Apathy Jack writes:
I still have faint memories of my teacher training: Learning a lot about professional standards, boundaries, the appropriate ways of handling things and the like. Of course, at the end of my sixth year of doing this, I realise that none of it was useful.
For example: T’other day, as parents were filing into the Hall for a prize giving, I stood in the middle of the crowd, my hand around the throat of a student, squeezing not hard enough to cut off all of her air, but hard enough to doubtlessly worry the Anti-Benson-Popes of this world, and saying loud enough for the parents to hear: “If the public wasn’t here, you’d be dead!”
During my training, I’m sure they said this wasn’t the sign of a good teacher, but I know better now.
Hell, so long as I continue to get Christmas cards like the following from my kids:
You were the best English teacher ever, even though at times you were threatening to kill us! But I’ll get the spiders on you.
then I know I’m doing my job properly.
