Comment
I have realised that teaching is, for all the
people that we see in a day, a rather lonely profession. It's been a bit
of a week at Fairytale High, with people dropping like flies all over
the place. Our once happy staffroom has been all but deserted, and those
of us who'd survived the lurgy looked like it might not be long before
we succumbed.
On a Monday, I see 103 different students through my door, with 33 of
them coming back for a second go. And yet, by the time I left the
building on Monday evening, I didn't really feel like I'd made contact
with anyone on a personal level. We all spend so much of our time
rushing: to briefing – to registration – to lessons – to break duty –
back to lessons – gulping down our lunches – back to registration – to
assembly – back to lessons – that by 3.30, the chance of actually taking
the time to talk to one another is gone.
We seem to exist in a classroom bubble; getting together only briefly
before dashing off somewhere to do something that just can't wait. And
so a simple act of kindness acquires much more significance. The cup of
tea taken to the colleague who looks like she is dying on her feet; the
offer of running something to the office for someone with more plates to
spin than hands; the "take care and don't come back 'till you’re better
– I'll sort the cover" text... they all make the pressure and the hassle
and the feeling that you're out there on your own go away, for a while
at least.
It might only be a tiny thing: a cuppa; a hand to the door with the pile
of marking; even just a "it's nearly 3.30!" but a random act of
thoughtfulness can really make a hard day better.
So: to the child who, at lunchtime, brought back the pen that I thought
I would never see again and left it on my desk with a thank you note, I
thank you. You made my day better.
Cinders