Rules

A student in my form's father is dying. Well, probably. It's advanced stage cancer, detected very late, and it's not a sort with a good prognosis. Hairy Boy is 13 and he has a younger sister, and their uncle, who has no kids, decided to buy them a family holiday to make the most of the months they have left with their dad. Fair enough. Lovely plan. Only, it's in term time.

We can't say 'Wait til Christmas' because it's already payed for (and they're not wealthy), and, well, Dad might not have that long, at least not in good enough health to go on holiday - but we can't say yes.

New rules came in at the start of this month that say that no holidays can be authorised apart from in exceptional circumstances, for students who have never taken a holiday in term time before, and whose attendance for the last 12 months is over 90%. And Hairy Boy's attendance is 85% - he was really sick last term for a week. So we can't authorise, and there's no appeal system or higher-up power to appeal to, just the rule. You can't. Teacher's can't be trusted to use their professional judgement, so we end up with absolute regulations like this and have nowhere to turn when we find a situation in which they are clearly devastatingly misguided.

More Mistakes

I don't know how to deal with a student making a mistake. I mean, really, I don't. My current strategy goes something like this:

If it's in front of the whole class, say, 'Hmm, that's not quite right, can somebody help X out?'

If it's one-on-one with a usually capable and confident student, say 'Nope, that's not quite true' or 'You've made a mistake in this problem. Can you spot it?' - and then wait.

If it's one-on-one with a less confident student, say 'This one here isn't quite right. You do it like this:.... What do you think the answer is now?'

It's fairly disastrous. The first two are more-or-less ok, mostly because the students are fine with making mistakes anyway. Another teacher in my department always says 'Bad luck!' when someone makes a mistake in front of the class, which I like, but in a way I'm not sure it matters what words you use - they know what it means. It's the third scenario where there are huge problems. Fluffy, my smallest and spunkiest year 10, is always kitted out in fluffy bed socks (Why? She's fifteen!). She's the kid in my bottom set who is failing everything. When she's told a problem is wrong, she will totally shut down. Head on the desk, snatches the book away, and grumbles.
'Leave me alone! I'm doing it! Just let me work!'
'I'm pleased you're working, Fluffy, but I think you've made a small mistake in one place. Let me look and we can sort it out, then you can carry on.'
'I know what I'm doing! Stop picking on me! You can look at the end!'
'I don't want you to make the same mistake again, so I need to look now.'
'God! I'm just trying to work! Go away - I'm ok! I know what I'm doing!'
'I'm really sorry, Fluffy, but I'm not sure you 100% know what you're doing, because you've made a small mistake. So we need to go over it.'
'It's fine! It's not a problem! Leave me alone and go and hassle someone else!'

She's crying, I'm frustrated, and we don't get anywhere with the maths. Sometimes she will continue working during the conversation, whilst covering her book up and refusing to stop writing. More often, she won't pick up a pen again for the rest of the lesson. I always feel awful for pushing her, and I can't see it as naughtiness - she's upset and defensive, because she can't deal with being wrong, again.

The only possible solution I've thought of so far is really small problem sets, where each one needs to be checked before going on to the next. That way at least she knows it's coming, so she's not always worrying about me coming over, and I'm not 'picking' on her. I'm sure she won't like that idea, though. There's got to be a way that's less hurtful for both of us!

Hunt

Year 9 arrive at the classroom. It's the last lesson of the year, and excitement is running pretty high about what they'll be doing. There's a notice taped to the door:
'Wait til everyone is here, then come on in'

At 1.30, they enter and find the room empty, with a large note on the table - in code. They grab some whiteboards and start arguing (love this class!). They decode it to 'Come to the canteen quickly', and they run down.

Taped to the canteen door is a notice reading:
'Grab a clipboard from below, and your first clue is over there >'
There are questions all around the grounds, with answers above them. They answer one question and find the answer on the top of another sheet of paper, answer the question underneath and so on, until they come back to the canteen door. I snuck back and replaced the notice, so now there's another code there. They decode it (this takes them a while - it's a substitution cypher and they go the wrong way, but then realise their mistake) and it reads 'If you are a cookie monster, go to N15' Where there are, naturally, cookies.

