One of my objectives in the new job was to blog regularly (✔) and actually have something to say. Well, I'm blogging regularly, at least. I made the mistake of reading a blog from a few years back, and it could have been written by someone else. Clearly, my personal turmoil made for an improved standard of blogging.
So, with this in mind, let's see if I have something to say. Oh, and all opinions are my own, and won't necessarily correspond with my employers, naturally.
Anyone that knows me, knows that I'm obsessed with Rick and Morty. Easily the funniest, cleverest, most quotable and wildly imaginative TV show ever. Fact. Seriously, if you have Netflix*, stop reading this, go watch every episode and come back when you're done. I can wait. Seriously.
.
.
.
Done? Was I right or was I right?
Take the above clip. Rick dissects the education system with laser-guided precision. The pointlessness of rote learning, the treatment of pupils like cattle, the patriarchal and ritualistic absurdity of it all.
I've written about this kind of thing before, the nature of placing schools' needs above pupils' needs, and how schools are nothing more than exam factories (exam abbatoirs?), so I won't recycle that line of thought. But really, is school a place for smart people? An issue that divides many teachers is the use of mobile phones in classrooms, for example. Some embrace it, some would no sooner let a mobile phone in their lesson than they would let a dinosaur teach RE. Is it because they fear that their lesson would spontaneously devolve into a carnival of sackable-offence-worthy happy-slapping, or is it a deep-rooted psychological fear of something that could (should) replace us?
Anyone with an internet connection, an appropriate device, a basic understanding of using a search engine and a reasonably sound level of discernment (or CRAP Detection as Rheingold charmingly puts it) could learn anything that takes their fancy. Where do we teachers fit into this? Do we fit into this?
During a recent INSET day on Emotional Coaching (a low-wattage affair, but at least the role-playing was optional) the basic idea really resonated with me. Pupils are these things with emotional needs. Who'd have thought it?
I've always considered myself a decent and caring teacher; my teaching philosophy (*shudder* I hate teachers that have a teaching philosophy. Do bus drivers have a bus-driving philosophy?) is to treat children as you want to be treated. Or failing that, treat these children as you'd want your child to be treated.
Picture a typical day, of 5 or 6 lessons spent with good, caring teachers. The children are told to:
- stand up whenever an adult enters the room
- sit there. no, not there, exactly *there*. Yes I put you there because you dislike that person and won't want to interact with them
- talk only when I tell you to
- tuck your shirt in. No, not just at the front. Did I say you could remove your blazer? Put it back on this instant. Now you can take it off
- no, no toilet for you. You should have gone break-time (😌)
- stop drinking. No water for you
- revel in working with others
- not even think of chewing or eating.
- do exactly what I say, the nanosecond I say it
- be enthusiastic and active. At. All. Times.
Imagine your next INSET day being like that, from 8.40 to 3.30, with an hour off for good behaviour, assuming your behaviour has been good, of course. You would kick the hell off, and why wouldn't you? Imagine that 5 days a week, for a minimum of 5 years in secondary school. By October of the first term, the training room would resemble something from Lord of the Flies.
Are we as teachers so different to pupils? In my experience (not in my current school, I hasten to add) I've encountered teachers who are as loathe to plan lessons and mark work as pupils are to engage. During INSET sessions, teachers gravitate towards the back of the room and grumble if we have to sit towards the front, as that way we can't secretly check Facebook on our mobiles. How many awkward moments in INSET sessions have we sat through where the trainer is trying in vain to move on and settle the room, but teachers absolutely HAVE to finish their conversation about how their weekend was ("Fine thanks, went too quickly, though"). Are we so different from our pupils? So, do we really treat them as we'd want to be treated?
So what's the answer, do we let them run wild, free and feral? By October of the first term, the school would resemble something from Lord of the Flies.
So, again I ask. Is school actually a place for smart people?
I guess, perhaps, the answer to this problem does relate back to a point I've made in a previous blog, the idea of "one for you, one for me". Dividing our schemes of work between the box ticking, joyless curriculum orders, and the things that address pupils' wants and needs; the things we enjoy, and hope our pupils might enjoy. Mutual sharing of passions. As humans, we love sharing our passions.
One of these days, I'm going to trial a task I've often wondered about. "Ok class, there's the computers, tablets, printers, PIs, go do whatever you want with them, but in a month, I want to see an outcome. Keep it clean, play nice, and have fun". Or maybe just tell them the vague outcome I want, there are your range of tools, crack on, children, crack on.
Of course, I'm being absurdly glib. Schools are all about pathways, facilitation of learning and building global citizens. The very idea of teachers being replaced by an iPhone is patently absurd, you fool.
*A crying shame the Netflix episodes are the censored version, but you can't have it all.
