Sorry for the lack of updates this week. It's been a bit of a slow week and I don't really want to post updates saying 'my agency didn't call today'. Anyway, on to the point of this update.
When I was doing my PGCE, I remember in the first week one of the course coordinators giving a lecture that ended with a slide saying 'keep playing rugby'. It wasn't just about rugby, of course, but this slide turned out to be some of the best advice I received in training. He said that whether it was rugby, reading the sunday paper, being with your children or walking your dog, it was important to keep doing the things you loved despite the work load. And he was right. Teaching is, rightly or wrongly, competitive. We see each other spending hours making flashy resources, meticulously filing or doing extra planning until the early hours. All of these things are important, and I believe in spending good time in planning lessons, but life is also important.
I don't believe unhealthy teachers are the best teachers they can be. I don't believe that all the pretty resources in the world can replace a good night's sleep, plenty of water and regular exercise. Teaching is demanding, even though many people don't believe this. So time spent to walk or run or play the sport you love is not time wasted, is not time taken away from all the work you have to do, it is a part of the work you have to do. An important part. If you are energised, motivated and calm, your lessons will be energising, motivating and calming. I believe in giving myself a fighting chance, and staying healthy is the best way to do that.
In other news, I'd love to get more followers on this, so if you like it, please do follow.
Friday, 22 April 2011
Monday, 18 April 2011
But our normal teacher lets us...
The one thing I hear, without fail, every lesson is 'but our teacher lets us'. It's what happens with supply. I'm sure I pulled a few of those myself. But it's still largely irritating... And more largely funny. Here are some of the genuine pearls I have been told that 'our normal teacher lets us do':
1. Listen too music. (Thought I'd start with a tame one.)
2. Rip up our work when we've finished.
3. Take our shirts off if we're hot.
4. Eat our crisps if we're hungry.
5. Brush our hair.
6. Colour in my arm.
7. Draw on the board.
8. Have a sleep if we finish early.
Genuinely. Sadly, my answer is always, always, "well, then, it's a shame I'm not Mr or Mrs so and so".
1. Listen too music. (Thought I'd start with a tame one.)
2. Rip up our work when we've finished.
3. Take our shirts off if we're hot.
4. Eat our crisps if we're hungry.
5. Brush our hair.
6. Colour in my arm.
7. Draw on the board.
8. Have a sleep if we finish early.
Genuinely. Sadly, my answer is always, always, "well, then, it's a shame I'm not Mr or Mrs so and so".
Sunday, 17 April 2011
New Term Eve
Here in my little corner of the North West, the Easter half term holidays are over and tomorrow sees the start of a new term. It's an odd set up this April, with Easter next week and the royal wedding the week after, but I'm hoping to be out and about tomorrow, and bringing you the brightest and best stories.
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Guilty Pleasures and the One Who Changes You.
One of my biggest guilty weekend pleasures is the blog Postsecret , where people share their innermost secrets via postcards. A while ago, I came across this postcard:
And it really touched me. It also got me thinking about the One, that one kid that makes you realise that this is what you're meant to do. I strive for anonymity in this blog, and I don't think this entry will change this, but I'm going to tell you all the story of my one, my kid that made me think I could do alright at this.
I spent the third year of my degree teaching English in French Middle Schools. Whenever anyone asked if I was going to be a teacher, I was emphatic in my 'no'. But, over the year, the job started to creep in to my head. I liked planning lessons, liked being in a class room even more. And then I met Kazim.
Kazim was a refugee from Georgia placed temporarily in the district I was teaching. He didn't speak French or English, so I was surprised that he was put in my group. He had huge, sad eyes and a much bigger smile, and he was like a sponge. He listened to everything I said, even though he didn't understand it, and he repeated everything perfectly. He learned - I still can't remember how - the phrase 'big boss' and used to tell me I was the big boss all the time.