I'm sure there are better ways to increase class independence than literally not being there to help when they're desperate to solve something, but I don't think there are as funny for me, watching from various windows!

Manage Me

I got assaulted by a student this week. That's a powerful word, 'assaulted'. I wasn't the one to use it first, but I heard it when, upon telling the head of year, he grabbed the deputy head and said '*Name*, Miss Roots has just been assaulted by a student.' That's when I knew it was going to be ok.

It wasn't major, as assaults go, and I'm not seriously hurt. The assault was a little complicated - I was standing in front of a door that was partly open towards me, and Trouser Boy (remember him?) reached past me and yanked the door into me, as hard as he could. He was trying to leave the room. He had a detention, but wanted his cigarette. He was in an awful mood and had had an unsuccessful lesson, in an area where his confidence is rock bottom. These are not excuses, but they are reasons. My Head of Department came through, having heard the commotion, and I told him. We went and found the head of year, who grabbed the deputy head, and used the word 'assault'.

Last year, at a different school, I was assaulted more seriously by a student. The school did not deal with it - I was told the student would be sent home, but saw him later the same day. I received no offers of support and no help with sanctioning the student or teaching him next lesson. After many, many tears of frustration, I asked my mentor how to make the school take it seriously. She said, and I quote: 'Start using the word 'assault'. It'll scare the shit out of them.' It did. I think it conjures up the spectre of unions and legal responsibilities and contracts and duty of care and all the stuff that we shouldn't need to be protected from assaults, but we do.

When the head of year said 'assault', then, I knew the school would take this hugely seriously. You can ignore an 'incident', but you can't not deal with an assault. I was right. After sending people off to pick up Trouser Boy, find forms and notify people, the head of year turned to me.
 'Are you all right?'
 'I, uh...yeah, I...think...'
 'No.'
 'No.'
That was when I burst into tears. My head of department, the head of year and the deputy head turned to each other and immediately began organising cover for my next lesson, so I wouldn't have to teach. I was sat down, made a cup of tea, then Matron was sent for (I was fine). After 20 minutes, the deputy head came and sat with me. He chatted with me, then asked what I had to do the rest of the day. He asked if I would like to go home, and said it would be fine for him to cover me. That is so unusual, I was blown away.

After another 15 minutes, I was feeling much better, and my Head of Department said I could go and take over my lesson whenever I wanted, although I shouldn't feel I ought to. I headed up and everything was going smoothly, so I took over for a very relaxed last 20 minutes of the lesson.

I am feeling so lucky in my school this week, and in the people we have in charge. The contrast to my last school's management is stark, and it's the things like this that make all the difference, that make or break teachers and can drive them out of inner city or deprived schools, out of the state system, or out of education.

New Kid

Year 8 make for a fairly happy classroom, rid of some of its troublemakers and with some others subdued by the sheer weight of constantly followed-up expectation and still others cajoled into compliance with praise and adaptation. We get along pretty well, and they will humour me and laugh with me, and I am some way to figuring out how to get their best out of them. The cycle of demand-denial-demand doesn't happen very often, and there's a fair bit of maths talk, sparks of genuine interest and, every so often, moments of quiet thought. Then there's a new kid.

Maybe I'm naive, but I think of new kids as being initially, at least, quiet and reasonably compliant. That has overwhelmingly been my experience, even if they're just new to the class and not to the school - they're checking the new teacher out. Not this one. I am unaware of his existence until he bursts into the classroom before the lesson begins, then barrels out again. As I step into the corridor, he (let's call him Deep) demands that he sit next to one particular kid, 'Cos he's my only friend, Miss!' I realise he must be new and say that we'll see, and that in this class, students must sit in a seating plan. His voice is, as you may have gathered, quite extraordinarily deep for a 13 year old, and he is very tall and large. When the class enter, he takes himself off and sits next to yet another kid. I have to ask him to stand up and place him somewhere more suitable. I exchange a glance with my TA and we both take a deep breath.

