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.)
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Friday, July 21, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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
Monday, July 17, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, July 14, 2006
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
(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
Thursday, July 13, 2006
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.'
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.
'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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
