charge of cover and such like. "I'm so sorry, my alarm clock didn't go off - I'm on my way in now." He chuckled that he hadn't been told I wasn't there, and that set fresh panic in my mind as to whether or not anyone had noticed. What on earth were my students going to be doing?
I left the house and was lucky to see a bus approaching. I decided to stay on an extra stop that went past the school, to ensure I didn't have to walk through the main gates. I caught sight of my colleague's red jacket as I made my way towards the school; he was smoking outside. I started to cry as I explained what had happened, and he calmed me down and talked me through what I should do. I wasn't convinced; the evening before I had decided to leave lesson prep to the morning, and would get in early to sort it out for the heaviest day of the week. Oh, the irony.
I went up to the department and greeted the new PGCE student, who was entirely sympathetic, and then steeled myself and walked into my classroom. "Hello," I said to the class. They hardly acknowledged me. Were they offended? Thankfully, the TA had gotten them a film to watch, and they were sat engrossed in a pretty terrible CGI version of Little Red Riding Hood (their choice.) The TA was sympathetic, and told me I could prepare for my next lesson (year 9, who she also assisted) as she would be happy to dismiss the year 11s. I felt so incredibly guilty, but did as she suggested and felt a lot happier for it.
The rest of the day was a little stressful blur. Year 9 were feistier than normal ("Miss, do you have a boyfriend?"
"Yes."
"Oh that's a shame, because I was going to ask you out." *wink*
"Oh M, that's so... inappropriate.")
but I survived the lesson, and year 10, and then the more horrible than usual year 8s. I am making no progress with that group, whatsoever.
I left around five, deciding that I would do more work at home (ha!) but so far that has not been the case.
I've also set 2 alarms for the morning.
I felt that sweet, lazy Saturday-morning inertia that comes from waking naturally, then rolled over and saw the time. 6 seconds later, I realised it wasn't Saturday.
My alarm clock went off at 6am. At 10.15am, I woke up.
I have never felt panic like it. I jumped out of bed, and dithered as to whether or not I should even shower. The expletives emanating from my mouth put to an end my giving up swearing for Lent. I decided to shower, realising that my year 11 lesson was occurring as I did so. When I returned to my room, dressed frantically, and threw my things together I called the lovely man at school who is in charge of cover and such like. "I'm so sorry, my alarm clock didn't go off - I'm on my way in now." He chuckled that he hadn't been told I wasn't there, and that set fresh panic in my mind as to whether or not anyone had noticed. What on earth were my students going to be doing?
I left the house and was lucky to see a bus approaching. I decided to stay on an extra stop that went past the school, to ensure I didn't have to walk through the main gates. I caught sight of my colleague's red jacket as I made my way towards the school; he was smoking outside. I started to cry as I explained what had happened, and he calmed me down and talked me through what I should do. I wasn't convinced; the evening before I had decided to leave lesson prep to the morning, and would get in early to sort it out for the heaviest day of the week. Oh, the irony.
I went up to the department and greeted the new PGCE student, who was entirely sympathetic, and then steeled myself and walked into my classroom. "Hello," I said to the class. They hardly acknowledged me. Were they offended? Thankfully, the TA had gotten them a film to watch, and they were sat engrossed in a pretty terrible CGI version of Little Red Riding Hood (their choice.) The TA was sympathetic, and told me I could prepare for my next lesson (year 9, who she also assisted) as she would be happy to dismiss the year 11s. I felt so incredibly guilty, but did as she suggested and felt a lot happier for it.
The rest of the day was a little stressful blur. Year 9 were feistier than normal ("Miss, do you have a boyfriend?"
"Yes."
"Oh that's a shame, because I was going to ask you out." *wink*
"Oh M, that's so... inappropriate.")
but I survived the lesson, and year 10, and then the more horrible than usual year 8s. I am making no progress with that group, whatsoever.
I left around five, deciding that I would do more work at home (ha!) but so far that has not been the case.
I've also set 2 alarms for the morning.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Day 101: Back to School
Lordy, two weeks is a long time. And 3 hours' sleep is not. I got to school feeling tired and cranky after a nice spent tossing and turning because I couldn't sleep. I'm getting used to that nervous, insomniac night before the start of a new term. Only this time there were no cigarettes (success!)
At least I knew it would be an easy day. I started off with a bit of embarrassment, mainly in the form of my colleague ribbing me for my drunken behaviour at his birthday party during half term. This was exacerbated when the rather sweet head of citizenship and community niceness called me out in the staff briefing to thank me for securing the autograph of our school's matriarch and I waved a little too eagerly, causing a ripple of giggles amongst my colleagues.