As the lesson starts he begins to make loud and silly comments, stating the obvious. 'Miss, miss, I don't get it, I think it's because, you know, I wasn't here last lesson!' The other kids initially think this is funny, but the repetition soon annoys them. Deep talks really loudly and really deeply, and seems immune to the annoyance of kids around him. When I ask him to stop talking, he apologises then does it again. And again. I give him a warning and put his name on the board. I explain what this means to him and the consequences if he continues, quietly. He argues back, loudly, that he can't have an after school detention! I explain that that is the final sanction, that it would be set for a later date, and anyway, I'm sure he can manage to not get that far. He shouts at full volume as I walk away 'But Miss, are you, like, proper sure?'

Deep improves marginally, but I'm worried by the bizarreness of his behaviour. At one point, in the middle of my explanation to the class he begins to laugh loudly. When I ask him to stop making noise, he explains (again, loudly) that he was 'just laughing at the funny man on the wall', pointing to my small picture of Einstein. He seems genuine in his shock at being reprimanded and sincere in his attempts to behave.

Now you might think that surely, surely I must have had some information, some guidance, before another student was added to quite difficult a class of 32. Our IT system is down, so it wasn't until the next day that I accessed the email. I gave his name and age, and that he would be joining my class. It said that no more information could be given, because his previous school was in Scotland and had not provided any data. They could not get hold of his mother. My TA is specifically trained in autistic-spectrum disorders, and we were both saying 'Asperger's-like?' to ourselves by the end of the lesson. We clearly failed Deep spectacularly, failing to deal appropriately with his behavioural needs or address any maths with him. I still have no idea of his mathematical ability (he has been placed in my set, the middle, for want of information). My only excuse is that I was so surprised by his appearance and behaviour that I found myself unable to judge whether his behaviour was a deliberate challenge or an unfulfilled need.

As to the other 32 students, I feel sorry for them.

Depression

It's been a tough couple of weeks. At the end of last week, a kid in my form had a breakdown, and I had to deal with it. Totally. Because I was the only person he would speak to. It's flattering, and surprising, as I haven't spoken to the kid much previously. Mostly, thought, it was terrifying - I was worrying I would say the wrong thing. How to deal with a teenager who tells you that, every so often, he has sad thoughts that 'spiral out of control', and he can't stop crying? When he says he's afraid of how he feels, and of what he might do? I knew the long-term stuff to do (Mental health and child protection referrals etc) but in that instant, when I was called, came running, and saw this kid staring at the wall with tears running down his face, what to say?

I spent half an hour talking with him and his best friend, in what turned into a sort of group counselling session where we talked about fears and self-worth. I am in no way qualified to do that, but he wouldn't speak to anyone else. Not the school counsellor, or nurse, or his mother. So it was me. In the end, his mum came and we sorted a plan and he went home, and... then it was half term.

I've been thinking of this kid all week. These situations are so hard to put down, especially when I have a whole week to worry in. Maybe I need a session on fears myself. I'll see him tomorrow.

Talk to me

There's a very quiet child in my form - let's call her one-eyed girl, as that's the hair style she opts for. She struggles with communication with her peers and with me, and she's a chronic lier, but also really wants to please. After many form-tutor meetings and conversations with her dad, a history emerges: a young childhood with an emotionally abusive mother. The effect of double bind instructions (instructing someone such that nothing they do is correct - e.g. telling them to be affectionate and then pushing them angrily away) is so profound that it's a whole area of developmental and abnormal psychology. One-eyed girl seems to have experienced this all the time, from her incredibly demanding but opaque mother. Interestingly, her mother has recently been diagnosed with autism.

At the start of this academic year, she went to live with her father and step-mother. It wasn't easy - she lied to them as well as us, often for no reason at all. She frequently disappeared, and her father found her frustrating and very hard to communicate with. It seemed to be gradually improving, as her grades went up, her appearance and punctuality improved and she seemed to be getting on better with the other kids. Yesterday she told me she's moved back with her mum, because she feels she can't manage the demands her dad is making of her, and she thinks she's making him and her step-mum miserable because she knows she doesn't communicate with them, and that this frustrates them. She thinks it's 'best for everyone' if she goes back to her mother, who she knows was angry that she had left and wanted her to return. Her father is livid. One-eyed girl is distraught, and not doing any school work. I am useless.

Interested

Sparky has been put on report. Form tutor report, so she has to see her tutor every break, lunch, and after school and show her comments and scores from every teacher she's had that day. It's humiliating, time-consuming and daft. She is on report for not listening  in class.

