When Marking Is The Only Constant, Unpredictability Is Why I Love Teaching
First aider, counsellor, detective – in other careers this would be one of 'those' days. Not in teaching.
- by Mr J
In no other career – very few anyway – would you encounter the amount of unique events on a day to day basis than in the career we love and adore: teaching children. Make no mistake, this is a career I love and this affection is, in no small part, down to the things I am writing about today: the variety of unpredictability of our day.
No morning ritual is complete without a mug of the strongest, darkest and sweetest coffee I can find, and on this particular day it was a fresh box of instant filters which ticked that box – a good start.
“I’m ready for the day” I thought, as the clock approached 8.40am, a mere 10 minutes before the swarm of children would bellow their way towards my classroom.
Ten minutes to make the final checks, hand out the books ready for lesson one and take a quick visit to the bathroom to prepare me for the next hour and a half.
No. Wrong: instead I’m required in reception to deal with a parent who wants to know why ‘we’ve allowed’ their child to come home for the third time this term without his PE kit.
Not one to turn down a challenge, child and I turn detectives and spend the next 10 minute searching the vast areas of school for a lost PE kit, which would eventually turn up in the locker next to his. Excellent.
Otherwise, the morning runs with minimal hiccups, and when break time arrives I only just remember the promise I made to a PGCE student of allowing her to observe a maths lesson. But as newly appointed coordinator I pretend I’ve not stopped thinking about said lesson, and welcome her down when she’s ready.
I utilise the remaining seven minutes of break time doing those extra few bits you do when someone is coming to watch a lesson: altering a few seat arrangements and tidying table baskets to name but a few.
The lesson – as of course planned – went without interruption, and the very astute PGCE student then asks for ‘just a few minutes’ of my time to go over a couple of questions.
Again, with my coordinator halo above my head, I happily agree and spend 20 minutes answering them.
I genuinely feel like I have helped this student today, so I bear no grudge at the time lost. What I didn’t tell her, however, was that I was expected in the head’s office to go over some data we’d received from last year’s cohort, and to look at how we can use it to impact on this year’s provision.
A worthwhile meeting concludes with just 14 minutes of lunch remaining – so with hunger in my stomach I head to the staffroom to collect last night’s leftover sausages, but not before I catch sight of a Year 3 child with 2 knees covered in a lovely shade of coral red. Latex gloves on, anti-bacterial wipes out, plasters applied, first aid form filled in, clear instructions not to go sliding on his knees on the yard offered, and he is on his way back outside.
Eleven minutes of lunch remaining.
Once again, the afternoon passes by with an eerie sense of normality, home time soon arrives and I take my place on the playground to see my children off at the end of the day, conversing with colleagues about the proverbial week-long day we have just completed.
Heading back inside to gather yet another hit of caffeine, I feel a sense of satisfaction knowing I have earn my pounds today. I arrive back in class to begin my marking when I see a parent stood outside my classroom door – a lovely parent of an equally lovely child – so I welcome her in to discuss whatever it is that has already brought tears to her eyes.
Fifteen minutes later and I have employed my best counsellor skills to comfort her about the job she is doing as a parent and the impact it is having on her child. Where was that part of my PGCE training?
After reassuring her that ‘it’s what we’re here for’ I return to my marking which seems like one of the only consistent parts of this job.
An hour or so later I make my way to the staffroom to catch hold of a colleague I need to speak to before she leaves for the day. But realising that she, and the vast majority of the staff, have already gone home I begin to contemplate bringing my own day to close.
But no. Wrong again. The piercing buzz of the school telephone rings and I lift the receiver with an ounce of hope that the voice on the other end is that of a misdialled caller – but of course it’s not – it’s that of a parent who is desperate to find out the balance of her child’s school dinner account and who certainly does not want to wait till tomorrow to find out.
Scrambling through the ‘school dinners’ booklet I can see attached to the wall, and feeling well out of my depth, I do my very best to provide the necessary information and hang the phone up, once again questioning whether or not I was absent for the ‘receptionist’ training day during my PGCE.
I finally make my escape before yet another bullet point can be added to my job description, and I do so with a sense of pride: detective, first aided, data analyser, counsellor, and receptionist. And lastly – yet arguably most importantly – teacher.
Today hasn’t been ‘one of those days’. In other lines of work it would have been, but not in this career. In this career a day like today is the norm. We don’t do this for an easy ride, we do it because each and every day we are genuinely doing what we signed up to do: make a difference to children, in the classroom and beyond.
Mr J is a Year 6 teacher who blogs at neweraprimaryed.wordpress.com. You can follow him on Twitter at @primaryteach14.
