An Extra with Year 7s in the Artroom

I'm covering a class of four leftover year 7s. They are the bad kids who weren't allowed to go to the museum with everyone else. One of them has just painted himself purple. I probably should have spotted this before he covered himself up to the elbows.

Last one for the week... (Mininovels Part Two)

Today has been spent writing reports. At least, that's how it was supposed to be spent, being 'report writing (from home) day', but I've regrettably discovered a crucial part of the new report writing programme is missing from my iBook. So, damn it, I had to go out for cheap pizza instead. Nonetheless, I've been wading through some Mininovels that should have been marked some time ago, which has occasionally been chucklesome.

Some highlights:
"im so excited" said Brad, who was obviously excited.

and there's T's, an opus about going to live on the moon, which ends with the classic line:

So we had figured out how to make air and food, now we just needed to work out what to do with our shit and piss and stuff.

It's true, you would need to work that out. Probably best to do it before you go (to the moon), but still...

My street has a dark gloomy bat like court at the end of it. And that’s where the so called witch lives.

This is actually quite a strong introduction, despite the fact that it boggles the mind to imagine how a court can be bat-like, but the story immediately veers off into describing motorbikes and then, bizarrely, contains an entire page copied and pasted from the BBC News site about motorcycles being stolen in London. In his favour, this unrelated aside is prefaced by the words "I picked up a newspaper and read..." in a desperate attempt to up the word count. I suppose it's lucky he didn't just write at the beginning "I picked up a book and read 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...'" etc. etc. After this crucial update on overseas thievery, it's back to the action as our narrator tells us "I took a piss and washed my face and hands." Hopefully that was intended as three successive actions, rather than the one.

Most of the stories written by the boys are still about each other, although in my second year 9 class they are more about killing each other. Horribly. And graphically. The worst was a boy whose novel begins with him killing his dad after his dad tells him "Don't be such a pussy, you shouldn't be fucking other guys' hoes if you're not man enough." He then stabs his dad with various implements, throws him down a hole and burns off his face. Then, most bizarrely, he grates cheese onto his dad's burned face so that it melts across it. Further killings of anyone who ever pissed him off ensue. I couldn't read it all but quickly passed it on to the social worker.

That said, some of the boys have done some truly outstanding work, as have several of the girls. One girl wrote 22,000 words instead of the required 4,000 and all of them were good. The depth of understanding in many of them is truly astounding for children of their age. But those aren't so chucklesome, alas.

I'll leave you with a further excerpt from T's novel, detailing the arrival on the moon. It's actually quite inventive in a mundane sort of way...

Everyone starts to talk to each other asking what was there thoughts in the last 10 seconds, how were you feeling now, what do you think it would be like on the moon, questions about them on earth like how old were they, what did they work for, do u have a boy friend/girlfriend, things they liked doing, did they have any pets and stuff like that just to get to know each other because they didn’t really get to know each other on earth, because of all the test and training they had to do to qualify to go up to the moon and live and have lots and lots and years and years of fun. The captain said to us “this is your captain speaking the trip to the moon will be another nine hours and ten minutes to we reach the moon.”

The rest of the journey seemed to take forever because some were excited some were nervous and some were both excited and nervous. Finally they can see the big dome where they were going to live for the rest of their life. As they get closer to the moon they can see inside like all the little houses and the food stores and stuff like that. The dome has two layers of the big dome because if the inside cracks in the inside one the outside will stop everything from sucking out so they can fix it. The ship starts to slow down as it approaches the air lock every second that goes by the ship gets slower and slower, everyone is getting very excited and nervous, wondering what type of things there would be to do on the moon like bowling and stuff like that and if there was Mc Donald’s and stuff like that.
One of the questions that is going around is what do we do if there were any aliens on the moon the answer always is there is no such thing as aliens or there are no aliens on the moon.

Year 9 Exams

My Year 9s are currently writing practice exams. I've spent most of the last two days rewriting the exam that had been prepared for them, mainly because it scared me. It seemed to be aimed at University Students and I knew it would have had my year 9s in tears. The Head of English got me to go and speak to the teacher responsible and gently persuade them to allow me to make a few changes. Which I did. She told me it was my first duty as Head of English for next year (a position I'm yet to be officially given).

Anyway, it's been all rush and panic - which involved me pulling a large section out to use as a practice exam at the last minute - but it's done. Any my rowdy year 9s are currently practising soundlessly. (Well, mostly.) Except for T, who is sat on my desk asking irritating questions and more or less getting me to write his exam for him.