She is a gifted kid who is bored stiff by most of her lessons, which are very much teach-to-the-middle lessons designed for 11 year olds. The other lesson she did a question that almost exactly resembles a question that was on yesterday's AS level maths paper (for 17 year olds). She stares out of the window in class and doesn't engage unless it's difficult. She's not motivated by competition, rewards, shame or simply completion. Give her some questions that are too easy and she'll work at a snail's pace, no matter how fun the format or what incentives you provide. Give her something she can't do at first glance, and she'll worry away at the problem for hours or days. She is, in essence, an intrinsically motivated kid - a kid motivated by the honest-to-goodness content of our subjects. How fantastic. What a treat.

Only nobody else seems to think so. They complain about her lack of engagement and her laziness, and her refusal to conform. She doesn't always do all that well on tests, because she usually can't be bothered and she isn't motivated by getting a high score. I've heard her described on more than one occasion as 'that rather dim girl'. Now she's on report, designed for the naughtiest kids, to try and force her into some semblance of paying attention.

I give warning: I am getting this kid, this gifted, fantastic, insightful and intrinsically motivated kid, for maths. It's now her favourite subject. I think she's as gifted in the other areas, but they see her as lazy and a bit thick, and they don't engage her. The world could do with more brilliant female mathematicians.

Make it better

Thursday of this week, I had a dreadful day. The morning was packed with 12 year olds who'd fallen out with each other, and with maths, and at least 3 kids told me they 'couldn't be bothered' to think. It probably didn't help that my classroom was baking. At lunch a teacher I team-teach with told me she was ditching the class because she needed more planning time and had allocated me another teacher to team-teach with... 4 weeks before these students go on study leave. She said she was 'sure you'll agree it's what's best for the kids'! What? No! Add to that the looming prospect of a really long parents' evening that night, and I was not looking forward to period 5 with my naughtiest group.

My TA came up to my baking hot room and found me with my head in my hands, frustrated and tired and at the end of my tether. We had a chat, and I was reminded of something I've read a lot: I, as the teacher, set the weather in the classroom. Fair or stormy, I decide. I had 31 11 year olds about to turn up, who'd done nothing wrong, and I needed an attitude change before they came in! With my TA, I threw open all the windows on the shady side of the room and pulled down all the blinds on the sunny side (yeah, windows down both sides). Whilst we did this, we re-wrote the lesson plan verbally. Minimal silent individual work. We made some problem sets paired challenges, and others we decided to scrap and work wholly on the mini whiteboards for that section. We thought about questions to ask, and how to help them through the tougher bits.

We heard them yelling outside, so I plastered a big smile on my face and went out. The corridor was really hot, and I was happy that my room felt much cooler. It was dim too, which I thought would help calm them down. They lined up looking dishevelled and muddy after a lunchtime of football, but I got them in fast. I suggested they all take their jumpers off, and got right on with the lesson, using my favourite trick - saying it was a really hard lesson, but they'd done so well last lesson I thought they could handle it. My TA and I tag-teamed round the room, making eye contact and assessing which students needed us most, and where to position ourselves in the classroom for whole-class work. There were no tears. There was very little frustration. They took to the challenge, and the room felt full of positivity. No one whined at me, and no one was 'not bothered'. Everyone had some success. Random and my other 2 naughties stayed in the room the whole lesson, and did their work with minimal coaxing. When they filed out I turned to my TA and we both let out a long breath. 'Thank you' I said, 'That was a triumph'.

It's so easy to let my own frustrations spill over into my teaching, and it was so good to be reminded that I can change what feels inevitable, if I change my approach.

Head to Head

Yesterday, last lesson, I kept a Fiery Kid behind. He had failed to show up to a detention before we went on break (I hadn't even had him picked up - how was he supposed to remember?) and I had not only remembered this fact, but remembered it at the end of our lesson, which was the last lesson of the day. And I said he would have to stay for 10 minutes to do the homework he had failed to do in the first place (yes, we don't set much homework. School policy).

