pupils | The Teaching Mum

I am not usually one for writing about current news stories because my blog was never supposed to be serious. I found that in the stressful world of being a busy working mum, writing comical stories about my misgivings as a parent gave me (and perhaps one or two others) some light relief to what was usually an end to a busy day teaching and parenting. However, every so often the real world sneaks up on me, smacks me right between the eyes and I feel compelled to write about it.

That’s how I have felt about this past week.

I shy away from controversy and tend to keep my opinions to myself on social media. This is for two reasons:

Firstly, I don’t want to say something that others don’t agree with and end up reading cutting remarks about and me and my writing (because I am a total wimp and cry easily). For me, social media isn’t about my airing of political views and spewing about what is wrong or what is right about the world today. No, for me, social media is about sharing the fact that one of my amazing Year 8 boys asked me yesterday if ‘Utopia’ was a country. ‘No,’ was my reply. ‘That’s Ethiopia.’ It’s about that time when I told a pupil that Rudyard Kipling was not, in fact, Mr Kipling’s brother (if only he had been though…) It’s also my documenting of proud parenting moments such as when we lovingly bought our girl two goldfish and she screamed and shouted all night for a dog. My Facebook isn’t about being ‘in’ or ‘out’, I just want to make people smile.

A parenting ‘misgiving’. She was showing me her plaster!

Secondly, I don’t write about current events because I am not clued up on everything that’s going on in the world at the moment. My television channel barely moves from 614 and 615 when the kids are awake (CBeebies and Nick Jr for those of you who are wondering…) and by night, my sordid love affair with Sky Atlantic takes precedence over watching the news. I am not knowledgeable enough to weigh in and discuss serious stories and my come back of ‘I know you are, I said you are, but what am I?’ is just not a strong enough argument to defend myself against some of the trolls hiding in the dark spaces in-between the comments section on social media.

Despite my knowing more about ‘Andy’s Prehistoric Adventures’ rather than some of the ‘prehistoric’ views of our country’s MPs (Oh no, she didn’t…), we do now live in a world where the news is instantaneous and where, if we want to, we can delve into all of the nooks and crannies of a story.

This week, I did just that. After putting my children to bed each night, I strained my eyes and read page after page of news on my phone screen and some of the facts I read brought me to tears.

Last week, I watched British Football Fans fighting in France. I read about a young pop star being killed in Orlando and then my heart broke for Orlando again when innocent people were killed and injured in a night club in a horrific shooting. Tuesday came around and I found myself reading about Orlando again and how a two year old had been dragged into a lagoon by an alligator. Then on Thursday, just as my colleagues and I were about to watch the England and Wales football match, I read about a local MP called Jo Cox. She had been shot, stabbed and rushed into hospital. My colleagues and I briefly discussed it and condemned the attack instantly. We settled down to watch the match knowing that Ms Cox was alive and in safe hands at Leeds General Infirmary.

After the game, I rushed home and collected my children from Grandma and Grandad’s. The Other Half was home and making dinner. We briefly discussed the football game and spoke about the hideous attack on Jo Cox.

Once seated at the table, the conversation came up again.

“I hope she is okay,” I said.

“She’s died,” the Other Half said. “It’s barbaric.”

“She hasn’t,” I insisted. “She is in hospital.”

The Other Half reached for his phone and instantly updated me.

I had to take a minute.

Like I have said, I am not political and I did not know the MP, but this news story absolutely devastated me.

Later that night, as I lay next to my children, I read more and more about the very wonderful Jo Cox. As a successful working mother, she would have left her children that morning and expected to see them again that evening. No one should ever go to work and never return home. I was heartbroken. I searched desperately to find the good in the world again.

That is what this post is about. Finding the good. Because it is there. It is all around us. It always has been and it always will be. It’s about knowing where to look.

This week, I found goodness in my Year 9 class. They are a wonderful eclectic mix of pupils of middle to low ability. Sometimes they challenge me; sometimes they stare at me in silence with blank expressions on their faces, but more often than not, they make me smile.

Sometimes they amaze me.

