So, today at work I was called a whore. Yep, that's right, you heard. W-H-O-R-E. Now I know what you're thinking. There are not may places of business where a young man can get away with calling a young woman a whore without having a sexual harassment suit slapped on him. In most organisations, a man even thinking about this word would be brought up in-front of some otherwise redundant merit and equity board in a vain attempt to avoid a multi-million dollar payout and some overly made-up ex-employee crying her eyes out on that evening's episode of 'A Current Affair' And yet thankfully there does exist one last bastion of true personal freedom. One last place in which political correctness or even basic courtesy is more of a suggestion rather than an expectation. One last place in which people can feel safe in the knowledge that they can pretty much say and do whatever they please and as long as it is followed up by some sort of vague, mumbled apology, or even an "I won't do it again". Where is this place you ask? Where does the phrase 'freedom of speech' really mean all that it promises? I'll tell you where. A high school classroom.
Of course, it's only actually students who have the benefit of such wonderful liberties. If I, as a teacher were to indulge in such freedoms I would be declared unprofessional. If I as a teacher were to respond to this young man with something along the lines of, "Listen to me you pathetic little Zac Efron wannabe, the only thing less attractive than your poxy, acne riddled face, is your egotistical attitude, which by the way you have no right to. You're neither intelligent enough, good looking enough nor talented enough to warrant that titanic size chip on your puny little shoulder", I would be deemed unworthy of the title educator.
The government keeps crying out for more people to join the wonderful world of education. They debate higher pay-scales, refurbishing school buildings, modernising classrooms. They discuss making teacher training longer, shorter, more practical, more theoretical. Smaller class sizes, more support, less interference. Yet no one is discussing the real problem. It takes a special sort of person to get up every day knowing that the chances of being personally attacked and abused are pretty damn high.
When I told my husband about the incident, he declared it a 'learning experience' for the young man in question. I maintain little Zac Efron may have learnt more from a swift kick in the nuts.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Prince Lank Hair
I am a parent and a teacher. Don't ask me which one I am first and foremost. I honestly would not be able to tell you. Depends on the day. The one thing I can say for certain is that my experience in education has helped inform the parent I am. I have seen the 'other side'. I have seen seventeen year-old drop kicks whose parents are investing $20,000 a year for an elite private school education , but who don't find it necessary to support that particular investment by, I don't know, trying to make sure that their offspring develop a semblance of personal responsibility.
I am about to tell you a tale. A tale of a young man. Let's call him Lank Hair. Lank Hair is attempting his VCE this year. More precisely, he is enrolled in his VCE this year. He is attempting nothing. Sorry - he is making a valiant attempt to get back at his parents for whatever sins they may have committed against him, by throwing his current academic future down the proverbial toilet.
Lank Hair is not stupid. He is quite a perceptive young man. Overestimates his own ability just a tad, but hey, who doesn't? Given his academic ability and his recent decision to do poorly in order to make Mommy and Daddy Lank Hair suffer, his Head of House (elite private school speak for poor schmuck who has to deal with the social and emotional issues of the often spoilt-rotten little cretins who attend the wondrously elite institution) decides to call in the parentals to stage an intervention. Who needs a lunchtime when there is this sort of entertainment on offer?
So Mommy Lank Hair walks in - complete with see-through top and lacy bra showing. Nice. Classy. Head of House (HOH)? Check. Head of Boys? Check. Maths teacher? Check. English teacher? Check. Religion and Society teacher? Legal Studies teacher? Sorry - he's off having a fag. Thinly veiled attempt to finally get sacked. But that's a whole different story. Lank Hair sits on a chair, head down. Not shame, just boredom. Lank Hair proceeds to make excuses. "It's because I don't like maths", "But you used to love maths." protests mum. "Exactly." HOH nods thoughtfully. HOB nods thoughtfully. I stare. I'm happy to admit it, I just don't get it. I'm sorry, but what the hell does that mean??? He doesn't like maths because he used to like maths? That doesn't even make sense!
Lank Hair then proceeds to blame everyone in the world for his failings. Maths teacher has no control over her classroom, English teacher has too much control. Legal Studies doesn't care enough, R&S cares too much. Now, this in itself is not unusual. Teenagers are brilliant at finding reasons why they can't/didn't/shouldn't do what they need to do. But the real highlight in this story is this mother. Mommy Lank Hair with her tits spilling out all over the elite private school conference table, proceeds to "Mmmmm..." and "I totally understand where he's coming from."
I'll tell you where he's coming from. He's coming from an indulgent mother who provides her son with every excuse he needs to fail and blame everybody else in the world for it. He's coming from a mother who tells to a room full of educators that poor Prince Lank Hair is simply "misunderstood", instead of giving him the kick up the bum that he needs. He's coming from a household where his parents have probably bought his shit for years. They've probably helped him mold and create it. He's coming from a woman who has confused being able to pay private school fees with being able to parent.
So, if you are a parent contemplating spending upwards of $20,000 per annum on the education of your little precious, think carefully. Yes, you will get some of the most amazing educators teaching your child. Yes, you will get some incredible facilities for your child to enjoy during their schooling years. But when you decide to make this investment, make sure that you understand your part in all of this. $20,000 buys your kid an opportunity. It is you, as the parent, who needs to make sure that your child is brought up in a manner which will enable them to take advantage of this opportunity. Make sure your child has an understanding of personal responsibility. Make sure you never make excuses for them or allow them to make excuses for themselves. And for god's sake, if, despite all your efforts, you are called in to school, make sure you dress appropriately.
