Just as the kids seem to be growing daily so too am I, incrementally, as a teacher. A measure of this is the general lack of a lack of disorganisation. This is the kind that used to leave me a gibbering, slobbering basket case on my journeys home last year. At least it guaranteed a carriage to myself.
I’m not slick and never will be, slick teachers are those that have too many teddy bears in their bedroom, but I’m at least more ‘on it’. With continuous torrential rain, the advent of wet play turned the mild-mannered class into rabid dogs. It’s at times like this I wish I walked around with a hula hoop just to keep the mob at bay.
The worst offender of climbing the walls was one child who I discovered has been given traces of red bull in his water. Now clause 5, sub-section d of the law of teaching clearly states “thou shalt step in if a child is consuming a product that could give him “wings”.
On the other hand, he’s stopped looking at me with a permanently confused face. I no longer feel the need to move him back a few rows, as it was getting disconcerting and his concentration has improved. It’s a win-win, so his secret is safe with me.
The kids excelled themselves with their ridiculousness. One child approached me and looked as if he was attempting an Elvis Presley lip curl. “It hurts when I do this” he moaned. “Don’t do it?” I suggested. Problem solved, but that was one of the easier ones.
Another child got his hand stuck in a playground drain. We managed to remove it before any tabloids got sniff of it and christened him “Drain Boy”. One poor girl turned up looking like the Toxic Avenger after her parents had used carpet cleaner and she’d rolled on it. The reaction was bad enough that I’ve since received word she can’t go out in daylight. Is this how superheroes are formed?
When the rain subsided they ran screaming into the playground. I don’t have my finger on the pulse of the games children play these days. The ‘water hazard masks’, ‘fleabag monkey face’, ‘Oggy and the cockroaches’ and ‘The unruly midget pigs’ all sound like death metal bands but they’re in fact all games that my class play. I only intervene if the games are ‘Burn stuff’ or ‘Lynch the teacher.’
To end the day I read in one boy’s homework that for dinner he consumed “sausages, onion rice, ketchup, nine chicken wings, fried peas, two eggs, two hash browns, nutella on toast, grapes and orange juice.” He then settled down to watch his favourite show ‘Man versus Food’. Boy versus food is clearly no contest.