(The following takes place in hushed whispers)
T: What does it mean "Write a letter from Hunter to his dad"?
M: It means you pretend you're Hunter and write the letter that way.
T: I'm Hunter.
M: That's right.
T: And I'm writing a letter to my dad?
M: Yep.
T: Why's Hunter writing a letter to my dad?
M: No, you're Hunter, so you're writing a letter to his dad.
T: Who's Hunter's dad?
M: Er, he's his dad.
T: Oh, okay. So where does he live?
M: We don't know. He's gone missing.
T: Then how do I know where to send it.
M: You don't need to send it. Just write it, okay?
T: Is this from that book "Jetty Rats"?

Mr B bangs head on desk.

It's an interesting time of year. We're all on tenterhooks waiting to see which classes and subjects we'll be given. We've all been unofficially arranging which classes we want with the heads of various departments but the boss, being the sort of boss he is, has been secretly assigning people without consultation. So we're all in the dark until we're suddenly given a transitional class (say for year 10s going on to year 11) in Year 11 History.

At the moment, I have my fingers crossed for Head of English (A joint position with a more experienced teacher) and Year 12 International Politics among other things. The latter was offered to me by the Head of SOSE but secretly offered by the boss to his wunderkind (sneaky uberprofessional untrustworthy young[ish] teacher).

The good news is that my job interview last week went very well and I'm finally ongoing. I've also passed my VIT malarkey so I'm, like, a real teacher and stuff. It's only now that I realise how much this has all weighed on my mind this year. I haven't slept as soundly as I have these last couple of days since I first decided to become a teacher.

The only other thing worth mentioning is the anti-IR Law strike tomorrow. I'm planning on going but feel that it's largely a bad idea. The timing makes little sense and I suspect that dwindling numbers at successive protests will be used by Howard as an excuse for pushing his laws through. I feel it would be more useful to wait until the federal election is approaching. But what would I know?

Year 8 English Student Survey

I gave my Year 8 Class a survey today on my performance (and theirs) throughout this year. Partly because it's an excellent (if nerve-wracking) way to get feedback and partly because I have to interview for my job next year and I want to show them a) what a good teacher I am and b) how up with the latest theories on performance and development culture I am.

They were actually very positive and very informative. The kids were really honest, particularly about their own strengths and weakness - both individually and as a class. The following, however, is far and away the best. (An excerpt follows.)

1. The English Lessons I most enjoy are those where:

Urban Legends, in computer rooms, movies, pornos.

(No real surprises there.)

2. The English Lessons I least enjoy are those where:

I got in trouble for putting scissors in the power point and then got ignored and gay questions on Antz.


What I would like from an English Teacher in order to improve my learning is:

Pornos and more help would be nice.

Perhaps not the best one to show at my interview.

The interview, for those who are wondering, is going to be a rather serious and stressful affair despite the fact that the position has been created for me. Indeed, it wouldn't have been advertised had I not assured the boss I would take it. Nevertheless, I'm now required to go up against a bunch of other eager graduates needing employment. The compulsory public advertising of internal positions at State Schools is one of the reasons new graduates find it hard to get a starting position. Most positions advertised simply don't exist, already filled before the notice is placed. (Although the interviewee is technically required to be judged on merit alone - as I'm assured I will be. Hooray.) It's always worth contacting a school and asking if anyone is already in a position before applying, I'm told.

Although, come to think of it, I did replace someone last year. So it's not impossible.

A Catch Up From the Classroom

It's been some weeks since the department blocked blogger, thereby condemning Teacher of Doom to languish in the cyber-ether, but with the rise of blogger beta, it returns with fresh anecdotes. Or would, if I could remember anything of the last few weeks. As it is, I'm preoccupied with reapplying for my job and compiling a largely fictitious portfolio for VIT.

For those lucky enough to never need know anything about VIT (Victorian Institute of Teaching or possibly Vapid, Irritating and Time-consuming), they are a level of bureaucracy recently foisted upon teachers by the State Government. Really, they function as a way of the government tackling a perceived 'problem in schools' (which to my mind equates to 'problem in culture') by handballing responsibility for teaching standards to an entirely new organisation. VIT will, within five years, require all existing teachers to regularly reapply for their teaching licence by proving (via a portfolio) that they are still up to the job. Which may sound fair, in theory. Presumably there is a similar organisation that asks GPs to resit their medical exams every year or so. At any rate, renewing a driver's licence is equally difficult.

