Chapter Five
5.2.2 Where Am I?
I am in a school that takes so much time to explain, inform and open up opportunities for discussion. There is a lot of history to this school, and I feel like I’ve been given a part in its drama. Listening to the other teachers talk at orientation day about what happened here during the last year, the last decade and the last hundred years is very exciting.
Teaching Journal (p.1)
I dream of this school long before I even see what it looks like. In my dream I am dressed smartly, in a tailored pant suit (usually black) and look and feel in control and calm. Everything around me is organized and clean. The walls, desks, and chairs are graffiti free. The hallways are litter free. The air is fresh, and noise free, as staff and students talk politely and civilly to each other, in friendly tones. I feel comfortable here, and believe with arrogance, that I am in an excellent school. I am a teacher in a top private school. When speaking to other Education graduates, I secretly and egotistically hold onto this dream, and feel like the luckiest person in the world. I am in the perfect school.
~
The first morning of school is a staff day, otherwise known as a student-free day (which I’ve always thought is a weird concept for a school that is really there for the students). The day begins with what’s called a staff ‘gathering’. A gathering is a formal meeting, where participants come together to sit in silence, reflect. In other words they gather together to worship. It is like a church service, but without a formal structure or hymns. The principal has ‘warned’ me about my first gathering, saying that it is not uncommon for people to sit in silence for more than half an hour. When compelled, he explains, members can stand and speak.
‘A popcorn meeting,’ he laughs, remembers fondly, ‘is when so many people are compelled that they are popping up all over the place’. This makes no sense to me at all.
This particular religion believe that this process of speaking out of the silence, and I assume being brave enough to suddenly stand and speak in front of a large group of people, relates to being compelled by the spirit of God. This is my immature knowledge of what happens before my first meeting. However, I am unprepared for my first meeting when I walk into the wood paneled, maroon carpeted room. There are comfortable chairs, with cushions, and there are wooden benches. I choose a seat with a view of the mountain, as a staff member recommends in a whisper as I walk in.
Sitting in silence for half an hour is very refreshing, and heightens my awareness of myself – my breathing, my vision for the day, the week, and the coming term. Michael explained in our first staff day that there are different types of believers, and thoughts of men and women wearing lots of grey clothing fill my mind. In our one hour professional development session we learned that some groups believe in pacifism, others in the Bible, and others appreciate the wisdom from all religious doctrines. This is, at least, my understanding of what he was explaining, but having never been exposed to it before, I have no idea about what to expect. I am trying to see if there is any conflict between the school doctrine and my own beliefs, perhaps searching for conflict between the school and myself. The fear that all cannot be this perfect and grand circles me. Overly paranoid, self-critical I suppose, but after all the horror stories about starting teaching that lecturers, education department reps, knowledgeable already-teachers, and text books have said, ‘The first year of teaching is a time of survival’.
~
I’ve been teaching at White School for several weeks now. I realise more and more that I am very lucky to be at this school. Sarah says that I have the second best job in the world, after her of course. We are teaching our favourite subjects, in a place that values our subject, and where the students enjoy it. Our numbers in Drama are high, which is why we have two full-time and one part-time Drama teachers. I do feel lucky, and appreciative. Staff members say,
‘Why would you want to teach anywhere else?’ I silently reply,
‘Well, you wouldn’t’.
But I worry that I have nothing to base this comment on. I took this job because I was thrilled to get a position at a school with such an excellent reputation. But I was also just thrilled to get a job at all. And yet, one thought overwhelms me sometimes.
I’ve actually said out loud to other staff members ‘I haven’t done my time yet’, meaning that I haven’t done a hard slog in a public high school for 10 years, where the working conditions, particularly the students, cause constant difficulties and confrontations. This is my first school, my first fulltime teaching job, and I am here, at White School. What does that mean? Will I be as good a teacher if I haven’t seen what the other side of the fence looks like? Will I have realistic expectations of students, or their work, or their behaviour? Do I really know how lucky I am? Is everything really perfect?
~
My first real lesson for the year is a Year 8 Drama lesson. I have written out my notes twice. The Year 8 Drama folder that the part-time teacher before me left has now been remodeled. The first four pages, titled ‘Introduction to Year 8 Drama’, have been retyped lesson by lesson. I chuckle at the detail that I’ve included, and think that anyone looking at this folder would instantly know that it belonged to a new teacher.
‘Introduce myself’ is number one, and highlighted in bold. As if I’d forget to introduce myself, but one can never be too careful.