Year 7 were actually really fun, and they did a great lesson, drawing pictures that were being described by their partners. I'm trying my hardest to be as nice as pie to them, because I feel like our relationship has soured a bit. I did get on quite well for the most part, so hopefully it'll continue to get better. I even took time to congratulate the difficult boy on his sporting achievement.
I had the rest of the day free until last lesson, so spent it marking and putting together a lesson for my year 11s. They were utterly delightful, even though the lesson was a tad ham-fisted, and even K was working and joining in. I love that group. I told them I would be starting a booster session after school I'd like them to go to, although I doubt many will. I was shocked earlier that morning to hear one of them, J, has been put in our intervention project with a group of other ne'erdowell year 11s. I read through his SIMS behaviour management and was surprised by some of the things he'd done (my favourite being: "refused to come into the classroom and called me fucking dickhead") as, although he could sometimes be difficult, he was normally quite good with me. That's always the worst thing to say, I know, but I was just surprised.
So ended the first day back. Only 5 weeks to go till Easter.
At least I knew it would be an easy day. I started off with a bit of embarrassment, mainly in the form of my colleague ribbing me for my drunken behaviour at his birthday party during half term. This was exacerbated when the rather sweet head of citizenship and community niceness called me out in the staff briefing to thank me for securing the autograph of our school's matriarch and I waved a little too eagerly, causing a ripple of giggles amongst my colleagues.
Year 7 were actually really fun, and they did a great lesson, drawing pictures that were being described by their partners. I'm trying my hardest to be as nice as pie to them, because I feel like our relationship has soured a bit. I did get on quite well for the most part, so hopefully it'll continue to get better. I even took time to congratulate the difficult boy on his sporting achievement.
I had the rest of the day free until last lesson, so spent it marking and putting together a lesson for my year 11s. They were utterly delightful, even though the lesson was a tad ham-fisted, and even K was working and joining in. I love that group. I told them I would be starting a booster session after school I'd like them to go to, although I doubt many will. I was shocked earlier that morning to hear one of them, J, has been put in our intervention project with a group of other ne'erdowell year 11s. I read through his SIMS behaviour management and was surprised by some of the things he'd done (my favourite being: "refused to come into the classroom and called me fucking dickhead") as, although he could sometimes be difficult, he was normally quite good with me. That's always the worst thing to say, I know, but I was just surprised.
So ended the first day back. Only 5 weeks to go till Easter.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
Day 100: Half Way There
It's rather bittersweet that I'm writing this at the very end of half term. On the one hand, I'm exactly half way through the year; on the other hand, I've got to be in 6 hours and can't sleep.
So, yes. 100 days. I can't quite believe it myself. It's amazing to think of how far I and my fellow Teachy Firsties have come - and yet I don't like the idea of having to go through it all again. I know it's going to be easier than the first three half terms, but at the same time it's going to be exhausting.
After being away from the school for two whole weeks, I'm pretty nervous about going back tomorrow, so am writing this now because I can't sleep. I suppose I'll go back to the last day of term.
After meeting my colleagues for breakfast (they had inset so were treating themselves to a fry up) I ran to The Outstanding School a little late but excited about what I knew was coming that day. That's right - there were serenades a plenty!
In the three lessons I observed, I saw no less than 6 separate serenades, as well as hearing several more from neighboring classrooms, when the melodies floated in through the Victorian walls, to many a student's amusement. It was a lovely tradition that could never in a million years translate to our kids and our school, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
To be honest, after a week of observations and a nerve-wracking lesson, I was pretty exhausted by the Friday, and so politely sat in the corner of each classroom, diligently taking notes and listening in.
One class which astounded me the most was a year 7 group, where the students had to plan and perform oral stories based around Beowulf. Despite the three serenades interrupting ("OK, I'm going to give you ten seconds to talk about that, then ten seconds to calm down, then we're going to continue...") I saw about 8 students perform, and the first one BLEW MY MIND. The boy spoke for no less than three minutes, in VERSE. I couldn't believe it. He reeled it off like some sort of robot, and I had to keep propping my jaw up. It was incredible.
The rest of the day was nice (much like the rest of the week) and I ended it watching a year 11 drama class who were very lively but fun, and I sat watching a ramshackle rendition of Abigail's Party for a while. I was sad to leave, in a way, because the staff were so lovely, but I missed my school and my colleagues and, more than I expected, my kids. As it happened, I ran to the pub and joined my colleague in a rather long evening, but it was nice seeing them and catching up over a bit of karaoke.
I'm a little sad at how quickly half term flew by, especially as I didn't get all the marking done that I needed to but I did get to catch up with my lovely friends and saw my family too. I suppose I should go to bed now - school day starts in 5 1/2 hours. Ouch.
