But, WHY???

A kid asked me yesterday why I wanted to be a teacher. This question was posed at a sunny time in the middle of my 16 hour shift at the Boy Factory. On a Saturday.

At the time, things were going quite well, and while I was tired, and while I was full to the eyeballs with caffiene, and while I was riding a sugar high so big I wanted to should 'Yabbadabbadooo!', things were all going quite swimmingly. But I knew that it was but the calm before the storm and other such cliches.

This kid was on detention, trying to make up for being suspended for whipping another kid with his phone charger. Three times. Having said that, he is a lovely kid, albiet one who does stupid stuff. Anyway, in response to his question, I gave some glib answer about trying NOT to be a teacher, but then getting into it and loving it. Which is, while correct, not really a hundred percent true.

I got into teaching because aside from stage managing a circus, there is nothing that I would rather be doing. Sure, the reasons I turned to teaching was because my soul was leaking out of me while I worked in advertising. Because the "glamour" of working on film sets gave me dandruff and made me take up smoking for 4 weeks. Because the theatre scene in Sydney, while creative and interesting and passionate, is small and cliquey and pays a pittance that cannot even dent an electricity bill, let alone smash hole into a Sydney weekly rent. I turned to teaching, not because that is what both parents do (yes, it's in the blood), not because it is The Done Thing at the end of a BA, not because of the pay (HA!) or the holidays (though they are fantastic) or the "power" (as would be the motivation for one of my "students" should he choose teaching as a career... Again I say HA!).

I really love the connection with the kids. I love the moment they get something they didn't understand before. I love the looks on their faces when we go on an excursion to see Danny Bhoy (flimsiest link to the curriculum, but it was fantastic!). I love when they admit to me that they like English, or they finished the book, or they tell each other to shut up because they want to get on with the lesson. I really love teaching the HSC class, because it is a challenge for all of us. It is difficult and in-depth and requiring a bit of brain power.

I do not, however, like taking 70 teenage boys to a Country Show. And I don't mean a performance, with curtains and characters and acting. I mean like the West Bubblefuck version of The Royal Easter Show. Without the things that I like about the RES (the giant testicles on the bull, and the woodchopping). Including all the things I DON'T like about the RES (really awful and inexplicable aromas, bogans swearing at their kids). And the inmates of the Boy Factory don't get out much, so they jump at any chance to exit the red brick gates.

So they get on the bus. Some of them don't fit the dress code, and some of those escape my notice til we're there. Some of them have failed to take out their hideous earrings, so I put those in my handbag. Most of them are just excited to leave The Factory, and all the older ones are calling for us to stay longer than the 9pm bus back to school.

9pm comes. About half the kids are there on time. And as the rest arrive, the ones who got there first drift off to eat/drink/watch kids from other schools have fights/mainline fairfloss and red drink before bedtime. We mark them off and finally get them onto the buses, and there is someone missing. There are phonecalls, and running between buses, and much confusion. There are chants with obsceneties, wolfwhistles and mob mentalities. We finally get the large coach heading to home, and the poor sod working the shift with me turns to me and utters those famous last words...

"Well, that was about as bad as I expected. But I don't think we did too badly"

Within 5 minutes, the Year 12 Boys start a rousing chorus of "I wish all the ladies...". The lewdest, crudest, most degrading rugby song I have ever heard. I am not one to shun a double entendre. In fact, I just might be The Double Entendre's Biggest Fan. I don't even gravely object to most sexist jokes, so long as they are funny. I have no issue with crass language (as it quite evident if you chat to me outside the hours of 9-3. Or even in fact read this blog), but I do know that Context Is All when it comes to language. Rugby songs, though they are generally 'Yay Man, Boo Girl' don't all piss me off. Especially when they can be turned around to ridicule the fellas ("I Used To Work In Chicago" being a great example of this). But this song has ALWAYS irked me, even if I am in a pub with a mix of genders. It is gross objectification, hinting at rape, at the conquestification of sex, at the powerlessness of women. And this time, the only "Ladies" were me and the bus driver.

We stopped them before a second verse. We banned them from all rec activities. I dobbed on them to the deputy who had them on a Sunday Morning detention today.

And right now, I don't want to go out of my way for any of them. I don't want to give up my planning periods to walk them through their assessment tasks. I don't want to take them to the excursion to The Big Smoke. I don't want to really speak to them ever again. But I don't really think any of that is feasible.

But it has made me think about the question of Why I Want To Teach. Because of they are going to be such fucktards, why should I bother with them?