School is Stupid: Notes from the Classroom

Introduction

It’s time to completely rethink the way we educate our children. I realised this after returning to the classroom with forty years’ of adult experience behind me. It dawned on me that we’re blind to the realities of what we’re doing to our children, with wide-reaching consequences. Students don’t have enough reference material to know what’s being done to them. Adults wisely don’t see the point of looking back. Parents are trusting the experts. Teachers are embedded in the system. No-one is seeing what is really going on.

This book is a record of my last job, as a Teacher Aide in a high school. For two years I sat in the classrooms where our children sit and saw what’s going on in a typical high school. I was well and truly shocked, because this is a typical school. What you are about to read could be taken as an emotional response to my experiences and I make no apologies for this. In a world dominated by the 'business model' where emotions are to be left at home (with ‘the little woman’) I raise the flag for returning normality to working life in all its manifestations. Radically changing the way we ‘educate’ our kids might help…

Why this job in a school? A few years ago I found work as a Teacher Aide (TA) in a high school having been an unemployed English teacher for six months. I’d retrained as an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher some years before but the GFC (global financial crisis) hit in 2008 and things changed. First, the business I worked for folded when the Japanese owner pulled his money out of the region; I got only relief work at another school. Finally, student numbers dropped and a lot of casual staff lost their jobs. So for six months I was looking for work; at the same time completing a series of paintings. In 2003 I’d decided to put making art higher on my list of priorities, embarking on a ten-year 'apprenticeship'. Determined to give being an artist one more go round. Working as a teacher aide would not be arduous, I thought, and I need the money. Working only four days a week I would have energy left to continue my painting work. How wrong I was.

TAs came on board in schools when kids who used to go to special schools were integrated into mainstream schools in the mid-70s. Rightly so. There was a need for additional staff so looking after these kids did not fall to already time-strapped teachers. The need for additional adults in a classroom is acknowledged by everyone but there’s little political will to put money there. Making sure your child gets individual attention is not within the edict of the western education system. Historically, and following Prussian methodology, the aim was to remove children from their parents and gain a homogeneous and pliable work/defence force. If you want to look into this read what John Gatto has to say.

Why bother sharing this? As a low-earning artist I’ve had plenty of bottom-rung-of-the-ladder jobs, where the peculiarities had me floored; I just moved on. This job was different because kids were involved. And what happens to children ultimately affects us all. My partner worked in a Primary School and helped me debrief daily. I used 750words.com to take notes. I had to write; it was the only way I could cope with what I saw every day. Come with me into the classroom and see for yourself.

Here we go.

Chapter 1 Finally, a Paying Job

The interview at the school went well yesterday, it seems they need someone soon; there hasn’t been a teacher aide in this position for some months. The young woman interviewing me had liked the info-graphic of my work life that I had included with my CV. I had been a graphic designer for ten years in the 80s-90s and couldn’t resist showing off.

When we first met there was a long moment of eye contact, what assumptions were now being rewritten? Was she wondering if I could hack it? She’s taking me to classes to see the two students who need the most help. A lot of talk about the most obstreperous.

So you'll take the job? she said later. Yes, certainly, I said, grateful to be employed. I read her subtext; working as a teacher aide must be challenging.

My first task will be to help a fourteen-year-old boy (let’s call him ‘C’) get the most he can out of being at school. Do I get him out of the classroom when he does his thing? Yes, apparently, where 'inappropriate behaviour' means interrupting, swearing, and not cooperating. I need to quickly figure out a reason to attend in class and help him deal with his impulsivity. My partner is a great help as he has insights on all this having worked in a Special Ed unit. But you know, I want to be painting. When will I get it going? I’ll finish preparing three small canvases today. Hopefully my day off (this job is four days a week) will be Friday so I can have a three-day shot at doing my own work.

It's going to be interesting sitting in a classroom. How can a middle-aged woman help a boy who is turning into a man?

This is the trouble with me getting a job; I think about it even when I’m not there until it becomes too large a part of my life. I want to be thinking about my next painting. John Cleese says the key to creativity is removing distractions. Fat chance.

My boss introduced me to a few classrooms and pointed out the other students I might be helping, students who are on the list of those who require some assistance and are funded for this. We bumped into C who is always transiting between classes, sent out soon after he gets there. She introduced him to me and I stuck my hand out. I don't usually shake hands, he said and offered me limp fingers, the 'I don't care to meet you,' handshake of the self-absorbed. He walked off muttering audibly, I’m not a bloody moron. Clearly he isn't but he has painted himself into a corner with a fierce reputation. I later saw him hanging out in the Chaplain's room.

Now it’s Monday, my first day on the job. Off to the classrooms that have the students needing help. C first. We arrive (my boss and I) to find the students waiting outside the room for their teacher. She tells one student to tuck his shirt in, another to do his fly zip up. We go in. C turns up late. The whole class is obstreperous (typical 14-year olds) and takes some time to settle. The teacher announces a seating plan with some changes. There are a few groans and I hear someone say, Where's C sitting? and another, I’m not sitting near C. When he does arrive he goes immediately to a computer in the back and turns it on. The teacher directs him to a seat amongst the class. I’m busy observing his body language.

