Let’s be honest here. Teaching is a tough gig, particularly when your main focus is on the prevention of chairs and streams of expletives being thrown from one side of the classroom to another – NOT the instilling of knowledge in young minds. On the occasion when there is silence – and a student isn’t hitting, poking, slapping, wrestling, tapping, swinging, yelling “Oi, Miss” or “this worksheet is gay” or ”eat a d!ck, you wanker” – I can’t help but look around the room in awe and think: something’s just not right. I’m overcome with a sense of discomfort and awkwardness, so much that I experience the urge to fill that silence by creating meaningless chit-chat. So uh, Eddie…any…goss? Anyone? Stories? GTA5? If silence is maintained, I hardly revel in it; rather, I see it as the calm before the storm. I tell myself to chill the fuck out, Miss; don’t get too excited now, because shit’s about to hit the fan.
Such is the nature of my mindset after three years of teaching at a very special school in the heart of Brisbane. Don’t get me wrong, readers – I love my job. My students keep my life interesting and the stories I take home are enough to cripple one with laughter – or at least, start a blog. Other than the fact that I’m now on a six week break (PAID, bitches!) and in need of some side projects to prevent me going stir crazy with all this free time on my hands, I also think it’s time I publicly share my experiences with anyone interested.
I truly hope you get something out of this – whether it’s a mere giggle, a single, glistening tear, or a fresh take on the things you wouldn’t usually bother thinking about.