/ 25 April 2005

Keeping up appearances

Many small children think that teachers are not ordinary human beings and they could be right. In truth, teachers may have similar feelings about certain children they teach, too.

One thing children notice is a teacher’s appearance. No detail escapes them and they are not slow to comment. For some years I taught the lower grades, and could guarantee that every day at least one child would start the ball rolling: ‘I like your dress, Miss”. This was the trigger for a chorus of ‘So do I,” and a signal for competitive children to remark on further items.

On one occasion, two classes of seven- to eight-year-olds were lined up ready to go to singing. They were outside the music room where the newest member of staff was waiting. I did not see him and he did not hear one shy girl say, ‘I like your top, Miss.” All he saw, as he told me later, was a dragonish teacher saying crisply, ‘Right. All of you — who likes my top?” Gratifying show of hands. ‘Who likes my skirt?” Another forest of hands. ‘Who thinks I’m beautiful?” Laughter and waving. It was only then that I noticed him sitting at the piano, gaping.

Teachers need a sixth sense. In the library one morning, I turned round in time to see a boy climbing a free-standing bookshelf entirely stacked with books. Before I could move, it tilted forward. He leaped off, ducking as the nearest children grabbed at it. They caught it before it could squash him, but the noise of the cascading books was dramatic. As he extricated himself, the class watched in silence. He straightened.

‘It fell,” he announced. Eventually he became peeved by my mirth, and said reproachfully in a most aggrieved tone, ‘I might have been killed,” and was further offended by my reaction.

Seemingly irrelevant questions may have deep and subtle meaning, as happened one math lesson. Gary put his hand up to ask if a mouse would shut its eyes if it was sleeping.

‘Gary, it could be sleeping, or it could be bored, but this is math,” I replied. Gary fidgeted a while then raised his hand again.

‘Miss, if a mouse has its head out of a desk and its eyes are shut, would it be sleeping?” The children sniggered, but Gary hounded the point. ‘Miss, I don’t think it’s sleeping, I think Arlene’s mouse is dead.”

There was a shriek and instant tears from Arlene as she lifted her desk lid. Gary was right. She had guillotined her pet.

Teaching is hard work and it certainly can have great job satisfaction. But one might wonder about one’s efforts on receiving an end-of-year note: ‘You are the best teacher I have had. I will let you know if the next teacher is worse than you.”