So, yes. 100 days. I can't quite believe it myself. It's amazing to think of how far I and my fellow Teachy Firsties have come - and yet I don't like the idea of having to go through it all again. I know it's going to be easier than the first three half terms, but at the same time it's going to be exhausting.
After being away from the school for two whole weeks, I'm pretty nervous about going back tomorrow, so am writing this now because I can't sleep. I suppose I'll go back to the last day of term.
After meeting my colleagues for breakfast (they had inset so were treating themselves to a fry up) I ran to The Outstanding School a little late but excited about what I knew was coming that day. That's right - there were serenades a plenty!
In the three lessons I observed, I saw no less than 6 separate serenades, as well as hearing several more from neighboring classrooms, when the melodies floated in through the Victorian walls, to many a student's amusement. It was a lovely tradition that could never in a million years translate to our kids and our school, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
To be honest, after a week of observations and a nerve-wracking lesson, I was pretty exhausted by the Friday, and so politely sat in the corner of each classroom, diligently taking notes and listening in.
One class which astounded me the most was a year 7 group, where the students had to plan and perform oral stories based around Beowulf. Despite the three serenades interrupting ("OK, I'm going to give you ten seconds to talk about that, then ten seconds to calm down, then we're going to continue...") I saw about 8 students perform, and the first one BLEW MY MIND. The boy spoke for no less than three minutes, in VERSE. I couldn't believe it. He reeled it off like some sort of robot, and I had to keep propping my jaw up. It was incredible.
The rest of the day was nice (much like the rest of the week) and I ended it watching a year 11 drama class who were very lively but fun, and I sat watching a ramshackle rendition of Abigail's Party for a while. I was sad to leave, in a way, because the staff were so lovely, but I missed my school and my colleagues and, more than I expected, my kids. As it happened, I ran to the pub and joined my colleague in a rather long evening, but it was nice seeing them and catching up over a bit of karaoke.
I'm a little sad at how quickly half term flew by, especially as I didn't get all the marking done that I needed to but I did get to catch up with my lovely friends and saw my family too. I suppose I should go to bed now - school day starts in 5 1/2 hours. Ouch.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Days 98-99: Nice
Wednesday went past pretty quickly. I had lots of observations today, which were all pretty interesting, and it was nice to see some active learning in the year 8 lesson in the morning (an activity I might try myself too.)
I was mortified that I nearly fell asleep in one of the lessons, because I just feel so exhausted. I suppose coming to the end of half term and being utterly ground down has finally caught up with me, and being in such a relaxed environment meant that my body is switching off.
After school I, once again, skipped back to my school, although this time for year 11 parents' evening. As it turned out, none of my kids turned up. I did therefore have time to sort out a few things, including cover, although I was disappointed to miss K and his sister. I did actually bump into them as we left the building, but never mind. I ended the day the only way I know how: in the pub. This would turn out to be a mistake, but at the time I just wanted to catch up with my colleagues, and it was nice to hang out with some of the lovely Teachy Firsties in my school.
On Thursday, as I sat on the slowest bus known to man, crawling through the rush hour traffic on my way to The Outstanding School, I passed my school and felt a pang. Not from the ulcer which has surely developed from the stress of oversleeping and being late, or the headache from the midweek drink-induced hangover, but from seeing dozens of 'my' kids dragging themselves through the school gates. I actually missed them.
Of course, this could have been because I was going to teach a lesson today and I was dreading it, or because observing three lessons a day, no matter how relaxing, is actually quite dull. It reminded me of the feeling I had when we took the year 11s to see An Inspector Calls, and they were so well behaved and gawky I felt rather proud of them.
I shook this feeling off and returned to my bacon sandwich, willing the bus to hurry the hell up as I was already late, and eventually got in, 15 minutes later than planned. I panicked immediately when I made my way to the HOD's form room and saw they weren't there, and realised that I had less than two hours to prepare for the lesson I would be teaching and had no Internet access. It was OK though; I sat in the staff room on my laptop which I had cleverly brought with me and made a little power point and decided to go with my original idea for the lesson - relating the Lord of the Flies to The Bacchae. Eventually the HOD turned up, and after embarrassingly admitting that I wasn't ready to teach it so I'd be missing my first observation, then asking his advice when he had a lesson, I set to work on finishing it off.
The time flew by, and he came to collect me after break to take me off to his class. I started doing that infuriating thing I do when I'm nervous: over thinking. I questioned him on how I should present the questions to the group, and he politely advised me, although I felt he must have been growing tired of me by now. We came into the classroom and the kids all looked up expectantly. He set up the computer, did the register, then introduced me.
