Saturday 17 January 2009

Making Children Cry and Beating the Credit Crunch

This week I made a child cry. I'd like to point out though that this was through proportionate and necessary application of evil eyes and stern talking, and not because I'm a mean and horrible bastard. Much.

The term has started out fairly well. We've had a lot of indoor play (which involves them sitting in front of the telly watching Brum/Stuart Little/ 101/2 Dalmations) during the first week because of the ice, and this week we've had a lot of wet-play (same thing, but caused by the rain). This invariably annoys me because, despite being safer it means that the kids get stir-crazy, I get stir-crazy. All of that bottled energy ends up in the classroom and makes our lives more difficult.

I'll say this about playground politics, it involves an awful lot of micro-management. For example, a child may run up to you on the yard and say any number of things - usually it's a complaint, sometimes it's an annecdote. Sometimes they talk bollocks, somtimes they make you laugh. Half the time though, the message they tell you doesn't quite convey the depth of what they're trying to get across. Most of the time they come up to us and they may as well be saying:
"A hitherto unforessen turn of events has arisen, and I, lacking the faculties of age and wisdom to deal with such events, am left in a state of acute conundrum. I would greatly appreciate some assistance."

Sometimes you can help. Accidents, incidents of fighting and the like are often a relief because at least you can DO something about those. More often than not though you're left with very little to say to them. "Little Jonny said/did something that may or may not have been accidental/deliberate, but more importantly, acceptable." It seems harsh to send them away with the situation un-resolved, but it it occurred to me that these are the kinds of personality clashes and problems that they have to learn to solve. I can give them advice, but there's no way I'm going to call them into a debate - as interesting as it'd be, there just aren't enough hours in the day.

For whatever reason however, the kids have been absolutely loopy these past two weeks. At camp I could throw my weight about and threaten to throw them in the lake, now I'm beginning to think that more diplomatic methods of classroom management are better. The incident that incurred my wrath was during the loopiest of recent days. A dance workshop was going on all day in the adjacent hall and all we could hear was bass through the walls. Think nightclub. In a school. They were the last class of the day and the wait must have seemed interminable. However, the teacher wasn't feeling up to it and there had been several incidents where the entire class was in trouble. They were given a bollockin', as it were, and we carried on with our work in relative silence. I started doing some individual reading and was so engrossed that I didn't notice a posse of children missing until too late. They'd all been asking different people if they could go to the toilet. As a result, half the class was using the toilet as an excuse to watch the goings-on in the hall.

I told the children in my immediate area, when I'd figured out what was going on, that it was probably best if they come and ask me specifically and no-one else. To which, one little boy (normally a bit of a scamp, but not really naughty and certainly not cheeky), answered me back in a mocking rally of yeah-yeah-yeahs.

Pause. For a second I thought I'd misunderstood what he'd said.

"Are you making fun of me?" I said, with dawning horror.

Stunned silence. Apparently, I'd barked this bit with considerable venom.

"Are you making fun of me?" I repeated, louder.

Luckily, the teacher happened to have seen all of this and jumped to my rescue. Under her wagging finger and my intense stare of doom the poor boy crumpled into a mess of wobbly lips and soggy eyelashes. Bless.

After he'd apologised the afternoon wore on and at the end of the day the teacher had a word with his mother. This incident of answering back hadn't been isolated. Apparently, his home manner is one of cheekiness. In his own words "I forgot where I was". It's nice to know that he has enough respect for us normally that he doesn't do that kind of thing. It was also bizarre to watch the confusion play out on his face while he tried to figure out what had just happened.

Not exactly my proudest moment, I don't particularly like shouting and I don't like the idea of becoming a tyrannical disciplinarian. At the same time though I don't think they'll be pushing me that far again.

In other news I had an interview for a PGCE - I should know in a week and hopefully I'll be buying a laptop soon. Yay!

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