On Thursday morning, they did just that. But, they didn’t realise it. Nor did I until they had raced out of my class in a bid to be the first in the lunch queue.

The topic for the day was the analysis of language. We read an article about an openly gay rugby player.

After a weekend that saw the news filled with stories of hate that linked with both sport and sexuality, I saw this article as a great tool to spark some serious debate, some riveting conversations and some strong opinions. I thought I might even have to challenge some ideas.

I was wrong.

I have mentioned in a previous post that rugby is the beating heart of our school; it is a topic that draws a lot of our pupils into conversation.

We read the article and before picking out key words and phrases, I wanted to find out what they thought of it.

“Why do you think the rugby player kept his sexuality to himself for so many years?”

“He was scared of what others would think, Miss.”

“Yes, so if your fellow team mate told you, after years of playing rugby together, that he was gay. How would you react?”

Silence.

“What would you say to your friend?”

Eventually, someone spoke.

“I wouldn’t say anything, Miss. He’s my friend.”

I smiled.

“What if your friend wanted a reaction, your opinion or some advice? What would you say?”

“I’d tell him to stay focused on the match because we had a game to win.”

I feared that they didn’t understand what I was asking of them. However, we unanimously agreed that the appalling things that happened last weekend have no place in this world. They recognised discrimination and they condemned it.

When asked to speak about sexuality in context, they couldn’t. Not because they didn’t understand, but because it just isn’t an issue for them. I am lucky enough to work with young people who tolerate, accept and love people’s differences – whether it be their sexuality, their beliefs or just how they have their hair styled. When the world is at its most cruel, I look to them because they are our future and they are good.

They will sometimes be naughty and will test my patience, but they will grow up good.

People yearn for the Britain of old when people were perhaps more patriotic. But, weren’t people also more racist back then and less tolerant of people who dared to be true to themselves and stand out from the crowd?

I am lucky enough to live in a country that celebrates freedom and I am privileged to teach pupils who don’t just tolerate people’s differences, but they accept them because it’s all they have ever known.

As teachers, we will strive to educate your children and turn them into good citizens, but education starts and finishes in the home and love will always breed love.

Thank you Year 9 for allowing me to see some good in the world this week.

Love breeds love and happiness is infectious

This week I made a conscious effort to not interact with anyone or any article, video or blog. I didn’t feel it was appropriate to post a status about how my ten month old just broke his bath poo virginity (see new FB status) or how my daughter recites ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Poo’ nightly in an attempt to soothe her brother. That’s how I have come to use Facebook in recent times, I use it to try to make people smile and I use it to show that life and parenting isn’t as picture perfect as some would have you believe. But last week, I didn’t have much to smile about because something tragic occurred that reverberated with millions across the world.

Facebook can often be a sounding board for racist slurs and derogatory opinions about people’s religious beliefs. Having a computer screen to hide behind often brings out the small minded people in their masses. Personally, I never make comments on such rubbish, but sometimes I read them and it angers and upsets me. Last week, I didn’t need to see anything like that.

On the flipside, Facebook can be a wonderful platform to share pictures and videos of heroic acts that often leave me gasping for breath and sobbing. I didn’t want to do that either because I cried enough on Friday night when I read about the death poll in Paris and when I learnt that hundreds of lives were taken in an instant – hundreds of people who I did not know died and I shed a tear for them. I kept away from social media and mourned for a world that one day will belong to my children and their generation. And what a scary world it may well be.

Last Friday was like any other. The Other Half and myself were watching television when my son began his nightly cry. He had been in his cot for just over an hour so I knew it was coming. Switching the torch on my phone, I began my ascent up to his room and having finally visited the sleep expert, I was going to remain in his room until he fell back to sleep.

And that is exactly what I did.

With my back faced to my son, I sat down beside his cot and waited by him. I wanted him to feel comforted by my presence, but I was determined not to pick him up and whisper in his ear that was ‘all alright because Mummy was there now’, so I didn’t. I sat down and started scrolling through my phone and after a few minutes, his crying ceased. In that moment, I read a Facebook status that read ‘Pray for Paris’, but without thinking anymore of it, I soon turned my attention to the little hand that had reached out to play with my hair. Smiling to myself, I remained seated, but turned to see my little man sitting up in his cot. Yes, the crying had stopped, but the monkey was wide awake. I reached my arm through the bars, stroked his soft face and he grabbed it and used it as a pillow.