And off I went. I was so incredibly nervous, my voice was jumpy to begin with, and I set them the tasks awkwardly and gave them a time limit. Luckily they all got on with it and I went around asking them what they thought. Despite my admittedly confusing instructions they all seemed to grasp what I wanted them to do, and thankfully were doing it! I warmed up a bit, then had a rather stilted feedback session where I prodded them with extra questions, which at times were a tad embarrassing, but the kids seemed to humour me.
I launched into the second part of the lesson - The Bacchae, and it seemed to go down OK. The kids read through the scene I gave them and then I asked them some more slightly awkwardly put questions about it. Some of them seemed to get where I was coming from, and with 15 minutes to spare I set them the task of staging the death of Simon from the book. I'm not sure why... One group even agreed to perform it, although it was a little awkward, and I was thankful that they did.
The lesson was over pretty soon (1 hour 20 mins lasts a lot less than I thought it would) and I was treated to lunch by the HOD. We sat with a member of SLT who asked me how I was getting on. I said the school and the staff were really nice.
"NICE? Surely you can do better than that?"
"Er, OK... the school is amazing and the staff are wonderful."
What a strange man.
After the stress of teaching faded, I felt much better, and was able to relax for the afternoon, before watching a Latin lesson in the last period. Although it was a little lecture-y, it was actually a fantastic lesson and I really enjoyed it. It was also nice to see that there were some naughtier kids in the school (names were written on the board and everything!)
I ended up leaving pretty early, without really saying goodbye, because I was so exhausted. I'm looking forward to half term more than I can say, although really this week has been a real treat. I must remember to buy a card and chocolates for the lovely staff though.
I was mortified that I nearly fell asleep in one of the lessons, because I just feel so exhausted. I suppose coming to the end of half term and being utterly ground down has finally caught up with me, and being in such a relaxed environment meant that my body is switching off.
After school I, once again, skipped back to my school, although this time for year 11 parents' evening. As it turned out, none of my kids turned up. I did therefore have time to sort out a few things, including cover, although I was disappointed to miss K and his sister. I did actually bump into them as we left the building, but never mind. I ended the day the only way I know how: in the pub. This would turn out to be a mistake, but at the time I just wanted to catch up with my colleagues, and it was nice to hang out with some of the lovely Teachy Firsties in my school.
On Thursday, as I sat on the slowest bus known to man, crawling through the rush hour traffic on my way to The Outstanding School, I passed my school and felt a pang. Not from the ulcer which has surely developed from the stress of oversleeping and being late, or the headache from the midweek drink-induced hangover, but from seeing dozens of 'my' kids dragging themselves through the school gates. I actually missed them.
Of course, this could have been because I was going to teach a lesson today and I was dreading it, or because observing three lessons a day, no matter how relaxing, is actually quite dull. It reminded me of the feeling I had when we took the year 11s to see An Inspector Calls, and they were so well behaved and gawky I felt rather proud of them.
I shook this feeling off and returned to my bacon sandwich, willing the bus to hurry the hell up as I was already late, and eventually got in, 15 minutes later than planned. I panicked immediately when I made my way to the HOD's form room and saw they weren't there, and realised that I had less than two hours to prepare for the lesson I would be teaching and had no Internet access. It was OK though; I sat in the staff room on my laptop which I had cleverly brought with me and made a little power point and decided to go with my original idea for the lesson - relating the Lord of the Flies to The Bacchae. Eventually the HOD turned up, and after embarrassingly admitting that I wasn't ready to teach it so I'd be missing my first observation, then asking his advice when he had a lesson, I set to work on finishing it off.
The time flew by, and he came to collect me after break to take me off to his class. I started doing that infuriating thing I do when I'm nervous: over thinking. I questioned him on how I should present the questions to the group, and he politely advised me, although I felt he must have been growing tired of me by now. We came into the classroom and the kids all looked up expectantly. He set up the computer, did the register, then introduced me.
And off I went. I was so incredibly nervous, my voice was jumpy to begin with, and I set them the tasks awkwardly and gave them a time limit. Luckily they all got on with it and I went around asking them what they thought. Despite my admittedly confusing instructions they all seemed to grasp what I wanted them to do, and thankfully were doing it! I warmed up a bit, then had a rather stilted feedback session where I prodded them with extra questions, which at times were a tad embarrassing, but the kids seemed to humour me.
I launched into the second part of the lesson - The Bacchae, and it seemed to go down OK. The kids read through the scene I gave them and then I asked them some more slightly awkwardly put questions about it. Some of them seemed to get where I was coming from, and with 15 minutes to spare I set them the task of staging the death of Simon from the book. I'm not sure why... One group even agreed to perform it, although it was a little awkward, and I was thankful that they did.
The lesson was over pretty soon (1 hour 20 mins lasts a lot less than I thought it would) and I was treated to lunch by the HOD. We sat with a member of SLT who asked me how I was getting on. I said the school and the staff were really nice.
