I used to be a teacher. Teaching was one of the most draining and exhausting things I've ever done, and it was also one of the most rewarding and inspiring things I've ever done.
These days my forays into the classroom are limited to tutoring at university while I pursue other goals, but today I'm going to reminisce fondly about my very first day of teaching for realsies as a fully-qualified teacher with no less than THREE successful practicums under my belt (a whole 12 weeks in total). "Stand and Deliver" was the nickname Will Ferrel gave me when I saw him in New York in his stage play, You're Welcome, America, as a series of stock responses to individuals' professions. It seems an apt title for what follows.
Fresh out of university, I'd applied to the Meatgrinder; the juggernaut that was the government education system.
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| Source: http://www.theman-cave.com/2010/08/pink-floyd-wall-1982.html |
I was given a place at a local senior high school the day before school was due to start. I'm going to call the school Rock Ridge Senior High School. Firstly, because this experience reminded me of what it was like for the new Sheriff on his first day in Blazing Saddles. And the people who know me well will work out the other reason why.
I arrived, bright-eyed and idealistic, and feeling very much like I did my own first day of school. Would I know anyone? Would I get lost? Would they like me? The latter referred to the staff and students equally. I was taken on a brief tour of the school and shown the key components, such as the office and the staffroom. As a product of the government education system myself, the layout and architecture of the school itself had an eery familiarity to it, as they tend to follow similar layouts. This school however, I was disappointed to note, did not have a reading pit in the library. A small detail, perhaps, but as my form period (or mentor, house, tutor group, whatever your school happens to call it) was overseen by the battleaxe librarian, the subterranean reading area had provided us with sanctuary from her stern, judgemental gaze as she attempted to prevent Scott from reading out "Dolly Doctor" letters to us all, complete with theatrical gestures as we tried to fill what was, from our perspective, a completely pointless block of time in our school day.
The staffroom boasted a fully-stocked and padlocked drinks fridge, the portents of which I completely failed to recognise, naive engenue that I was. I was then ushered into the office of my new boss, the Head of English, who was named, somewhat appropriately, Read. I introduced myself, and he pulled out my résumé from one of the piles of papers which would perpetually adorn his desk.
"Says here you went to UWA. So what are you doing in a place like this?"
I had no response to this.
An extremely awkward interview ensued, and then I was handed my timetable and sent on my way.
My first class was a year nine class, and I WISH this was an exaggeration of how it went:
As a new teacher, and the last to join the staff, I was given the classes that we left. This meant the classes no one wanted. This year nine class was a 'low ability' class, which basically meant that they had very little interest in school in general, and English in particular. I let the students into the room, anticipating an elaborate first lesson, getting to know them and introducing the subject.
Oh, I got to know them all right.
As I attempted to take the roll, I had to corral loud and disinterested students, and eventually had to give up on getting Craig to stop banging a chain across a desk at the back of the room while staring demonically at me and saying 'slut' over and over in menacing tones in time to the beating of the chain. Before I'd even finished reading out their names, two girls had started a fight at the front of the room. As I tried to calm them down, I looked over to find James setting fire to masking tape that he'd surreptitiously wrapped around the metal table leg, while Steven was attempting to melt a plastic chair at another desk with a lighter, and Kale tried to kick a table to death off to the side.
In the ensuing chaos as I proceeded to put out fires, Natasha climbed out the window.
We were on the second floor.
After some cajoling and coaxing, I managed to get Natasha to come back inside, and relieved James and Steven of their lighters. A desperate call to the deputy relieved me of Craig for the lesson.
By the end of the first term, I was in the swing of things, could detect cigarettes and lighters from the way pockets bulged and would confiscated them 'ere they had a chance to burn anything, and had convinced Craig to swap his bike chain for a pen.
But I'll never forget my first day of school.
"Says here you went to UWA. So what are you doing in a place like this?"
I had no response to this.
An extremely awkward interview ensued, and then I was handed my timetable and sent on my way.
My first class was a year nine class, and I WISH this was an exaggeration of how it went:
As a new teacher, and the last to join the staff, I was given the classes that we left. This meant the classes no one wanted. This year nine class was a 'low ability' class, which basically meant that they had very little interest in school in general, and English in particular. I let the students into the room, anticipating an elaborate first lesson, getting to know them and introducing the subject.
Oh, I got to know them all right.
As I attempted to take the roll, I had to corral loud and disinterested students, and eventually had to give up on getting Craig to stop banging a chain across a desk at the back of the room while staring demonically at me and saying 'slut' over and over in menacing tones in time to the beating of the chain. Before I'd even finished reading out their names, two girls had started a fight at the front of the room. As I tried to calm them down, I looked over to find James setting fire to masking tape that he'd surreptitiously wrapped around the metal table leg, while Steven was attempting to melt a plastic chair at another desk with a lighter, and Kale tried to kick a table to death off to the side.
In the ensuing chaos as I proceeded to put out fires, Natasha climbed out the window.
We were on the second floor.
After some cajoling and coaxing, I managed to get Natasha to come back inside, and relieved James and Steven of their lighters. A desperate call to the deputy relieved me of Craig for the lesson.
By the end of the first term, I was in the swing of things, could detect cigarettes and lighters from the way pockets bulged and would confiscated them 'ere they had a chance to burn anything, and had convinced Craig to swap his bike chain for a pen.
But I'll never forget my first day of school.
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