A few minutes passed. He was snoozing and my arm was wedged in the cot so I thought I would take another look on Facebook. I noticed that Paris featured in a couple more statuses, but was still far too chuffed with the fact that my boy was now back asleep and, more importantly, he was still in his cot. A military procedure of ‘operation move arm without waking baby’ began and after freeing myself, I stayed by the cot because I knew that that creaky floorboard to my left would surely give me away if I attempted a ninja roll out of the room too soon. That was when I Googled ‘Paris’.

And that’s when I stopped and read. I raised my hand to my mouth. ‘Oh God, how awful,’ I whispered into the darkness.

I logged back onto Facebook.

My timeline was suddenly filled with ‘Pray for Paris’ and I understood the severity of the situation. It no longer mattered that my boy had been crying and was now sleeping his own cot. It no longer mattered that he had not slept for longer than three hours the night previous. And nor did it matter that at midnight, when he woke again, I broke all the sleep expert’s rules and collected him and put him in my bed so that he could feel safe next to his Mummy. Because that’s what we all want in the night isn’t it? To feel safe. I was lucky enough that night to be able to make my son feel safe, a feeling that was taken from thousands of people in a split second in a city not so far away.

It was still dark when we woke the next morning and it was somewhere between the hours of five and six when, once again, having read some Tweets, I Googled ‘Paris’. I learnt of the death toll and of the bombings and in the darkness, with my wide awake son pulling on my fringe, I had a little weep. I cried for those who lost their lives and I felt scared for the millions of innocent people who would be blamed for such a heinous crime. But, I don’t want to make this post about race or religion; it’s not what my blog is about. This post is about my concerns for my children and my pupils growing up fearing a world rather than embracing its beauty and the adventures it has to offer. This post is also about my being thankful.

Even though I never get a shower in peace, I am thankful

It’s easy to complain about your life. Only this week, my partner, myself and my son have all battled with a sickness bug. The little man is upstairs asleep now (in his cot) with a temperature and I have moaned about our rubbish week to colleagues. In the grand scheme of things, our week has been far from rubbish. Therefore, I wanted to remind myself to be thankful for my lot. I am thankful that we live in a safe community even though I always complain that that my Mum and my friends live a whole twenty minutes drive away and that I have to drive for at least fifteen minutes before I reach a motorway. I am thankful for my home despite my complaining to EVERYONE about our ridiculous mortgage payments and I am thankful that every morning, when I wake, I have a job to go to. Therefore, rather than complain about at how at 6am I struggle to successfully apply copious amounts of makeup to my eye bags (which would cost you 5p if you purchased them at Tesco) with a snotty ten month old hanging off my hip while at the same time having to pacify a four year old who is demanding both a Fruitshoot and an Ipad, I will be thankful because for thousands of people around the world caught up in conflict, the norm is no longer something that exists for them.

Despite the ironing pile, the pulling of the hair and the looking rough, I am thankful

This week, our pupils have been scared by the attacks in Paris. Of course, they would never admit this to their teachers, but we have spotted it in their questions. I taught a sophisticated vocabulary lesson earlier in the week and one of my words was ‘malice’.

“Use it in a sentence,” I requested.

A young boy raised his hand and said: “The Syrians are maliced against France.”

The first thing I did was change his made up verb into a noun. That is my job after all.

“The Syrians feel malice towards France,” I said. “But they don’t. Not at all.”

Despite not understanding the conflict in the Middle East (hell, I don’t understand it), not one pupil has whispered a word of malice and hatred against another race or religion and that makes me thankful for being able to work with a group of young people who are curious about their world and not prejudiced against some of those in it.

I desperately want to see the good in people and the good in the world. I need it to be safe as my arms for my children and the protection of my classroom walls for my pupils can only stretch so far. This post is my emergence back into the world of social media; I hope it causes no offence or harm. I just hope it makes you thankful for your lot in life. I know I am.