Friends have been telling me for years that I should become a teacher, but it’s only in the past few months that I realised I should maybe start listening to them. I’ve always been put off because both my parents were teachers and the path felt too predictable; I wanted to try something different.
That turned out to be journalism which (ironically) led to me writing for the Guardian Teacher Network where I spent a lot of time talking to teachers. The more I interviewed them about why they went into the profession, the more envious I became. They all loved it. Yes, it was demanding, the policy changes were ridiculous and the focus on exams wound them up, but they still loved it. And they could see the impact of what they did. Their enthusiasm was infectious and I finally found that I didn’t just want to write about teaching, I wanted to do it too.
At first I really wasn’t sure I’d be any good. I hate public speaking, I avoid presentations at all costs and the idea of giving an assembly makes me feel a bit sick. But this year, when I was working in a school as a teaching assistant, I was asked to read the class a story. It was great – there is something very different about talking in front of a group of children. From there I knew I wanted to go into primary. I really like that age and enjoy teaching across the curriculum.
I start my course very soon and the nerves are kicking in. Predictably, one of my biggest worries is behaviour management. Maybe I’ve experienced particularly challenging schools, but kids not doing what they’re supposed to seems to happen far too frequently. You can’t call on a senior leader for support every time a child is rude, refuses to do what you ask or tries to run out of the classroom. I was once assisting on a trip to a leisure centre for PE when one of the girls in the year 2 class ran off three times.
But that day also reminded me of one of the things I can’t wait for as a teacher: the comedy value. It’s not why I’m going into the profession, but I’ve learned that an amusing incident can seriously lift my spirits on a bad day. The morning Beth had run off, I sat in the afternoon lesson and realised that Luke had been in the toilet for quite some time. I went to investigate. As I approached, Adam came out, looking concerned. He told me: “Luke’s putting loads of things down the toilet.”
At that moment the cleaner appeared, with a plunger slung over his shoulder. “What’s he putting down there?” he asked.
“Water bottles,” Luke said.
The cleaner looked at me, deadpan. “I’m going to need a bigger plunger.”
There are also those wonderful moments when a child makes progress. For two days Jack barely said a word to me or anyone else. He stayed silent when the teacher asked him a question and afterwards I found him standing in the middle of the classroom looking totally lost as everyone ran around. The only time I heard him speak was when the dinner lady asked if he’d like chips or peas, and he just said yes. Lots of kids aren’t chatty, but he just didn’t seem to know what was going on or why he was there.
On the third day I sat down with him and some other students to play with Lego. One helicopter construction later, he began talking. Not at length, but enough to show that he was engaged and to start to make friends. Seeing a kid come out of themselves is pretty hard to beat.
On the flipside, getting my subject knowledge up to scratch is a bit daunting. I am so tone-deaf that my friends have competitions to see if they can sing as badly as me, so the idea of teaching music is a concern. And science. How on earth do you explain electricity? I’m sure there’s lots of excellent resources to help, but I remember being totally baffled by the concept at school. Then there’s maths. I’m so relieved to have passed the numeracy skills test but it did not boost my confidence in my mathematical ability. I recently interviewed a former maths teacher who said that the test had nothing to do with what you need to know in the classroom. Which begs the question: why do we have to pass it?
That said, I am excited that I get to learn all over again. Ideas for lessons and projects are everywhere. Watching MasterChef: we could make ice cream to learn about temperature. Visiting a shipwreck in Stockholm: history, maths, science, English and geography. I realise that many of my plans are overambitious (we probably won’t be taking a trip to Stockholm) but I can’t think of another job where life opens up so many possibilities.
My greatest worry is the responsibility. Being in charge of whether a student learns or not is a lot of pressure. My previous jobs haven’t had a direct impact on people’s lives; if I screwed up it wasn’t the end of the world. But that’s the reason I decided to change professions – so that what I do really does matter.
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