Kids can be so cruel
Since I started teaching myself I’ve found myself thinking more and more often about what an obnoxious bunch of little horrors me and my classmates were. There was one teacher in particular whose life we probably made unbearable. He was a young bloke – I would imagine we were his first teaching job – and he used to turn up in designer suits and driving an open top sports car. He seemed to think that because he wasn’t a lot older than us that we would all get on like mates and he’d have no trouble from us. How wrong he was. By the end of that year, there wasn’t one of those fancy designer suits that wasn’t torn or stained with some mystery substance and one of the really rough lads from fifth year got suspended for stealing his fancy car and leaving it dumped in a ditch. God knows why I wanted to go into teaching after that little performance!
I thought about that young teacher the other day when I was meeting my new class of young ex-offenders. I thought it would be OK because they all wanted to be there, and teaching anyone who has turned up voluntarily is much easier than teaching those who have been forced to come along. Unfortunately, I didn’t find out until the hellish hour was over that the English lessons were part of their parole conditions and that if they didn’t show up they’d be returned to the overcrowded and filthy institution that they’d only just been released from. When I heard that, the previous hour all started to make sense.
I’ll try a different tack next time, but I suspect those kids will take one look at my “No More Mr Nice Guy” act and see right through me. At least I don’t drive a convertible!
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