"NICE? Surely you can do better than that?"
"Er, OK... the school is amazing and the staff are wonderful."
What a strange man.
After the stress of teaching faded, I felt much better, and was able to relax for the afternoon, before watching a Latin lesson in the last period. Although it was a little lecture-y, it was actually a fantastic lesson and I really enjoyed it. It was also nice to see that there were some naughtier kids in the school (names were written on the board and everything!)
I ended up leaving pretty early, without really saying goodbye, because I was so exhausted. I'm looking forward to half term more than I can say, although really this week has been a real treat. I must remember to buy a card and chocolates for the lovely staff though.
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Day 97: Antithesis
Is the grass always greener on the other side? I've been wondering that myself, especially considering the questions I've been asked from staff and colleagues at both schools today.
It is not without a profound sense of irony that I sum up as follows: today, I was kindly given a lift in to work from a couple of colleagues at school. I had planned on taking the normal bus and timing it so I could stop off for a chat with my smoking colleagues at 8am. Thanks to the lift, I was able to do so, and was somewhat surprised upon reaching the school to see a row of twenty or so police officers in lurid fluorescent jackets flanking a shiny knife arch at the school gates. Some welcome.
"Oh, is this your first knife arch?" my colleague asked, dryly.
How long had I been gone?
Upon eventually reaching The Outstanding School, one member of the English department there commented that she'd seen our students "being frisked" on their way in.
"They're not that bad." I protested. Although she did also mention that she saw police there "all the time." Apparently at The Outstanding School, they only turn up when the students there get mugged occasionally.
"By our kids?" I joked. Not funny, really.
I was given the privilege of attending a whole school assembly, and witnessed an aspect of The Outstanding School's 'high achievement' ethos - The Jack Petchy Award. This is given to pupils who go out of their way to help the community, make a difference, or 'overcome adversity' to succeed academically. The (clearly prejudiced) cynic in me asked what sort of adversity these students have to overcome, especially compared to my kids, although I tried to suppress that thought.
I was also delighted to witness an annual tradition at the school - Valentine's Day serenades. There, in front of my eyes, was an actual real life barbershop quartet, in full costume (I thought they were butchers to begin with, and this was some sort of meat-related school competition. Not quite.) For the measly price of one pound, students could nominate someone that deserved a serenade, and they would be visited during lessons and, well, serenaded by the barber shop quartet (or a girl band equivalent - nail bar quartet?) I was flabbergasted. A lovely idea, but I wonder how it would go down with my kids?
Anyway, the rest of the day was pretty relaxing, just observing a few lessons, including Latin, which has inspired me to set up the Latin Club I'd been toying with. Or research it, at least. I also saw the year 10s I'll be team teaching on Thursday. The lesson was pretty interesting, although when I went to speak to a few students I felt a little intimidated and just listened to their ideas without being able to think of any questions to ask them, other than what they thought. I'll need to work on that by Thursday.
Reflections on the day... Well, the most striking is just how normal and nice the staff were. I'm not sure what I was expecting, presumably some sort of educational Stepford Wives setup, which is far from the truth. The only difference at this school is that *all* the kids are very clever. Of course, there are clever kids at my school, but just not as many in the same class.
I went back to my school after the day had finished to set the cover for tomorrow, which was irritating to say the least, but I did manage to tidy up my classroom a bit. It's parents' evening for year 11 tomorrow, so of course I'll be back again to sort it out. In the meantime, I was pleased to see some of the work my students managed.
I'm looking forward to the end of the week, although to be honest, I'm more so looking forward to half term, and sorting out my mounting piles of paperwork which are building up at an alarming rate.
It is not without a profound sense of irony that I sum up as follows: today, I was kindly given a lift in to work from a couple of colleagues at school. I had planned on taking the normal bus and timing it so I could stop off for a chat with my smoking colleagues at 8am. Thanks to the lift, I was able to do so, and was somewhat surprised upon reaching the school to see a row of twenty or so police officers in lurid fluorescent jackets flanking a shiny knife arch at the school gates. Some welcome.
"Oh, is this your first knife arch?" my colleague asked, dryly.
How long had I been gone?
Upon eventually reaching The Outstanding School, one member of the English department there commented that she'd seen our students "being frisked" on their way in.
"They're not that bad." I protested. Although she did also mention that she saw police there "all the time." Apparently at The Outstanding School, they only turn up when the students there get mugged occasionally.
"By our kids?" I joked. Not funny, really.
I was given the privilege of attending a whole school assembly, and witnessed an aspect of The Outstanding School's 'high achievement' ethos - The Jack Petchy Award. This is given to pupils who go out of their way to help the community, make a difference, or 'overcome adversity' to succeed academically. The (clearly prejudiced) cynic in me asked what sort of adversity these students have to overcome, especially compared to my kids, although I tried to suppress that thought.