Then, one day, he suddenly wasn't there any more. My mentor just shrugged and said he had been placed somewhere else. For a long time, and even now, I wonder what happened to him, where he ended up, how he settled in.
I think every child you teach touches you in some way, even if it's small. But the way Kazim learned the things I tried in a haphazard way to teach him gave me a lot more than it probably gave him: it made me think I could be a teacher, maybe should be a teacher after all. It, quite literally, changed my life.
And it really touched me. It also got me thinking about the One, that one kid that makes you realise that this is what you're meant to do. I strive for anonymity in this blog, and I don't think this entry will change this, but I'm going to tell you all the story of my one, my kid that made me think I could do alright at this.
I spent the third year of my degree teaching English in French Middle Schools. Whenever anyone asked if I was going to be a teacher, I was emphatic in my 'no'. But, over the year, the job started to creep in to my head. I liked planning lessons, liked being in a class room even more. And then I met Kazim.
Kazim was a refugee from Georgia placed temporarily in the district I was teaching. He didn't speak French or English, so I was surprised that he was put in my group. He had huge, sad eyes and a much bigger smile, and he was like a sponge. He listened to everything I said, even though he didn't understand it, and he repeated everything perfectly. He learned - I still can't remember how - the phrase 'big boss' and used to tell me I was the big boss all the time.
Then, one day, he suddenly wasn't there any more. My mentor just shrugged and said he had been placed somewhere else. For a long time, and even now, I wonder what happened to him, where he ended up, how he settled in.
I think every child you teach touches you in some way, even if it's small. But the way Kazim learned the things I tried in a haphazard way to teach him gave me a lot more than it probably gave him: it made me think I could be a teacher, maybe should be a teacher after all. It, quite literally, changed my life.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Dream Schools.
Jamie Oliver's series Dream School was something that I avoided watching. Its premise, taking twenty pupils excluded from mainstream education and teaming them up with leading field experts as teachers annoyed me from the off-set. None of the celebrities were trained teachers, and I felt as if the whole thing was belittling the teaching profession, how difficult it is to become a teacher, how hard teachers work to reach every child in their classroom in conditions which make it a near impossible task. If most of us had a class of twenty, I imagine planning and teaching lessons would not be the same challenge it often is.
But I did watch the last episode of the series which aired last night. By the end of the process, over half of the pupils involved in the experiment had returned to mainstream education, many of the rest to apprenticeships or training schemes. What I enjoyed more, though, was the admission of Alistair Campbell that what they were doing, and the results they were attaining, were only possible in that 'unreal situation'. Jamie Oliver added that teachers needed 'more freedom to explore what works in their classrooms'. He also summed up that what the programme had achieved, and what education should be about, was 'finding individual passions and unlocking creativity'.
In that, I think he was right. When I signed up to teacher training, I had visions of inspiring classes, finding the most creative, fun, imaginative ways to teach languages. And I hope that, in some measure, I've achieved that. But amongst targets, observations, planning and inspections it can be very difficult to find each pupil's individual passions and unlock their creativity. And that's very sad.
Although I disagreed with this programme, and although I still think that what it achieved is unrealistic to expect from the average oversubscribed, underfunded comprehensive, it made me think. And it made me remember what education is really about, what I want my classes to be about. It's the end of the half term break here, and I hope I'll be back at work next week. And, if I am, I'll be back there with a new determination to value each and every pupil I come in to contact with.
But I did watch the last episode of the series which aired last night. By the end of the process, over half of the pupils involved in the experiment had returned to mainstream education, many of the rest to apprenticeships or training schemes. What I enjoyed more, though, was the admission of Alistair Campbell that what they were doing, and the results they were attaining, were only possible in that 'unreal situation'. Jamie Oliver added that teachers needed 'more freedom to explore what works in their classrooms'. He also summed up that what the programme had achieved, and what education should be about, was 'finding individual passions and unlocking creativity'.