I'm all for maintaining teaching standards. Indeed, there are a number of teachers within this school alone who do nothing to live up to their title. However, it's worth mentioning that mechanisms already exist (namely the professional review process common to most organisations, not to mention incessant and compulsory professional development activities, dear god..) and a supportive structure within the school allowing teachers to discuss strategies and issues with each other would probably be of more benefit to staff and students alike.

It's also worth noting the VIT provide no support or assistance to teachers in applying for their licence for the first or hundredth time (other than a somewhat perfunctory customer service centre that can be extraordinarily difficult to contact). They appear to exist solely to 'catch out' bad teachers, rather than help them to improve their practice. Nonetheless, teachers are required to pay for the privilege of carrying about their blue cardboard card.

The experience of a beginning teacher with VIT will go something like this:

1) Before completing teaching degree/certificate, beginning teacher will be told to send off an application to VIT.

2) VIT will send it back, telling them that they can't process the form without final results.

3) Teacher will complain that they are yet to receive their results and probably won't until, ooh, mid-December at the earliest.

4) Beginning teacher will apply for a job and be expected to have already been approved by VIT.

5) Results will finally arrive and Beginning Teacher will have to visit the tiny office in a very tall building in Melbourne (nice view!), armed with them and several other documents about past study, travel and identity. These will be processed by a team who seem to number about 3.

6) Beginning Teacher will be reminded that less than 50% of applications will be processed by the start of the following school year. Without approval, the teacher is forbidden to teach. Think about that, 50% of graduating teachers will be unable to accept positions for the following year because of a delay in paperwork.

7) If Beginning Teacher is lucky enough to receive approval after sweating through most of January, he or she will receive a letter reminding them they are only 'provisional' teachers and the process is only just beginning.

8) Throughout their first year Beginning Teacher is required to attend (in their own time) interminable seminars in the suburbs, telling them about the VIT process. No attend, no teach. On the plus side, they give you muffins. And you get to sit there being sarcastic, if that's your bag.

9) In the final term, as the Beginning Teacher is sweating over VCE exam results, report writing and (quite possibly) reapplying for their own job, they are reminded that they need to hand in a detailed portfolio on their professional development throughout the year.

10) The Beginning Teacher fabricates said folio, at no small expense of their time.

11) A meeting takes place, the folio is nodded at, provisional teacher becomes professional teacher. Or something. (Still waiting for this last bit.)


The folio, if you're still reading, consists of a detailed recount of PD sessions the teacher will have forgotten about by the time he or she comes to write about them, a description of a unit of work and the reaction of two separate students and details of three collegiate activities. Collegiate activities being 'team teaching' - something a teacher will very rarely be involved in. For myself, it was precisely never. Collegiate curriculum development yes, collegiate teaching no. This seems to be the case for fellow applicants.

The end result is a fictional piece of work which really makes a mockery of the whole process. A bad teacher is not going to be caught out through having to submit such a folio, only a bad liar. Or someone simply too busy teaching.

In short, reflection and discussion with peers and colleagues, along with a genuine interest in student issues and milieu are the key to ensuring better teachers, not an artificial process run by people whose knowledge of the area is outdated at best and inexcusably slight at worst.

Ah, that feels better... rant over.


In other news, I last week had an interesting conversation with the worst behaved boy in year 9. He's a lippy sod who often needs to be shouted down into silence. (Not a practice I regularly engage in.)

J: You don't like me, do you Mister B?
Mr B: Have you given me reason to?
J: (pause - a rare display of genuine reflection) Oh, I didn't think of that.
Mr B: Do you think you're a good presence in the classroom? Do you think you work well and help others to work?
J: Hmm. Good point.
Mr B: I don't dislike you J but would you like having you in the classroom if you were me?
J: No way.
Mr B: There's your answer.
J: Fair enough. Never thought of it that way.
(And he moves off. And actually succeeds in being less of a nuisance for minutes.)


Problems still continue with T, the boring kid spoken of below, who recently had to be removed from class after boring a friend into violence.

(K: Mister B, can I please punch T's head in?
Mr B: Wait until after class K.)

The next day another friend had to be stopped from throwing him out the window.

(Mr B: W, put T down. No, on this side of the window.)

I spoke to him later and asked him why he thought he irritated people. He was at a loss and my heart went out to him. But then I had to ask him to be quiet.

Monday Morning with 9C

My bodyguard has just punched T (the boring one) very hard on the top of his head. It made a sound not unlike a watermelon splitting open.

Mr B: W, what the hell are you doing?

T: (smiling, his eyes watering slightly) I asked him to.

Mr B: Oh, okay.

And then, perhaps more worrying:

J: Mr B, are there any alarms in this school?

Must stop using Messenger in class...