I was also delighted to witness an annual tradition at the school - Valentine's Day serenades. There, in front of my eyes, was an actual real life barbershop quartet, in full costume (I thought they were butchers to begin with, and this was some sort of meat-related school competition. Not quite.) For the measly price of one pound, students could nominate someone that deserved a serenade, and they would be visited during lessons and, well, serenaded by the barber shop quartet (or a girl band equivalent - nail bar quartet?) I was flabbergasted. A lovely idea, but I wonder how it would go down with my kids?
Anyway, the rest of the day was pretty relaxing, just observing a few lessons, including Latin, which has inspired me to set up the Latin Club I'd been toying with. Or research it, at least. I also saw the year 10s I'll be team teaching on Thursday. The lesson was pretty interesting, although when I went to speak to a few students I felt a little intimidated and just listened to their ideas without being able to think of any questions to ask them, other than what they thought. I'll need to work on that by Thursday.
Reflections on the day... Well, the most striking is just how normal and nice the staff were. I'm not sure what I was expecting, presumably some sort of educational Stepford Wives setup, which is far from the truth. The only difference at this school is that *all* the kids are very clever. Of course, there are clever kids at my school, but just not as many in the same class.
I went back to my school after the day had finished to set the cover for tomorrow, which was irritating to say the least, but I did manage to tidy up my classroom a bit. It's parents' evening for year 11 tomorrow, so of course I'll be back again to sort it out. In the meantime, I was pleased to see some of the work my students managed.
I'm looking forward to the end of the week, although to be honest, I'm more so looking forward to half term, and sorting out my mounting piles of paperwork which are building up at an alarming rate.
Monday, 8 February 2010
Day 96: So that's how the other half live...
I didn't sleep much last night. I've got to admit, I was pretty nervous about going to The Outstanding School. I impressed myself by getting out of bed on time and not only getting myself breakfast before I left, but also getting a sandwich made too.
I had to get to my school in the morning to sort out the day's cover that I'd neglected to do on Friday. I regretted this decision as soon as I got in, although I remember feeling like I wanted to die last week so really this was the best option.
I got it all done by 8am and ran out the door, stopping off to say hello to the friendly smokers on the way. It felt pretty weird walking away from school, especially when I had so many lessons to miss today, but I ploughed on. I ran into one of my more challenging year 8s, W, on the way.
"Where are you going Miss?"
"To The Outstanding School for the week. What happened to you? Why the crutches?"
"They're my friend's."
(No friend to be seen.)
"O....K... have a nice week."
I managed to get there just before half past, and signed myself in at reception and waited for the head of department to arrive. He bustled in merrily, and led me off to get a cup of coffee then made small talk whilst introducing me to the rest of the department, including the young male teacher I'd met on Wednesday, and who I'd be observing later. I followed the HoD to his form group, who were a largely bored selection of sixth formers. (No vertical tutoring here.)
I had first period free, so was set up in the English stock cupboard, searching through the department's resources and deciding what to steal (decided: everything.) I was then collected by the lovely HoD who took me up to his classroom to watch his year 12s. They were discussing poetry, and I found it rather interesting, although I'd been up for so long that I was feeling rather sleepy, embarrassingly enough.
After the brief break I watched the young teacher with his year 9s. They were writing poetry, and although a couple were a little chatty (one was even moved) the kids did work in silence. For a long time. I was so taken aback, I was practically speechless after the lesson. No answering back, no confusion or argument over the task, no teeth kissing. I had to stifle a laugh when the kids were doing their work and all I could think of was one of my own year 9s, when asked to write on her white board what genre of film Rambo was, wrote "ROCK".
Nothing like that here: the kids wrote some amazing poetry with relatively little guidance other than a few poems for inspiration.
I had a great chat with that teacher on the way to lunch, and was even treated to a free meal. The school itself is housed in an old building set around a relatively dilapidated quad, with myriad posters advertising the various societies run by the students (gardenology club caught my eye in particular) but the otherwise nondescript lunch hall was separate. As I walked around the school, I noticed something. Just being around the corridors was a weird experience in relation to my school. Of course, the kids were hardly from the Village of the Damned, but there was so much less aggression that you could feel it.
I had another free after lunch, so spent it shamelessly downloading their resources onto my USB.
After that, I was summoned to the last lesson - another group of year 9s, who were doing Richard III. The group was a bit livelier but were still willing to write paragraphs on verbal irony with five minutes to go. The teacher was really fun and spirited, and perfectly comfortable with the group, who were all on task, as far as I could tell.
