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.