Fiery Kid told me he couldn't stay. I told him that school policy is that the day ends 15 minutes after the last lesson (even the school coaches don't go til then) so we can keep kids for that time. He began to get really angry, and I failed to take this seriously. He was playing to an audience, shouting 'Am I talking in another language or something? Everyone else gets it - I'm going! Why can't you understand? Are you stupid as well as ugly?' Then he said it was 'f***ing ridiculous', and on discovering that he could swear without the sky falling down, proceeded to run around the room swearing, before running out.

Today he was suspended internally all morning (sat in the back of my head of department's room) and was brought through at lunchtime to speak to me. He looked like a different kid. He mumbled at me, agreed promptly when my HoD told him he had been out of line, and did his homework with me before leaving. He didn't seem embarrassed, so much as crushed and worn out from arguing. We didn't have any real dialogue and, whilst I'm sure he'll behave himself tomorrow, it seems weirdly unsatisfactory.

We were discussing what students would ideally be like when they leave our school in inset tonight, and the verbs were strong: ambitious, confident, independent, daring. We don't seem to be encouraging these qualities in Fiery Kid. We seem to be crushing them. Could there be another option?

Drama

Yesterday, I was informed that one of my tutor group had been suspended. Knowing the student involved, I was disappointed but not wholly surprised, until I head the reason. She had, quite seriously and with some forethought, tried to set fire to another student.

Never let it be said that truly terrible behaviour never happens in 'good schools'!

Words

A student in my youngest group is really, really funny. We'll call her Bird Girl, because it reminds me of her name and demeanor. She likes to use the longest words she can to talk about things and, as we do a lot of talking, she gets to do this a lot. She also writes reams in her exercise book when given a task such as 'discuss and write down what you think we mean by a 'square root'. She covers her mini whiteboard whenever I ask a question. It's all very like me!

Also like me, Bird Girl writes as small as she possibly can. In tiny colourful handwriting she uses up every square of her exercise book, drawing lines with her ruler to separate the different pieces of work. She likes word problems and puzzles, and enjoys thinking for herself.

Does she sound bright to you? Does she sound engaged? I imagined from the first few weeks that she was near the top of the class (set 2), and the tests confirmed it, including the recent whole-year test that I neither set nor marked. She's clearly pretty able. However, when I told this to her parents at lats week's parent's evening, they were astonished. 'Bird Girl really struggles with maths. She was in the remedial group at primary school, and had extra help. She's never enjoyed it and is very anxious.' I looked at her (students come to our parents evenings) and asked if she felt that way. She said she used to hate maths, but she really liked it now, and also, it seemed a little easier. I don't know, but I suspect it's the general creativity and language-linked aspects that helped her. It seems sad she's never encountered these before!

P.s. A very big shout out to my most faithful reader, my sister, whose birthday it is today! Happy birthday sis!

Lovely

Last Friday night I got a disclosure of the sort of abuse that you don't even read about in the papers - horrible things that nobody wants to know about it.

 

One kid, Lovely, in bottom set, is really bad at maths. She did 20 - 9, got 29 and was happy with it. She doesn't really understand any of the operations. I drew her rectangles on squared paper for times tables, 2 the same size, and we counted the squares in each, but different ways. She was surprised that we got the same answer, even though she knew they were both 5 squares by 8 squares. I'm helping her a little extra, because she wants to understand so badly and the funny thing is, she's doing well in most of her other subjects, and she just doesn't seem like a bottom-set kid. No diagnosed difficulties, very articulate and hardworking - why wan't she getting it?

 

After a few weeks of one-on-one, I worked out that she had somehow missed place value. She's never grasped it, and it had messed up every subsequent maths concept for her. But why? Surely they do that a lot at primary, how had she missed something so central? So I asked her. I said: it seems like you're missing a piece of the puzzle, from when you were very little. Does that sound right to you?

Yes, she said. Yes, because I didn't go to school much then.

Oh? How come?

Well miss, I wasn't allowed to go, because ...

 

You occasionally read about these things. Kids kept home from school to disguise abuse. It's even used (unfairly) as an argument against home education. But in the flesh it's completely heart-rending and incomprehensible. I have goosebumps and pricking tears even now from writing this, and the thought that she's lived with this in silence for so long, just getting on with it, never acting out, never having a clue what's going on in class because when those crucial concepts were covered, she was hardly there, and when she was present 'I didn't seem to concentrate all that well, Miss'. Her literacy has mostly recovered, but perhaps because of it's linear nature, her maths hasn't. And I am so angry.

