With all its Frustrations and Problems, Why Do We Stay in Teaching? It’s a Fair Question
It’s the kids that keep us in the classroom, says Dougald Tidswell, but not always just because we love to see them learn…
I’m not sure what had set me off over this particular cup of coffee.
It could have been the prospect of a new wave of grammar schools rolling out across the country, it may have been the silence from the exam boards over grade boundaries for the new GCSE, or perhaps the doublespeak from government about Grade 4s being equivalent to a C, but not necessarily being considered as a ‘pass’.
Whatever it was that had set me off, the poor unfortunates on whom I’d just unloaded a not inconsiderable burden of vitriol were now asking why I stayed in the profession at all.
It’s a fair question…why do we stay in this career, with all its frustrations and problems?
I’m taking as read the privilege inherent in helping young people reach their potential; the proud tears that well up when one of them achieves something they didn’t expect.
This is not to gloss over those undeniably crucial factors, but for me, there’s something else that comes with this job, and keeps me here – namely, the possibility of something wildly unexpectedly hilarious happening with no warning.
Until recently, I had two favourites that I thought would not be toppled: the sex ed lesson where we were naming as many STDs as we could in a minute, which provided the most unexpected feedline, “gonorrhoea”, to be instantly followed by the punchline, “I thought that was a country”; and secondly, the extended series of exchanges unpicking someone’s sincerely held belief that sunflowers were animals.
Stiff competition
After 11 years I didn’t think there was much that I hadn’t seen, but a couple of weeks ago my Year 10 class (well, one member of it at any rate) unexpectedly upped their game to claim the top spot in my personal hilarious moment list.
Picture the scene…
We’re playing a Kahoot quiz to check we can all find fractions of amounts. The class are answering pretty much universally correctly (progress established), but now the competition for top spot is hotting up.
One student took the lead on the first question, and apart from a brief relinquishment at question 4, has remained in first place throughout.
However, there’s a new challenger appearing, as the third-placed learner is rapidly closing on him, and is vocally determined to “take this all the way”.
The late contender is all fired up for the win, then – but also reliant on technology, which seems to be conspiring against him as his screen has paused and is preventing him selecting his answer.
There is palpable frustration in the air as he jabs at his device.
Sensing a potential meltdown, I tell him that I think his time is calculated once the answers are provided to him and not from the moment the question is displayed on my screen.
I have absolutely no idea whether this is true – and frankly, it doesn’t seem likely – but it sounds plausible and he seems placated enough to still think he’s in with a shot of the top spot … right up until the moment when the leaderboard is revealed with our early leader still triumphant.
The pain of defeat
It’s all too much for our hopeful chaser and he slumps forward onto the desk, his head thunking onto his pencil case, before sitting back, hand clasped to his face in the classic ‘near miss frustrated forehead rub’.
But something different is happening now, as he removes his hand to reveal a large smear of blood across his palm and a pretty sizeable rivulet working its way down his nose.
A tiny puncture mark is the source of the leak and after ten seconds with a tissue he is cleaned up and the bleeding has stopped. The mystery of how this happened is quickly solved.
An admirably sharp pair of compasses in the pencil case is the culprit, and I am just grateful that we are at the end of the lesson, because really, how do you follow a student stabbing themselves in the forehead with a mathematical instrument?
Our students provide us with our motivation to keep plugging away, and keep putting more of ourselves than we would choose to into this incredibly draining, demanding and exhausting work.
But every now and again, one way or another, they pay us back in droves.
Dougald Tidswell is subject leader for mathematics at a Buckinghamshire Upper School and recently got to put his first aid training to good use.