...as it's getting dangerous. Children keep appearing at my shoulder at inappropriate moments. Such as the crowd gathered around my laptop (I was teaching them to use Flash) when the following message popped up from a female colleague:

L: What shall we do about Lube?

Students: What's lube?

Mr B: Er, nevermind.

I should point out that Lube is a nickname for another colleague. And should then point out that the nickname stems from predictive text christening her such. Rather than anything to do with her hobbies.

The Boring Child

After some deliberation, I've come to realise that the hardest student to deal with is the congenitally dull child. The badly behaved child can be sent out, the chatty child can be hushed, the lazy child can be pushed but the boring child can only be torturously tolerated. The best (or worst) example of this is T, a year 9 boy who is alone in finding himself endlessly interesting. Cursed with the gift of the gab and a vacant skull, he exists only to regale his rapidly-tiring friends with the world's least interesting (and most lengthy) anecdotes. Unfortunately, he has recently decided that I am to be honoured with his attention.

A typical exchange follows the below pattern. A class earlier I gave a girl a detention and she gave herself a blood nose. In the same room, the following class, T followed in the crimson trail.

T: Mr B, why's there blood leading out into the corridor?
Mr B: A girl gave me lip so I belted her.
T: (genuinely shocked) You better not try it with me.
Mr B: T, you're four foot tall. I think I could take you.
T: Nah, nah, 'cos if you did, my dad would come and get you.
Mr B: I'm a black belt, I could take your dad.
T: Nah, nah, 'cos then my uncle would come and get you. He's a world-famous boxer.
Mr B: Boxers are easy.
T: Nah, nah, 'cos then all his friends would come and beat you up.
Mr B: Ok, T, I'm bored with this conversation now. Start your work.
T: And then my uncle's friends would come and beat you up.
Mr B: T, shush.
T: And all my friends would come and beat you up.
Mr B: T, I mean it. Quiet.
T: etc. etc. ad infinitum.

OR:

T: Mr B, guess what?
Mr B: T, do your work.
T: I turned a tap, yesterday.
Mr B: Amazing. T, do your work.
T: Do you want to know what happened?
Mr B: I want you to do your work.
T: It came off in my hand.
Mr B: (tapping desk) Work, here.
T: Guess what happened then.
Mr B: I don't care.
T: I turned it the other way and it went back on. Do you know what happened next?
Mr B: Really not interested. Please do your work.
T: I turned it again and it came off again.
Mr B: T, I don't care.
T: You said you wanted to know.
Mr B: I said I didn't. Please work.
T: Guess what I've got in my pocket.
Mr B: No, please.
T: It's the tap, look.
Mr B: Oh god.

He does mean well, which makes him so difficult to discipline. There aren't even any behavioural issues or diagnosed learning disorders. He's just (and I apply this term very rarely) a bit thick. He wants to be liked and listened to but doesn't have the tools. My patience is thinning, just as his very caring friends are now tiring of his neverending tales of encounters with insecure plumbing. The saddest element of this is that I've realised he seems partially aware of the frustration of those around him. He knows he bores them but he doesn't know why.

My personal bodyguard (whose anger management issues are ongoing) finally lost his rag with T in class the other morning.

W: T, will you just please shut the fuck up!

(Followed by the overturning of tables, W storming from the room, punching the door en route. T is left with red-rimmed eyes and an astonished expression.)

T later tearfully told me:
T: Every teacher I've ever had has picked on me. They always have a go at me. They always say I'm an idiot.
Mr B: (lying) You're not.
T: And that I'll be a dropout.
Mr B: Well, they shouldn't say that.
T: Just because I want to be a boxer.
Mr B: Ok...
T: Did you know my uncle's a world famous boxer?
Mr B: (sighs) You have mentioned it.

And I realised that I was in the tricky position of not wanting to reinforce his negative self-image, but not wanting to encourage his inane chatter. I had to seem that I thought he might always be on the verge of saying something worthwhile, something astonishing, while persuading him to shut up and do his work. He needed to believe that I valued his contributions to class, while learning that he needed to make less of them and leave me alone to occasionally give attention to other students - students who might pass the unit. This is a wire I'm still walking.

the mininovel highlights (part one)

1. The large amounts of slightly homoerotic novels written by year 9 boys about each other. For example 'A Year in the life of Jack, by Brad' (names changed to protect the "innocent") which begins with a fairly graphic description of a wet dream. Lovely. It's honestly bizarre. These boys are often rolling around together on the carpet of our form room, still covered in grass stains from rolling around on the grass at recess while "playing football". I really don't remember doing anything similar in high school. But then I was too busy not playing sport so I could bunk off and hang out with the girls.