With biro I scribble an item before this introduction. ‘Silence.’
Why do I do this? I add this the morning before I walk into the Drama classroom. It’s not a big decision. Surely all teachers start their lesson with silence. The White School staff book states that teachers should uphold the Quaker values, and from what I understand any meeting or gathering of people should start in this manner. It seems easy enough. The catch phrase that leaders in these meetings seem to use is,
‘Let’s begin with a moment’s silence.’
And then everyone is silent. (I marvel now, when writing this story, why I did not question whether or not students would be silent. Surely I would not be able to do this anywhere else – ask a group of 25 students to be quiet, and have it happen instantly? Never!)
The teaching day is beginning and I don’t have time to question this subconscious decision that I’ve made.
The students are chattering in groups, placing their books and pencil cases on top of the wooden bench/bins that run the length of the drama classroom. They lounge about, waiting. I am sitting on the carpeted area. (Drama teachers always sit on the floor.) My eyes are scanning the blue folder of notes that sits on the carpet in front of me. The pen in my hand twirls around my fingers, as if by magic. I am very nervous about what they will think. Will they know I’m new? Will they hate me? Will they listen to me?
‘If we could all sit in a circle please.’
That was me. And I think that was a teacher’s voice. Some late students straggle in.
‘Come and join us on the carpet, please. Quickly!’
Instructions are flying out of my mouth. I’m using phrases without thinking. Then, before I have time to really look at each of the students, to see who the members of my first class are, I say the following words.
‘Let’s begin with a moment’s silence.’
No one closes their eyes. Some fold their little hands in their laps, boys and girls. One pair looks at each other quizzically. But no one freaks out, laughs, or says ‘no bloody way’ either. I’ve just started my first lesson in the Quaker tradition.
I am keen to begin my teaching in a Quaker school using the principals of Quakerism. I think I am lucky to be in a Quaker school – a place in which I can literally, with all the backing of the school’s philosophy, instigate silence at the beginning of my lessons. I am also keen to make a good impression and to be seen to be doing the right thing. I assume all teachers start each of their lessons with silence. Later I find out that they don’t, and soon my passion for starting lessons in the Quaker tradition fades.
~
One term down, but almost half a year has gone. It’s June. How time flies. Today was ‘staff’ day, a nice slow introduction to being a teacher again. I fully intended
to spend ages reflecting on my first term, planning for the next term, and getting thoroughly organized. I have not done any of this. In my holidays I wanted to rebel from anything to do with work. I did go into school three times in the first week of the holidays, but then decided that if I didn’t stay away then I would never have been away, and would subsequently start Term Two feeling like I had not had a break at all. But Marge said something interesting to me when we had lunch last week.
‘I love coming back here, at any time, even in the holidays,’ she said. ‘It feels like home.’
Is this atmosphere typical of just this school or all schools? I have nothing really to compare this school with, apart from my short school pracs during my degree. Am I privileged? Is this place like nowhere else?
During our professional development we have some participants from other schools. We are examining the theme of school environment, specifically school culture. My questions that I’ve been asking about the uniqueness of White school are raised. What are the similarities to other schools? There were comments on both sides.
‘Yes it is similar.’ ‘Kids are kids.’ ‘No it’s not similar.’
‘Behaviour management isn’t overwhelming.’
I feel slightly out of place in this discussion. But not as much as I did last term! At morning tea I know more faces and names. Staff members were asking me how my holiday had been. Many share their stories of travels overseas. Many have been overseas in the three-week break.
‘Wow,’ I think.
We have a lot to talk about out. It feels nice to be back. Maybe it is starting to feel like home.
Where do I belong? I am the third of three drama teachers. What does that make me? My head of faculty, in my annual appraisal, says that I ‘know my place’. This strikes me as odd, and I run it by Sarah.
‘What does she mean, that I know my place’ I ask her sending my query over the quick metre distance to her desk. I often run stuff by her. Our small, cosy office is conducive to informal, frequent chit chat. Like a cozy sitting room, but not as sunny.
‘I’m not sure,’ she says, slightly dismissing my wonder, but then seeing my puzzlement she looks up. ‘It’s a bit odd.’
I think to myself, ‘Is it a put down?’
What does that mean? I feel like I am at the bottom of a ladder, that I should not speak out of turn, and that when I am asked a question I should politely answer ‘I agree’ or ‘I don’t know’ I am clearly at the bottom of a pile. I was prepared to be new, but not to feel lowly. Is this where I belong?
~
5.3