A clean slate

I was coming up with a name for a work in progress; a once in two months e-newsletter sort of concept for fellows, with the purpose of keeping everyone in the loop and sharing amusing (or horrendous, it simply is a matter of perception really) teaching stories. 

As a means of procrastinating actual work for its birthing, I spent about an hour thinking up a catchy name for it. In my defense, names are important okay so shut up Shakespeare. 

I came up with a few (trust me, it took every fibre of my being not to pun the name) and I finally settled on one. 

A Box of Chalks- ABC

The following is the essence I hope the name captures:

Teachers write the adventures of each child they meet. Sometimes, we write hopes and dreams and we paint rainbows but often, in our less than perfect love, we may also plant fears and monsters in their tales. 

Are we able to see every child as a clean slate- a smooth board eagerly awaiting that for which he was created? Will we draw strength that they may ride confidently into the world outside their classroom? 

All chalks break. Oftentimes, we too, break. We fail. We make horrible mistakes. We falter and fall. But even broken chalks write. And however badly we have written, we can always choose to wipe it down and start again.

Thing is, I had a horrible week. To be fair, it's one horrible day but please allow me to be melodramatic; it's our duty as teachers to be. 

Last Friday, I had waltzed into class and this was a class I've found most challenging thus far because I'm still at a lost as to how to manage the dynamics of the class. There are a few boys who were well, really, just boys. They'd walk around during my lesson, convert their tables into makeshift drums (I secretly enjoy it and they sure can keep a beat), their exercise books into rolled up hailers and the class into their singing stage.

But right place, right time sigh. 

The Principal walked in on the chaos, huzzah! just what I needed. My handwriting on the whiteboard was close to being illegible, the students who've just scrambled to their seats couldn't answer my questions and I wished I could've just dropped dead there and then. To cap the lesson, one of them threw a bottle in my direction after the Principal left when I turned my back on them to copy out homework. I asked them who did it but they still found it to be a joke and so as I left the class, I told them that I'd inform the Principal.

I didn't realise I meant it but I did. I went looking for her but what I had in my mind was to ask her how she'd want me to deal with the situation and to apologise for the state of the classroom when she walked in because in all honesty, I wasn't as prepared myself as a teacher as I should've been. I hadn't thought thoroughly about the lesson I was going to deliver and I hadn't thought about how I would follow up from the previous week's classroom culture setting. I made my exhaustion an excuse and I assumed I could enter this class with the same plan I had for the other class I teach the same syllabus to. 

I bumped into the PK a few times as I went looking for the Principal and she asked what had happened. I still regret the moment I informed her of the incident but that's a valuable lesson now because the next thing I knew, the Principal had heard of the incident, misconstrued it to mean that I wanted punishment to befall them and well, forced them to apologise to me and promised the one boy who threw the bottle a caning and the others some form of humiliation. 

I spent the weekend mulling over how I had let things run out of control and mulling over how devastated I was that I'd be exampling violence and humiliation. A bout of doubts arose. Why didn't I try harder? Or what if that was already my best and it's actually not good enough for the kids? Would that be selfish of me? Why would I teach if I'm simply not cut out for it? I realise that these are questions I'd probably grapple with as long as I teach but I made up my mind anyhow to see the Principal first thing in school today to ask if she could do without the caning. I'd do anything, I'd swap the punishment for extra classes with the kid or I'd hold him for detention. I'd make him do extra work, whatever.

Now in a fairy tale, that would happen according to plan and all would be well and I'd swoop in to save the day and my classroom would turn into a fun, controlled picnic. 

But life's not a fairy tale and I'm not here cause I'm playing the saviour. I think one of the most valuable lessons of teaching might be that we're not superheroes, only mere mortals like our kids. On my way to school, I prayed for confidence in my decision and for trust in divine timing. 

The right time never came and I never got to see the Principal. I bumped into the kid when I was on duty and he was walking out of school. There was a short pause of awkwardness but he greeted me and in my lack of tact I asked "ada kena pukul ka hari ini?" He got his promised caning. I felt like shit and I recalled that he had rarely been particularly destructive in class and on occasions, would even take down notes as I taught. But he laughed it off. There was no accusation in his eyes, no blame-shifting, no anger, just discomfort at being asked about it by the same teacher who brought about his punishment. I thought back to the person I was in school. I would've been mad at the teacher- that new teacher who didn't know what she was doing and here she was, trying to teach us and failing miserably at it. I would've felt accused- what about everyone else who had been misbehaving?

Are we able to see every child as a clean slate- a smooth board eagerly awaiting that for which he was created? I had asked.

And I had pondered long upon this question and I could confidently answer yes. But I suddenly realised I might've been asking the wrong question after all. 

The question would've been; would my students be willing to see me as a teacher, a human full of flaws but trying- a clean slate today although yesterday she failed?

I'm still nervous as heck about entering this class this week after the fiasco and I feel physically weak in the knees at the thought of trying to keep order in the class and in keeping up with them.

But my God, was I moved and humbled when this boy looked me in the eye today and saw a clean slate, no scores kept.