2. "Hi my name is Collin. My story starts simple as a house. A house with nothing special just a house well that what i throat when i first went to see the house. You see the news paper I work for was moving there lactation" Lactation? That had me stumped for a bit. You can see where the obsessions are here though. Throat... lactation... stump (oh, wait, that was me.)

3. The four 4,000 word mininovels I've read that lack a single full-stop. One of which was written by the granddaughter of a woman who told me at parent teacher interviews that she "can't see the point of that English stuff. I mean, when are you ever going to need to use one of those puncture mark things?" (This latter statement illustrated by stabbing motions.)

4. My favourite is still the bad-ass crime novel that begins with the line "I had just received a massage from the Black Dragon, the most dangerous criminal in all of China." See, homoeroticism everywhere.

5. I almost forgot. There's also the "Untitled" masterpiece which reads "suck large penis........ print me baby." Sadly anonymous.

Out of Uniform Pass

A recurring truant year 9 girl came back to school today after two weeks with possibly the best excuse for being out of uniform heard anywhere, ever:

Please excuse J for not having the correct school pants today as she left them in the stolen car she was caught in last week.

It raises more questions than it answers really.

10 things i've learned from kids this week

1. Hitler won the Second World War.

2. Presumably this was after he started the First World War in 1953.

3. He also wore a fetching red cape.

4. Hezbollah is doing AIDS charity work in Africa.

5. The Australian Civil War began in 1878.

6. Vienna is a country.

7. Asia, India and Australia were occupying forces in Germany post-WWII.

8. Captain Cook crashed his boat into the Great Barry of Reef.

9. People from Turkey are not a) Turkish or c) Arabs but b) Turkeys

10. That a man cannot have too many career options.

spring has sprung

And everyone in the school is in a good mood for once. Even the lingering after-effects of an evening drinking cheap red wine is not enough to dent the day's charms. Neither, oddly, is a first period with Year 9s as they struggle to resist playing games and work instead on their 4,000 word mininovels (due next Friday).

This sharp rise in morale is much needed at the moment. Two weeks ago we had staff and student welfare week, which involved lots of ego-stroking for the students but little for their teachers. In fact, the staff meeting that week involved us tackling the results of a school survey that showed the students felt we didn't interest, understand or empathise with them. The question we had to answer was: 'Why are we all so crap at our jobs?'

The next day the principal, noting a certain gloom in the corridors, gave a powerpoint presentation at morning briefing showing that staff morale 'isn't as bad as everyone thinks.' In other words, 'you're not as unhappy as you think you are.' There was a certain (additional) irony that this time-consuming presentation was given at one of the thrice-weekly briefings that force everyone to get to school early and usually miss out on caffeine before hurrying under-prepared to class.

Today, however, none of this matters. Not even the fact that yesterday a friend here was told if she didn't go on leave 6 months earlier there may not be a position for me next year. Nor the matter of me leaving my glasses at home and having to squint as I type this. Spring is here.

Oh. According to the national weather tomorrow will be cold and rainy. Bah.

Punching Walls

I have my own bodyguard. He's a year 9 with anger management issues. Anyone attempting to give me any lip in class is likely to quickly find theirs fatter. He's a nice lad, but his devotion does cause some issues. The other day, for example, he used a classmate to up my broken window count. I should be in line for some kind of special certificate at the end of the year.

The troubling part of this story is that the incident went something like this:
K: You're a pommy bastard Mr. B.
MR B'S BODYGUARD: You can't say that to Mr. B! Do you want me to hit him for you Mr. B?
MR. B: (busy marking the roll and not really listening) Sure.
SFX: Sound of glass breaking as K is shoved through a large window.

(The last part of this scene is witnessed by a passing senior teacher. MR. B puts head in hands.)

Obviously, I can't be held responsible for this. At no point in either my training or (short) experience had I ever been under the impression that kids sometimes listen to what you tell them. These hands are clean.

Friday Morning

Some interesting questions today.

B: Mr B, who was the first person to wear clothes?
MB: Er, I don't think I've ever had to find that out.
B: Did he wear clothes because he had something to hide?
MB: Er, possibly. If you believe the bible, people started wearing clothes because they suddenly realised they were naked and that it was rude. But perhaps he just had an embarrassingly shaped birthmark.
B: Or a really small penis?
MB: Er, possibly.
B: Thanks. Nice talking to you.

J: Mr B, you know how people sharpen pencils?
MB: Er, yes?
J: Why, when you go to the tip, aren't there massive mountains of pencil shavings?
MB: Er, I think they disperse...

