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!

Novelty in Equation Solving

I tried a new method for getting kids to rearrange equations this week. Astonishingly, given the amount of stuff out there, I haven't been able to find it anywhere on the web, but I'm sure I can't be the first to think of it.

It was stunningly easy. The majority of the class could already do basic rearranging, such as 3a + 4 = 2a + 6 . I gave them that question then, after they demonstrated the method and answer, asked them to divide themselves into 2 roughly equal groups, based on confidence. Now, I hear what everyone seems to be saying about grouping by ability, but I had a real reason for this. Also, it was the kids' own choice which group they went in. Some of them surprised me. Most got it right. The ones that didn't quickly realised and moved.

Each group then got given a bunch of equations on slips of paper, and each student taped one to the top of their whiteboards (held portrait). The more confident group got fiendish, nasty, horrible equations. The others got ones of the sort above. They sat in a circle. Each student had to write the first step of rearranging the equation under the taped paper, then pass the whiteboard to their left. They would get handed a whiteboard from their other side, read what was on it and write the next step for that equation.

It was fantastic. The amount of brilliant maths talk, productive arguing and explaining was huge. Students were teaching each other and figuring out what worked and what didn't. A sample exchange:

Kid 1 'This step isn't right' *passes board back*
Kid 2 'Yes it is, see, I multiplied by 3p'
Kid 1 'Huh, yeah, I guess you did'

pause

 Kid 1 'But I can't see what to do next, after that step. I don't think we can solve it starting like that. Can you do a different step?'
Kid 2 'Oh, I guess not, ok, sure'*

I sat with the less confident group to start with, and when they'd got on the the second set of equations I moved over. The others were really struggling, but making lots of progress. At the end, I did the litmus test.
'So, who learned something today?'
'Who was challenged today'
A resounding success. So much so, that next lesson I got them to split into 4 smaller circles, and we did some more.


*For interest, this equation had a quadratic on the top of a fraction, which they needed to cancel - if they didn't, they ended up needing to factorise a quadratic with a non-1 value of x squared.

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.

Making Conversation

In the inclusion centre, for kids who can't cope so well with mainstream, or who can cope but not for 5 lessons a day. I am teaching a sewing class, which I volunteered to do in my gained time now the year 13s (upper 6th) have left, to 3 girls, Big Hair (13), Scottie (14) and Beehive (15). The atmosphere is a lot more relaxed than in the rest of the school! All 3 girls have had multiple exclusions from multiple schools.

Beehive: 'So, how old are you, Miss?'
Me: 'I'm sorry, love, but I can't really tell you that, you know?'
Beehive: 'Oh, OK, year, fair dos'
Me: 'Thanks'
Big Hair: 'But you're, like, young, right?'
Scottie: 'Yeah, she's definitely young'
Beehive: 'Can we have an estimate, Miss? Like, around about?'
Me: 'Um...'
Beehive: 'Like, you're in your 20s, right?'
Me: (safe territory) 'Right, I'm in my 20s'
Beehive: 'Cool, thanks Miss.'
Big Hair: 'You're really mature for 20, Miss. Aren't 20-year olds always, like, clubbing and drinking?'
Beehive: 'She's in her 20s, idiot, not 20!'
Big Hair: 'OH! I thought she looked old for 20!'

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.

Excited

A year 7 arrives early in my classroom. She is quiet and shy, so I take the opportunity to talk to her.

Me: You're getting on really well in maths at the moment. Are you feeling ok about the test?
Year 7: Yeah, I've done lots of revision. I'm a lot better at maths now than I was in primary school.
Me: Oh? How come? You're pretty good at maths!
Year 7: I didn't really like it at all in primary school, but it's better now, and I find it much easier.
Me: Why's that, then?
Year 7: Well, my last teacher was a maths specialist and she always said it was really important and she was really serious. She wasn't enthusiastic like you - you're always excited. And we didn't get to play any games.

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.