In that, I think he was right. When I signed up to teacher training, I had visions of inspiring classes, finding the most creative, fun, imaginative ways to teach languages. And I hope that, in some measure, I've achieved that. But amongst targets, observations, planning and inspections it can be very difficult to find each pupil's individual passions and unlock their creativity. And that's very sad.
Although I disagreed with this programme, and although I still think that what it achieved is unrealistic to expect from the average oversubscribed, underfunded comprehensive, it made me think. And it made me remember what education is really about, what I want my classes to be about. It's the end of the half term break here, and I hope I'll be back at work next week. And, if I am, I'll be back there with a new determination to value each and every pupil I come in to contact with.
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
Things they do not tell you about supply.
When I first decided to go on supply, I was really nervous. I'd heard lots of horror stories, lots of classes with pupils fighting and throwing things and generally playing up. And, okay, some of my experiences have been difficult. On supply, you don't sick leave, or free periods, or much notice about what you're teaching. Driving around an unknown area in the rush hour is stressful, and you constantly feel like the new kid. That's the stuff you hear about, the bad stuff.
But here are the things they do not tell you about. Despite its pay irregularities and the early morning phone calls, supply has been a really positive experience for me. Here are some of the reasons why.
1. I have learned so much more in 4 months than I did on pgce. My first day of supply was my first day alone in a classroom. I went home and cried because I felt like I was an awful teacher because the class only completed two out of four tasks. Then my agency rang me to say that the school had requested me for the next day. I filled out my reflective journal - because some of the paper exercises of pgce are incredibly useful - pulled up my socks and went back. I have learned a lot about resilience, about challenging myself, about progressing despite making mistakes.
2. Sometimes, you get to meet amazing classes. I had a group of six formers who inspired me beyond belief. They were intelligent, articulate, capable young adults, and even though I only spent a morning in their company I know they will go on to great things. I spent a period with a year ten drama group who told me exactly what they wanted to do, divided themselves in to groups and got on with it. And they were spectacular. Most people, I hope, are teachers because they love young people, love to be around them, want to inspire them and help them. Supply doesn't mean you don't get to do this.
3. It is a wonderful way of seeing the school-world. By that, I mean that I have had the opportunity to visit many schools and, should jobs come up, I know instantly whether or not they are jobs I want to apply for. You get to experience different discipline policies, management structures and timetables, and I have found this a great asset.
4. It is, without doubt, the best behaviour management cpd you could ask for. I have learned a lot about different classes and different behaviour strategies. I am not a shouter, and sometimes I have had to resort to this on supply. It makes me feel like a failure, but it pushes me to find new ways to control a class to avoid having to ever shout again.
5. I can not think of any other way you would get to meet so many classes. The pupils are, for me, the best thing about supply. I love seeing different classes, watching them show off their skills to a new teacher, seeing how they react to a 'new' person. It's exciting, and, despite all the negatives people reel off, I love it.
It was important to me to talk about the positives about supply, because I want to be very clear about the fact that, whatever else I may post about, I genuinely love it. It has helped me in so many ways. When I came to supply, I wanted to get back in to teaching after illness. My confidence was at an all time low. Four months later, I feel like a 'real' teacher again. When I am in a classroom, I feel like I am where I belong. I love going in to a school and learning its policies and taking on its style, and then the next day, it all begins again.
So, if you are nearing the end of your ITT and don't yet have a post, don't see supply as second best. Think of it as a million new opportunities each day, and embrace each one.
But here are the things they do not tell you about. Despite its pay irregularities and the early morning phone calls, supply has been a really positive experience for me. Here are some of the reasons why.
1. I have learned so much more in 4 months than I did on pgce. My first day of supply was my first day alone in a classroom. I went home and cried because I felt like I was an awful teacher because the class only completed two out of four tasks. Then my agency rang me to say that the school had requested me for the next day. I filled out my reflective journal - because some of the paper exercises of pgce are incredibly useful - pulled up my socks and went back. I have learned a lot about resilience, about challenging myself, about progressing despite making mistakes.