Damaging Children

Random is 11 years old, but looks about 8. He has the concentration span of a goldfish, and the communication skills of a particularly frantic chicken. Unfortunately for health and safety, he also has the acrobatic ability and disregard for danger of a monkey, and the mental health of, well, Eeyore. Random is clinically depressed, and the combination of this with his constant twisting and turning and above all shouting his every fleeting thought neural impulse to the entire class, makes him an interesting character in a class of 31 without a TA because, believe it or not, this child is not statemented. He is, however, profoundly disturbed.

His behaviour has deteriorated since he arrived in September as he seemed to lose the few coping skills he had, and resort to gestures, shouts of anger and lots of throwing things whenever he didn't like a situation. He was expelled from 2 primary schools. In my class, if he understands the work and I stand next to him, he will work quietly, with occasional breaks to say exciting things to the poor child next to him ('Willy's elephant's having a baby.' 'I like to break my teeth.' 'Why do you love education?'). If I remove myself so far as a meter, however, he cannot cope and will do no work whatsoever, but start his acrobatics and shout to the entire class.

Last week I had him removed from my class after a rousing rendition of a speech that might be entitled 'This is What Gay People Do', accompanied with quite astonishing actions and acrobatics, because blatant homophobia in front of 30 other 11 year olds is too much. On other days he will actually fall asleep on the floor if left to his own devices even briefly. Today, he informed me that he was going to kill himself.

I am beyond worried for this child and the situation that has produced him, and the 7 younger siblings at home, all now diagnosed with communication difficulties. We are damaging him by putting him repeatedly in situations which he so obviously cannot cope with. I want to allow him his coping strategies, destructive as they are, because it seems so cruel to take even that away from him and punish him for it, but I am worried for the rest of the class. It is disturbing, as an 11 year old child, to be exposed to ideas, language and behaviour like Random's, and I have no idea what effect it is having on the other children. That is why I try to contain him, and remove him, when his shouting and actions dominate the class for minutes on end. What does Ankle Socks, sitting quietly and working away at the back, think of all this? What is it doing to her? Can I stop it?

Stressed

I had a kid for detention today for failing to attend a detention for failing to do the homework, for the second time. One of those sagas. She's a nice enough girl, just a bit mardy, and she has blue hair, so we'll call her Blue Frown. She sat and did the work set whilst other kids trooped in and out of the room, collecting work and chatting with me. When they'd all gone, I thought I'd try and have a chat with her, so I asked her something - I think it was 'How come you're not doing the homework at the moment? Are you having a tough time?' and she started talking. It's starting to sound repetitive, I know, but it really does happen like that and it astonishes me every time. One short question and they talk for 20 minutes.

She said she hated school, and she's neither academic nor popular, so I wasn't very surprised. She only comes to school because she can't 'stress my mum out' any more. Apparently her mum was hospitalised with 'stress' for 3 nights last term, and her older and younger brothers are completely off the rails so Blue Frown is really scared her mum will go back to hospital. She said there are constant arguments at home since her dad left, 18 months ago, so she doesn't go home til 8pm. She tries to help her mum, but sometimes she can't help being cross at her brothers and then she feels really guilty.

I almost hate this sort of situation the most. She's clearly in a horrible situation, and frankly I'm not at all surprised she isn't doing her homework - and I don't blame her. But there's nothing serious enough, or that ticks any of the right boxes, to get agencies involved. There's nothing we can do, and she'll still get detentions for not doing homework. I did the only thing I could - I promised to never be mad at her for not doing homework: even though she would have to have detentions like everyone else, I would never be cross or stressed at her, and we would do the detentions and forget about it.

Control

Three weeks in to this year, I was helping one girl in my bottom set when she stopped responding to me. I don't mean she stopped responding positively, or engaging, I mean she stopped speaking, making eye contact or doing anything at all that I'd asked. She continued to twiddle her hair, but it was like I wasn't in the room, never mind speaking to her. After a minute or so she called across to her friend, and I though it was over, but she still made no response to me.