T: Mr B, you know those forests that existed millions of years ago?
MB: Er, yeah?
T: Who planted the seeds?
MB: Er, no-one planted them. They planted themselves.
T: How?
(MB launches into brief, stuttering explanation of primordial soup and the beginnings of life on Earth.)

J: Mr B, why are Fish and Humans the only animals who go to school?
MB: J, do your work.

I can't tell if they're generally behaving (even) more oddly than usual or if it just seems that way as I'm hungover.

Lying to Children

Apparently a teacher should never be sarcastic or untruthful to their students. But to not do so would be denying oneself one of the greater perks of the job.

I remember the first time I truly appreciated the joy that is lying to children. It was on my second teaching placement and I had just finished a lengthy presentation on the wildlife of Antarctica. I'd shown them a pretty comprehensive video on the subject and given them some extensive notes on the board. All that remained was for these - unusually well-educated - students to arrange the various species in order of size. This immediately proved to be beyond the majority of them.

S: Mr B, are krill really big or really small?
MB: Ah, yes, krill. Krill are actually the largest crustaceans on the planet. True fact. They grow up to 3 metres in length and roam the ice-floes in packs, hunting penguins.
S: (nodding and quickly returning to work) Ok, thanks!

Today I convinced a year 9 girl she would be too tall to ever date Guy Sebastian.

G: Mr B, someone's stolen my Guy Sebastian sticker from the front of my diary.
MB: Never mind, sometimes the crime is also the punishment.
G: I love Guy Sebastian.
MB: He's a good Christian boy too, isn't he?
(G, a devout Christian herself, nods)
MB: You know he's only three foot tall though?
G: What?
MB: It's true. He only comes up to about here. (Mr B holds hand up to his waist.)
G: No way.
MB: Really. You see people on TV and they look a normal size, but it's a trick of the camera. When you see them in real life, you're always surprised how short they are. You see, you need to be small to fit on the screen. When we go to widescreen they'll need to be even shorter.
G: But how come he looked tall when I saw him in concert?
MB: When you see people in concert, what you don't realise is that the stage is especially built to give you a sense of false perspective. Like those rooms you get at sideshows with the sloping floors - the ones where people look bigger even though they're moving away? The stages are built like that, so people look tall even when they're really short.
G: (possibly not entirely convinced) O...k.... Do you know I nearly got to meet him?
MB: It's a shame you didn't. You could have patted him on the head.

kids and drugs

I'm currently acting as a disciplinarian in a year 9 workshop on drug and alcohol education. The kids are using it as an opportunity to show off their vast experience of the subject. I think the woman in charge (who regrettably has a tiny voice) is learning more than she could have expected. Or wanted to.

WOMAN: What category of drug would you put marijuana into?
ENTIRE CLASS EXCEPT CHRISTIAN GIRL: Good!
CHRISTIAN GIRL: Is marijuana a powder?
(Class erupts in derisive laughter.)

I feel for this small voiced woman, trapped in a room with the 9D boys in final period. But at least it makes a change from self-pity.

The highlight has been a set of "vision goggles" that simulate the effect of drunkenness. The kids have to cross the room wearing them and then catch a ball the woman throws at him. I am persuaded (at the threat of a riot) to try them. The effect is not entirely disimilar to a drunken night out. I'm glad I have plenty of practive at sober walking under the influence. And I catch the ball. Ha! So now my class is sure I'm an alco. (As opposed to merely suspecting.)

The conclusion is proving painful.
WOMAN: So what have learned this afternoon?
D: That attacking Ben got me an afterschool detention.
W: Ok... What about you?
B: That getting attacked by Daniel got me an afterschool detention.
W: Oh, what did everyone else learn about drugs?
J: Nothing.
W: Oh. Good to see my time was well spent. What about you?
T: What J said.
W: Ok..
S: What T and J said.
W: Ok, does anyone have any questions?
D: Yeah, where can I buy a set of those goggles.

I have been the subject of much derision for having my haircut. Which was briefly amusing and quickly tiring. I understand why teachers end up wearing such bland clothes with sensible shoes...

Last period English with Year 9s

Mr B: (finishing long, insightful spiel about worksheet) Okay, away you go.
S: Go where?
M: Work on the worksheet.
S: What worksheet?
M: The one I was just talking about. The one on the desk in front of you.
S: I don't have one.
M: I gave you one.
S: Well, I don't have it now.

(A pause. Mr B crosses the room to the student's desk.)