I am about to tell you a tale. A tale of a young man. Let's call him Lank Hair. Lank Hair is attempting his VCE this year. More precisely, he is enrolled in his VCE this year. He is attempting nothing. Sorry - he is making a valiant attempt to get back at his parents for whatever sins they may have committed against him, by throwing his current academic future down the proverbial toilet.
Lank Hair is not stupid. He is quite a perceptive young man. Overestimates his own ability just a tad, but hey, who doesn't? Given his academic ability and his recent decision to do poorly in order to make Mommy and Daddy Lank Hair suffer, his Head of House (elite private school speak for poor schmuck who has to deal with the social and emotional issues of the often spoilt-rotten little cretins who attend the wondrously elite institution) decides to call in the parentals to stage an intervention. Who needs a lunchtime when there is this sort of entertainment on offer?
So Mommy Lank Hair walks in - complete with see-through top and lacy bra showing. Nice. Classy. Head of House (HOH)? Check. Head of Boys? Check. Maths teacher? Check. English teacher? Check. Religion and Society teacher? Legal Studies teacher? Sorry - he's off having a fag. Thinly veiled attempt to finally get sacked. But that's a whole different story. Lank Hair sits on a chair, head down. Not shame, just boredom. Lank Hair proceeds to make excuses. "It's because I don't like maths", "But you used to love maths." protests mum. "Exactly." HOH nods thoughtfully. HOB nods thoughtfully. I stare. I'm happy to admit it, I just don't get it. I'm sorry, but what the hell does that mean??? He doesn't like maths because he used to like maths? That doesn't even make sense!
Lank Hair then proceeds to blame everyone in the world for his failings. Maths teacher has no control over her classroom, English teacher has too much control. Legal Studies doesn't care enough, R&S cares too much. Now, this in itself is not unusual. Teenagers are brilliant at finding reasons why they can't/didn't/shouldn't do what they need to do. But the real highlight in this story is this mother. Mommy Lank Hair with her tits spilling out all over the elite private school conference table, proceeds to "Mmmmm..." and "I totally understand where he's coming from."
I'll tell you where he's coming from. He's coming from an indulgent mother who provides her son with every excuse he needs to fail and blame everybody else in the world for it. He's coming from a mother who tells to a room full of educators that poor Prince Lank Hair is simply "misunderstood", instead of giving him the kick up the bum that he needs. He's coming from a household where his parents have probably bought his shit for years. They've probably helped him mold and create it. He's coming from a woman who has confused being able to pay private school fees with being able to parent.
So, if you are a parent contemplating spending upwards of $20,000 per annum on the education of your little precious, think carefully. Yes, you will get some of the most amazing educators teaching your child. Yes, you will get some incredible facilities for your child to enjoy during their schooling years. But when you decide to make this investment, make sure that you understand your part in all of this. $20,000 buys your kid an opportunity. It is you, as the parent, who needs to make sure that your child is brought up in a manner which will enable them to take advantage of this opportunity. Make sure your child has an understanding of personal responsibility. Make sure you never make excuses for them or allow them to make excuses for themselves. And for god's sake, if, despite all your efforts, you are called in to school, make sure you dress appropriately.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Four sleeps to go...
Four more sleeps till the end of Term. The only ones more excited than the students are us poor teachers.
Like many in the wonderful world of education I love my job and loathe my job. I adore the kids who challenge me every day and I want to wring their necks. My job makes me a better person but it also causes me to drink way too much. It makes me ponder the choices I have made thus far and be thankful and regretful. It helps me know how to be a better parent, but allows me far less patience when I walk through the door at night.
Perhaps most importantly however, it makes me want to kill people who utter the words, "It must be so great having all those holidays". It's not "great", it's necessary. Those precious non-instructional periods are what allow us teachers to continue on beating our heads against brick walls and pushing shit uphill. Note my use of the term 'non-instructional period'. Holidays are spent at the beach or lounging around the house. Holidays imply travel, excitement or at the very least, a moment of stress-free existence. Holidays are not about Year 12 students text messaging you the latest in a series of inane queries. Holidays are not about marking 60 Language Analysis essays, most of which make you want to read Andrew Bolt just so you can feel something again. Holidays are not about planning the next 10 weeks of work.
And so, I go to bed tonight desperately anticipating my 14 day non-instructional period in the vain hope that a couple of weeks away will make we want to kill the buggers just a little bit less.
Like many in the wonderful world of education I love my job and loathe my job. I adore the kids who challenge me every day and I want to wring their necks. My job makes me a better person but it also causes me to drink way too much. It makes me ponder the choices I have made thus far and be thankful and regretful. It helps me know how to be a better parent, but allows me far less patience when I walk through the door at night.
Perhaps most importantly however, it makes me want to kill people who utter the words, "It must be so great having all those holidays". It's not "great", it's necessary. Those precious non-instructional periods are what allow us teachers to continue on beating our heads against brick walls and pushing shit uphill. Note my use of the term 'non-instructional period'. Holidays are spent at the beach or lounging around the house. Holidays imply travel, excitement or at the very least, a moment of stress-free existence. Holidays are not about Year 12 students text messaging you the latest in a series of inane queries. Holidays are not about marking 60 Language Analysis essays, most of which make you want to read Andrew Bolt just so you can feel something again. Holidays are not about planning the next 10 weeks of work.
And so, I go to bed tonight desperately anticipating my 14 day non-instructional period in the vain hope that a couple of weeks away will make we want to kill the buggers just a little bit less.
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