That's how I discovered that Silent Girl is a selective mute. What that says about the SEN system is another matter altogether, but what it meant for me in that lesson was unclear. I tried, I'm ashamed to say, to force her out of it. Threats escalated as she continued to completely ignore me, including an instruction to leave the classroom. She had an hour's detention, which she eventually did, but we failed to have any productive conversations.

It started to happen a lot, and the pattern wasn't complicated: when the work got too hard, or if she got something wrong, she'd start ignoring me. Once or twice, when something was said that made her realise that an answer was incorrect, she scribbled over it violently before becoming mute. It wasn't a physiological problem in any sense, as she was still able to talk to her friends (so her throat wasn't constricting with nerves, for example). I was at a loss as to how to solve it.

The only thing that seemed to work was ignoring her, and coming back later, but that seemed like an admission of defeat, like I was giving Silent Girl the control in our relationship. When I realised that, it made more sense. In the bottom set age 14, Silent Girl had comprehensively failed at education for the last 8 years. She's sat in classrooms where - however basic the knowledge, however 'easy' the task was proclaimed to be - she couldn't follow. Age 14, she couldn't count to 20 reliably or subtract at all, and she was forced to go over the same concepts again and again, although she still didn't understand. She had no control, and she wanted some.

I was further convinced of this in January, when I witnessed a confrontation between Silent Girl and her form teacher. She'd been avoiding her form teacher, so he found her at the end of my lesson. She ignored him. Clearly very frustrated with her, he began to shout. He hadn't lost his temper, and I could see it was carefully controlled, but it didn't work. She sat there staring into the distance as he shouted until the end of break. He left and she still sat there, and she began to smile. She had, she thought, won some power over him - he could not break her, and she could make him furious.

Ever since then, I have never got cross with her. She occasionally references the incident - 'Do you remember when my form teacher yelled at me? He was really mad!' - and she still ignores me. When she does, I stay as calm as possible and never stop smiling. I explain what she needs to do, leave her for about a minute and return. If she hasn't done it, I repeat my instructions, making sure it's something she's capable of and still being extra cheerful. If she hasn't done it after that, I outline what she needs to do by the end of the lesson, and keep returning - she stays in the room until she's done it.

She ignores me less and less, and when she does she usually gives in after a few repetitions of the instructions. I'm pretty boring to bait now, and it works. It doesn't tackle the root of the problem though: she still has no control over her days and very little understanding. Unless we fix that, she's not going to cope when suddenly, in 18 months time, she has complete control.

Again

The other day, a bright, cheerful girl in one of my classes was not concentrating. She was talking to the person next to her, and I when told her to stop, she did - but resumed 5 minutes later. I was pissed off, and told her to move seats. When she'd moved (after a 'no, I'm serious' comment from me), she stopped doing any work, and just sat there. I told her to stop being so mardy, and gave her a minimum amount of work to do, which she did.

At the end of the lesson, I asked her to stay, but before I spoke to her I turned to put some papers on a shelf. As I let my breath out with the lesson over, I realised: this is not how I do this. This is not the right way to do this. My frustration with a normally delightful student was stopping me doing what I know is right. I took a deep breath and turned around to her grumpy face. 'Hey, looks like you're having a bad day. What's up? Are you ok?'

It all came out - a worrying friendship issue and an argument with mum this morning. No big issues, but big enough when you're 12 to distract from long division. She talked for a few minutes, then apologised for her behaviour. I told her that I hoped she felt happier soon, and the next lesson she grinned at me and worked away cheerfully.

Every time. You have to do it every time. When you're tired, when you're frustrated, when you have a headache, when you've got a thousand things to do. I have to listen every time

Update on Trouser Boy

Standing at the bus stop this evening, I spotted Trouser Boy and his brother (who was expelled last year) on the other side of the road.

Trouser Boy: Hey there Miss!
Me: Hi, Trouser Boy!
Brother: Obscenities/inappropriate comments
TB: It wasn't me! Miss! He said that, not me!
Me: 'Yes, TB, I saw who said that. I know it wasn't you.'

They move on down the road, past me, then TB stops and looks back.

TB: '...sorry, Miss' *kicks brother*
Brother: 'Sorry!'

Given the obscenities TB used to greet me with, his history of inappropriate behaviour and his general disdain for all teachers ever, I was gobsmacked by his apology - for something he didn't do! Is this respect?