I was fairly embarrassed that, as I was so tired, I didn't really get up and walk around, or talk to the kids, which I should have been doing. I hope they didn't think I was some sack of crap.
I ran off as soon as the bell went, so I could get back to my school to set my cover for the next day. Not ideal, but had to be done. Plus it means I get a slight lie-in tomorrow. I'm looking forward to the rest of the week, I really hope I'll learn a lot from them.
I had to get to my school in the morning to sort out the day's cover that I'd neglected to do on Friday. I regretted this decision as soon as I got in, although I remember feeling like I wanted to die last week so really this was the best option.
I got it all done by 8am and ran out the door, stopping off to say hello to the friendly smokers on the way. It felt pretty weird walking away from school, especially when I had so many lessons to miss today, but I ploughed on. I ran into one of my more challenging year 8s, W, on the way.
"Where are you going Miss?"
"To The Outstanding School for the week. What happened to you? Why the crutches?"
"They're my friend's."
(No friend to be seen.)
"O....K... have a nice week."
I managed to get there just before half past, and signed myself in at reception and waited for the head of department to arrive. He bustled in merrily, and led me off to get a cup of coffee then made small talk whilst introducing me to the rest of the department, including the young male teacher I'd met on Wednesday, and who I'd be observing later. I followed the HoD to his form group, who were a largely bored selection of sixth formers. (No vertical tutoring here.)
I had first period free, so was set up in the English stock cupboard, searching through the department's resources and deciding what to steal (decided: everything.) I was then collected by the lovely HoD who took me up to his classroom to watch his year 12s. They were discussing poetry, and I found it rather interesting, although I'd been up for so long that I was feeling rather sleepy, embarrassingly enough.
After the brief break I watched the young teacher with his year 9s. They were writing poetry, and although a couple were a little chatty (one was even moved) the kids did work in silence. For a long time. I was so taken aback, I was practically speechless after the lesson. No answering back, no confusion or argument over the task, no teeth kissing. I had to stifle a laugh when the kids were doing their work and all I could think of was one of my own year 9s, when asked to write on her white board what genre of film Rambo was, wrote "ROCK".
Nothing like that here: the kids wrote some amazing poetry with relatively little guidance other than a few poems for inspiration.
I had a great chat with that teacher on the way to lunch, and was even treated to a free meal. The school itself is housed in an old building set around a relatively dilapidated quad, with myriad posters advertising the various societies run by the students (gardenology club caught my eye in particular) but the otherwise nondescript lunch hall was separate. As I walked around the school, I noticed something. Just being around the corridors was a weird experience in relation to my school. Of course, the kids were hardly from the Village of the Damned, but there was so much less aggression that you could feel it.
I had another free after lunch, so spent it shamelessly downloading their resources onto my USB.
After that, I was summoned to the last lesson - another group of year 9s, who were doing Richard III. The group was a bit livelier but were still willing to write paragraphs on verbal irony with five minutes to go. The teacher was really fun and spirited, and perfectly comfortable with the group, who were all on task, as far as I could tell.
I was fairly embarrassed that, as I was so tired, I didn't really get up and walk around, or talk to the kids, which I should have been doing. I hope they didn't think I was some sack of crap.
I ran off as soon as the bell went, so I could get back to my school to set my cover for the next day. Not ideal, but had to be done. Plus it means I get a slight lie-in tomorrow. I'm looking forward to the rest of the week, I really hope I'll learn a lot from them.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Days 93-95: Welcome to Civilisation
The rest of the week flew by remarkably quickly.
On Wednesday my year 9s had their assessment, and I was gobsmacked by how they settled down to do it. My colleague gave me some pretty nice feedback, saying I got them settled well and managed to fit in the whole assessment. A couple of the kids were acting up, particularly A. I was impressed by how hard U worked, although to be honest he just wants to do well on the assessment so that he can apply to do some course next year (fair enough, to be honest.)
After the pleasant-as-usual year 11, I had year 10 last lesson, and was observed by my professional tutor and LDO. I tried doing a starter on semi-colons, which wasn't brilliant, although a lot of the kids did manage to fit them in to their work, and I had a real laugh reading out the work of one of the girls who wrote a surprisingly accurate sequel to the Twilight saga.
After the lesson and a quick chat with my observers, I went down to meet A for our after school meeting. I wasn't looking forward to it, as I didn't really know what to do, and I had to go to The Outstanding School afterwards to organise my second school placement for next week. Big surprise: A stood me up.
I went off to visit The Outstanding School and was warmly received by the Head of English, who gave me a tour and asked what I wanted to see. He seemed very nice indeed, and entertained me for an hour. The only criticism I had, which was to be expected, was the reaction I got when I was introduced to someone and they were told my school's name. With each one, I had a sympathetic smile and a nod of "welcome to civilisation." I'm not sure what to say about that.