M: That's because you've folded it into an origami frog.
S: It jumps.

(The student demonstrates. With a poke in it's backside, the paper frog leaps from the desktop. The rest of the class burst into applause.)

M: Very good, now unfold it and get to work.
S: (horrified) You want me to kill it?

(Mr B turns to check up on another student.)

M: B, have you done any work yet?
B: (proudly indicating workbook) I've done up to here.
M: What's that?
B: My maths homework.
M: Ok, so not the worksheet.
B: Oh, is that what we're doing?
M: I'm afraid so.
J: Mr. B, my iPod has stopped working.
M: Do you know how important that is to me right now?
J: (hopefully) Very?
M: C, why are you laughing?
C: I can't stop.
M: You've turned red. Where's your sheet?
(C indicates S beside her.)
C: His frog ate it.
S: It tried having sex with it first.

(Mr B prays for the final bell.)

last one for the week

A kid in year 9 this morning, in full earnest.

B: So, Mr B, do you have a job?

Rangas

I'm constantly astounded how clever kids are when it comes to finding new ways to be prejudiced. There's a kid in year 9 who's always being hassled for looking Chinese (he isn't and, to my eyes, doesn't); there's another boy only ever referred to as a certain breed of poultry due to his size and legs; other kids are hassled for being Greek. It's an absurdly Anglo school, but even among white kids they find markers of difference. Take last Friday in one of the computer rooms.

Ben: Hey Mr B, chipmunks are orange aren't they?
MB: No, they're brown.
B: They're orange.
MB: No, they're brown. Some squirrels are red though. Why do you ask?
B: I want to call Amy chipmunk.
(Amy, with her lovely red hair, was sitting at the computer beside him. I understood what he was getting at now.)
MB: Ben, my girlfriend has red hair. I never want to hear you having a go at anyone for the colour of their hair, okay?
B: I'm still going to call her chipmunk.
A: But they're brown!
MB: Yeah Ben, I think that would make you the chipmunk.

A few minutes later, I overheard B berating A for being a 'ranga' and made him come up to my table. Explained it was okay to disagree with people for things they said and did, but never okay to disagree with them for who they are or what they look like. And he seemed, briefly, to understand. I didn't think anything more about it until I caught Amy looking up Orangutans on Wikipedia.

MB: What are you doing Amy? You're asking for trouble now...
A: (quietly) I just wanted to see what colour they were.

Ah, how my heart bled.

Teenage Idol

Before I begin, I feel obliged to insist I don't mean the title of this post in a remotely earnest fashion.

A few weeks ago, I was informed that one my year 9 girls has a photo of me and another male teacher on her wall at home. I've tried not to think about that. I'd convinced myself her attentions were just that of someone seeking a father figure. I still believe that, by the way.

Now today one of my year 8 boys has summoned me over to his computer to show me the photo he keeps of me on his USB drive. I shouldn't be that surprised, given that he stands every recess outside my window, calling my name and pointing at me. It's still odd though. Isn't it? (And now some other kids are Googling me. Thank God they don't know how I spell my name.)

I try not to dwell on these things and, really, I should be grateful, given a colleague recently discovered a year 10 had a photo of her cleavage as his wallpaper. I think of couple of the older male teachers asked him for a copy.

Fingering the Bard

These have been left on my desk. I'm not sure what the Year 11s will think of them. I, however, think they're fantastic

Career Options

Ah, I’m having fun with my year 11s. The Career Officers has been getting them to choose their uni courses on the computers and has subsequently buggered off, leaving me to help them finish. They have lots of important questions about their applications that I can’t answer.

Rachel: ‘What does Alternative Science Entry mean?’
Me: ‘That means when you get to uni, you can’t go in through the front door of the science building. Also, you have to wear a special vest that says you’re not quite as good as the usual students.'
Rachel: 'Okay, thanks.'

Leroy: ‘What does RC mean?’
Me: ‘I’m glad you asked me that. It stands for Religious Categorisation. It means the university only lets certain denominations in. At Caulfield Campus, for example, you need to convert to Judaism.’
Leroy: *blank look*

This almost makes up for the Year 9 extra this morning. A girl developed a gushing blood nose after I gave her detention for calling a classmate a faggot. She's easily stressed the poor thing. There was blood all over her clothes and the carpet. Later, Aa boy from another class, seeing the trail of blood, warned me not try violence on him. ('Cos my dad will make you regret it. And all me mates. And my uncle is a world class boxer. And I'm a black belt. You'll regret it.') Then another girl wrote 'get fucked' on the wall with a blue permanent marker. And then denied everything, despite still having wet ink on her fingers and the marker on her desk. The rest was just average misbehaviour and unpleasantness, but it had me considering my career options, nonetheless.