Smile

Today, Lovely didn't smile at me. She's so sweet and cheerful, I have trouble even thinking of a name for her, so let's just call her Lovely. Lovely didn't smile, so something was up. I asked if she was ok, and she shrugged. She didn't put her hand up all lesson, so I asked again and she shook her head, and muttered 'Home problems'. I commented that that sounded tough, and she just nodded, so I left it.

At the end, she hung around a little, so I asked if she wanted to chat. She said yes, and when the others had gone, she pulled up a chair. I handed her an emergency chocolate biscuit and she burst into tears. Disclosures came thick and fast. Suffice it to say, she's a young carer for the only other two members of her household, and has been managing this for years. When  I asked why she chose to tell someone today, after so long, she said she was 'just feeling tired'. I think that speaks to the responsibility she bears, and it seems impossibly sad.

I passed on all the messages that sort of thing requires, and lots of different systems are jumping into place now she's told someone. There were violence issues, so Child Protection are involved, and so is the school counsellor and young carers worker. I'm not - all I'm supposed to do is pass it on.

This is my third major disclosure so far this year, and someone commented that I 'get them all', and asked why. I don't think I do anything special, but what I do do is notice, and ask. I like the fact that I'm there at the coalface with teenagers, when they're going through those awful ages, and that I can notice the differences and patterns that signal a problem, and get involved. I like it because it's real and raw and it makes a difference to them, and I didn't cry on Lovely, or when I reported it, but I cried all the way home.

I don't get it!

In one of my very able groups, there is a girl who thinks she is not so able. Short and Sweet declared to the class at the start of the year that she 'shouldn't be here', and had thought she was going to move down a set. She's small and sparky and cheerful, and nuts about badminton. After a few lessons I found that she does have some difficulties, but her background knowledge is pretty good and she is perfectly capable of the work we are doing - given enough time and encouragement. And that's a lot of encouragement.

 

Every lesson, I'd get 'This is way too hard for me!', 'Miss, I don't get it' and 'I give up!' loudly and repeatedly. Sat at the front of the class, she's throw her hands in the air at the slightest difficulty and start complaining. If I replied that I'd be with her as soon as I'd finished writing on the board/explaining/talking to someone else, she'd start telling the class about how stupid she was, and she was the worst at maths in the whole world. I got so sick of it.

 

One week, she didn't do her homework and forgot to turn up to a lunchtime detention for that, so I had her in an after school detention. As she sat there doing some work, I thought about why she was annoying me so much. I'd just been teaching a bottom set who are older than her, who had been struggling with basic concepts but persevering and building their confidence slowly, despite real difficulties. Short and Sweet, in contrast, had higher than average maths ability, even though she was near the bottom of her set. She didn't know how lucky she was.

 

I found the last test I had given the bottom set and took it over to her. We talked about why she thought she was bad at maths, and where she was in her year group. I asked her what she thought 'bad at maths' really looked like, and showed her the test paper - pointing her to where the student (whom I'd made anonymous) had tried to write the numbers from 1 to 20, but had gone wrong.

 

Short and Sweet was gobsmacked, especially when I told her that this kid hadn't given up, but was still positive and hard working. If this kid hadn't given up, I said, Short and Sweet had no right to give up. How could she throw in the towel and declare herself stupid if kids like this were still trying? How much would they give to have her maths ability? She looked like she was going to cry, so I toned it down a bit and explained how frustrated I felt seeing her give up when I knew she had the ability, and hearing her comments which to me were completely unacceptable - when she said she was stupid, what was she saying about the kids in the sets below her? I told her we were done and she ran out of the room.

 

She hasn't been perfect since, but I think there's been a basic change in attitude. She doesn't panic so much, or shout so loundly that she doesn't understand. Perhaps its the realisation that it's normal to make mistakes and find things hard, even if most people in her set don't. It raises a major and continuing problem, though: how can I push the very brightest, who have been bored by too easy work, and challenge them to push themselves, without making students like Short and Sweet, sat in the same classroom, feel inadequate? I know the answer involves more differentiation, where the ablest are given no method or the bare bones of one, and Short and Sweet gets a scaffolded method, but in a competitive atmosphere even that can dampen self esteem. I'm worried that her positivity is only temporary, and I want to make it last.