After my meeting, I went back to school, where year 9 options evening was in full swing. I ran off to the pub with my colleague, and ran into A and his mum on the way. Apparently A didn't think he needed to go to out meeting, because his mother had called to say she couldn't make it. I decided to give him another chance, so arranged to meet him the same time on Thursday.
Thursday came and went pretty smoothly, and I was once again looking forward to my meeting with A. I went down to reception, a couple of minutes later than expected, to meet him. I waited for a while, with no sign. One of the SLT who was on duty at the reception door informed me that he had "gotten into trouble" so I decided to give him five minutes just in case. I turned to look through the glass reception doors in time to see him leaving with his mother. Confused, I walked in and was intercepted by another member of SLT.
"Forget about him," she said. "Pretend he was never here."
A, as it turned out, was called a "fat shit" by some girl in his class, and responded by throwing a chair at her. He was excluded as a result. I felt a mix of guilt and relief when I was told that his mother had protested his being asked to leave as he had "a special lesson with his English teacher" but had been shot down by the SLT. I have no idea what the future holds for him now. I guess I tried, just not hard enough.
Friday was significantly less exciting, and my year 10 lesson went by pretty quickly. Year 7 were much better behaved in the library, and I even managed to read about three pages of a Margaret Atwood novel. I finished at lunch time, as always, but didn't manage to get as much work down as I wanted, as always. I had intended to sort out my cover for the next week, but I left it too late, so got into a bit of a panic when my colleagues started leaving for the pub and I didn't know what to do with the kids. I decided to leave the cover for Monday morning, because I didn't have to be at The Outstanding School until 8.30am, so would have plenty of time. I'm sure I'll regret that decision later...
On Wednesday my year 9s had their assessment, and I was gobsmacked by how they settled down to do it. My colleague gave me some pretty nice feedback, saying I got them settled well and managed to fit in the whole assessment. A couple of the kids were acting up, particularly A. I was impressed by how hard U worked, although to be honest he just wants to do well on the assessment so that he can apply to do some course next year (fair enough, to be honest.)
After the pleasant-as-usual year 11, I had year 10 last lesson, and was observed by my professional tutor and LDO. I tried doing a starter on semi-colons, which wasn't brilliant, although a lot of the kids did manage to fit them in to their work, and I had a real laugh reading out the work of one of the girls who wrote a surprisingly accurate sequel to the Twilight saga.
After the lesson and a quick chat with my observers, I went down to meet A for our after school meeting. I wasn't looking forward to it, as I didn't really know what to do, and I had to go to The Outstanding School afterwards to organise my second school placement for next week. Big surprise: A stood me up.
I went off to visit The Outstanding School and was warmly received by the Head of English, who gave me a tour and asked what I wanted to see. He seemed very nice indeed, and entertained me for an hour. The only criticism I had, which was to be expected, was the reaction I got when I was introduced to someone and they were told my school's name. With each one, I had a sympathetic smile and a nod of "welcome to civilisation." I'm not sure what to say about that.
After my meeting, I went back to school, where year 9 options evening was in full swing. I ran off to the pub with my colleague, and ran into A and his mum on the way. Apparently A didn't think he needed to go to out meeting, because his mother had called to say she couldn't make it. I decided to give him another chance, so arranged to meet him the same time on Thursday.
Thursday came and went pretty smoothly, and I was once again looking forward to my meeting with A. I went down to reception, a couple of minutes later than expected, to meet him. I waited for a while, with no sign. One of the SLT who was on duty at the reception door informed me that he had "gotten into trouble" so I decided to give him five minutes just in case. I turned to look through the glass reception doors in time to see him leaving with his mother. Confused, I walked in and was intercepted by another member of SLT.
"Forget about him," she said. "Pretend he was never here."
A, as it turned out, was called a "fat shit" by some girl in his class, and responded by throwing a chair at her. He was excluded as a result. I felt a mix of guilt and relief when I was told that his mother had protested his being asked to leave as he had "a special lesson with his English teacher" but had been shot down by the SLT. I have no idea what the future holds for him now. I guess I tried, just not hard enough.
Friday was significantly less exciting, and my year 10 lesson went by pretty quickly. Year 7 were much better behaved in the library, and I even managed to read about three pages of a Margaret Atwood novel. I finished at lunch time, as always, but didn't manage to get as much work down as I wanted, as always. I had intended to sort out my cover for the next week, but I left it too late, so got into a bit of a panic when my colleagues started leaving for the pub and I didn't know what to do with the kids. I decided to leave the cover for Monday morning, because I didn't have to be at The Outstanding School until 8.30am, so would have plenty of time. I'm sure I'll regret that decision later...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)