Why I'm Thinking I Will Never Again Allow My Year 8s To Stage Their Own Plays (Scene One)

Scene 1: The Classroom

(Our hero, MR B, puts his file and iBook on the desk at the front of the room. There is much noise - swearing, shouting and clattering of chairs - as 26 thirteen year olds find a seat. Some are glad to see our hero back at the front of the classroom, after a day away, as the replacement teacher was "evil". [Oddly, she said the same about them, but no matter...] After thirty seconds of asking, the class settle into a fragile silence.)

Mr B: Did you all - Billy, sit down - Did you all - Joel, be quiet - Did you all - Billy, I won't tell you again - Did you all start work on your short plays yesterday?

(There is solid silence, at last.)

Mr B: Did anyone start - Billy, I said I wasn't going to tell you again - Did anyone start work on their plays?

(A couple of the more conscientious students gingerly raise their hands.)

Mr B: Good Carly. Did anyone else do any work at all? Joel, stop licking Billy. I mean it. Right, get your scripts out. I want to see how much you've written. You two, no wrestling, off the floor.

(MR B walks around the room, faintly despairingly at the lack of work done. Something occurs to him.)

Mr B: Where are Gemma, Eva and Sally?

Carly: They went to make props.

Mr B: What do you mean props? You don't need props.

Carly: Their play is about a car chase, so they've gone to make a car.

(MR B covers his eyes with his hands.)

Mr B: Billy, get your hands off Joel. I don't care if he likes it. Go and find the girls and bring them back here.

Billy: Can I take Joel?

Mr B: No, go alone.

Billy: What about Jeff?

Mr B: No, go alone.

Billy: What about Joel then?

Mr B: No, go alone.

(BILLY looks despondent. MR B walks off to help some other students with their scripts. In a minute he realises BILLY is still at his desk.)

Mr B: Billy, go get the girls.

Billy: Why can't I take Joel?

Mr B: It only takes one.

Billy: Jeff then.

Mr B: No, it only takes one.

Billy: Joel then.

Mr B: No, off you go.

Billy: What about Jeff?

Mr B: Billy, off you go.

(A Pause.)

Billy: Joel?

Mr B: No.

(BILLY bursts into tears. MR B gestures to Carly, who heads off to find the missing students.)

Mr B: (quietly) Come on Billy, let's step outside a second.

Billy: (sniffing through snotty sobs) Can Jeff come with me?

(CARLY returns with GEMMA, EVA and SALLY. The latter three are covered in paint.)

Mr B: Girls, where have you been?

Gemma: (fiercely) We've been making our props haven't we?

Mr B: You can't just decide to go make props.

Gemma: We need them!

Mr B: You remember that talk we had about not using props?

Gemma: Yeah.

Mr B: Well, I meant that we wouldn't be using props.

Gemma: But we've gotta. We're doing a car chase.

Mr B: Well, let's talk about that first. Where's your script?

Gemma: Our what?

Mr B: You have started your script?

Gemma: Our what?

Mr B: Your... (sighs) sit down, I think we need to start again. Joel, don't do that to Jeff. It's not hygenic.

(The lights dim.)

END OF SCENE ONE

A is for...

With the introduction of the new government marking system, it's become clear that many of our year 9 students are writing at a level close to or below year 7. In fact, many of them seem to have coasted through primary school without encountering so much as a comma. To remedy this, I've been focussing a lot on grammar and punctuation with my classes, attempting to batter them closer to literacy. Most of the kids have been alright with this and I've had the unusual sensation (for an English teacher) of helping them learn something concrete and useful.

Some, however, remain resistant. On Monday I gave them 15 words to learn for the coming Friday. This week it was c-words, although most of the class are quite au fait with at least one of those.

J, a short, brattish kid with a talent for distraction, was the first to complain.
'We shouldn't have to do spelling, we know spelling, we learned spelling in primary school.'
'What do you mean, you learned spelling?'
'We learned it. You know, like the alphabet.'
'You learned spelling like the alphabet?'
'Yeah, you know, like A is for Elephant...'
I took the cap off my whiteboard marker.
'Okay, I've changed my mind. Learn these 16 words for Friday.'

An Announcement

An announcement came over the P.A. yesterday after school:

'Could those students on the oval please stop jumping on that boy's head and let him stand up?'

And the five of us still in the staffroom, clasping mugs of tea to shellshocked faces, laughed.

No-one moved, obviously.