2. Sometimes, you get to meet amazing classes. I had a group of six formers who inspired me beyond belief. They were intelligent, articulate, capable young adults, and even though I only spent a morning in their company I know they will go on to great things. I spent a period with a year ten drama group who told me exactly what they wanted to do, divided themselves in to groups and got on with it. And they were spectacular. Most people, I hope, are teachers because they love young people, love to be around them, want to inspire them and help them. Supply doesn't mean you don't get to do this.
3. It is a wonderful way of seeing the school-world. By that, I mean that I have had the opportunity to visit many schools and, should jobs come up, I know instantly whether or not they are jobs I want to apply for. You get to experience different discipline policies, management structures and timetables, and I have found this a great asset.
4. It is, without doubt, the best behaviour management cpd you could ask for. I have learned a lot about different classes and different behaviour strategies. I am not a shouter, and sometimes I have had to resort to this on supply. It makes me feel like a failure, but it pushes me to find new ways to control a class to avoid having to ever shout again.
5. I can not think of any other way you would get to meet so many classes. The pupils are, for me, the best thing about supply. I love seeing different classes, watching them show off their skills to a new teacher, seeing how they react to a 'new' person. It's exciting, and, despite all the negatives people reel off, I love it.
It was important to me to talk about the positives about supply, because I want to be very clear about the fact that, whatever else I may post about, I genuinely love it. It has helped me in so many ways. When I came to supply, I wanted to get back in to teaching after illness. My confidence was at an all time low. Four months later, I feel like a 'real' teacher again. When I am in a classroom, I feel like I am where I belong. I love going in to a school and learning its policies and taking on its style, and then the next day, it all begins again.
So, if you are nearing the end of your ITT and don't yet have a post, don't see supply as second best. Think of it as a million new opportunities each day, and embrace each one.
Saturday, 9 April 2011
Why don't boys have cervixes?
Back in January, I was teaching year 10 (age 14-15 for those out of the loop) on the day that they had been given the letters for their vaccinations. All kids had letters for polio vacs, and the girls also had letters about the new cervical cancer injection.
One boy asked me if the injections hurt, and I told them that, since I was the biggest wimp I knew and I'd thought they were ok, he'd be fine. Then he said:
"What about the cervical cancer one?"
Straight face, straight face, I whispered to myself. "Well, you won't get that, only the girls have that."
Boy: "Why? Won't I get cervical cancer?"
"No."
Boy: "Why?"
"Because you don't have a cervix."
"What IS a cervix?"
None of my teacher training ever prepared me for that. I left it at 'the cervix is at the entrance to the womb on girls' and swiftly steered him back to German - oh yes, all of this came in a German lesson of all places! But what it did make me realise, because this boy was deadly serious, is that maybe we assume our teenagers know more than they do. None of the girls in the class who he also asked had told him what a cervix was either. So perhaps we need a little more freedom of information. Although, had he been clued up, I would have been a litlle starved of laughs that day.
One boy asked me if the injections hurt, and I told them that, since I was the biggest wimp I knew and I'd thought they were ok, he'd be fine. Then he said:
"What about the cervical cancer one?"
Straight face, straight face, I whispered to myself. "Well, you won't get that, only the girls have that."
Boy: "Why? Won't I get cervical cancer?"
"No."
Boy: "Why?"
"Because you don't have a cervix."
"What IS a cervix?"
None of my teacher training ever prepared me for that. I left it at 'the cervix is at the entrance to the womb on girls' and swiftly steered him back to German - oh yes, all of this came in a German lesson of all places! But what it did make me realise, because this boy was deadly serious, is that maybe we assume our teenagers know more than they do. None of the girls in the class who he also asked had told him what a cervix was either. So perhaps we need a little more freedom of information. Although, had he been clued up, I would have been a litlle starved of laughs that day.
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