 He's hyper alert, for him the classroom is a high-stress zone. No-one likes him, he has no allies. At least three other students call out but when C does he’s reprimanded. He’s told to get a pencil from his bag which has been left outside—seems to be the rule that bags remain outside. He’s not interested in what is being said, he has already decided not to partake. Suddenly he’s not in the room and my boss and I go out to see. He has been handed a note by the teacher, already written out, and is off to some person's office. He’s not there and we intercept him coming away from it. He’s dragging his feet. All I see is a lost boy; a kid turning into a man and hating being told what to do.

I surely hope we can get on and he will accept my help. The assignment outlined by the English teacher is due in three weeks; it's an article using persuasive writing. On 'an issue relevant to teenagers'. I hope I can help him, I have to accept that I may not. I want him to be able to write screeds on why he hates being at school. It’s clear to me he’s not connecting with anything going on here. I want to know his story, from him.

I’m knackered. To be expected first day in a new job; sorting out the who, where, how, what. I have a desk in a room on the edge of the campus. All to myself practically, complete with kitchenette. The building is all but empty on my floor. The school chaplain, organised an automatic coffee machine in the Staff room that made a halfway decent cup. Lifesaver. The walk back to the bus stop after school was gruelling. I had been on my feet nearly all day walking up and down steps. My boss wears high heels. How does she do it?

In both the classes I went to—on my schedule to assist—there was already another person in there helping. What a great school, lots of people on the ground. Have things improved since I was at school?

Tomorrow starts with a short meeting in a coffee shop nearby. Off campus for practical reasons apparently, too many interruptions. Not sure which cafe or whether to turn up at school first. All will be revealed in due course. I don't feel on top of things yet, still feel like a lost lamb. I found a folder outlining the Teacher Aide role. Will study that.

Tomorrow my partner and I go out in the evening to see the school musical. His son is just finishing up at this school. We had a taste at Assembly this morning. There are only 600 students, same size as my old high school. We all get to sing the National Anthem and the school song. Nothing wrong with singing, is good for the lungs and spirit but the nationalism I can do without.

The weather remains fine. Doing the walk to and from the bus stop might not be so easy in the rain. Will need to get waterproof footwear.

I need to speed type now (ha!) if I’m to do this twenty-minute writing job. (Reach 750 words on 750words.com, a site that encourages writing.) We’re about to leave to go see the school musical. This is the second night of the musical and a lot of work has gone into it. My partner’s son plays a major role and he has come alive. I saw him today at school and he’s looking very handsome. Maybe it was because he was talking to a group of girls at the time.

My second day on the job is going quite well. C accepts me as someone to do the English lesson with. He’s asked to leave the room early on as usual and I get up to follow him out. He places his face close to mine in a menacing manner and says, 'Why are you leaving the room? I'm here to help you do the lesson." I remind him. Another chap has already left the room frustrated at the teacher giving him extra minutes in class. Not a detention as such but he’s pissed off that C had excited him into being recalcitrant too. C spits fire that's for sure and goes his own way and doesn't give a damn for anyone else. He hasn't learnt to moderate his behaviour to avoid burning bridges. I guess he sees no reason to, his mistakes are not forgiven here. He’s worn out their patience.

I was in four classes today and barely had time to eat lunch. Before the Maths teacher turned up the kids were telling me they hated his class and he was ‘retarded’. Well, his teaching style was a bit worrisome. I had been warned I would be witnessing good and bad teaching. This guy never had the class with him. Not the boys anyway, the girls just sat there. He made the mistake of arguing with some of the students and getting deeper and deeper into the mire. Checking homework happened first and one guy was upset because he had the answers right but had not been marked right. The teacher did not explain to him why it was not marked as correct. I told him the teacher needed to see his method so he could know the student had followed the correct pathway to the answer.

It's Thursday and I’m pooped. Spent another lesson with C the Recalcitrant and now I’m behaving like him. The kid is not interested in school. He has a bright, quick mind, easily distracted but very far from being stupid. Yet he makes teaching a class of kids almost impossible for the teacher. The other kids react to his call outs and the whole thing escalates. How very tiresome and childish it all is. Teachers cannot stop to deal with the social skills needed; they have to move on with the curriculum. It's the whole class against one kid. I soon realise it’s the whole school against one 14-year-old boy.

I was in two Maths lessons today. The first one was with an older teacher. I arrived at the door and she explained to me she was getting the kids (mostly boys) to behave before she would let them into her classroom. Oh good, I thought, a strong teacher laying down the law; the boys will understand what is expected of them. She holds one boy back preventing him from entering the room "What did I do, Miss? He doesn’t get a reply and eventually we go in. I said to him, You’re lucky, a strict teacher means a good teacher. You’ll get to learn some Math today." He wasn't convinced.

These boys are naturally respectful and polite human beings yet they’re placed in a situation where to self-regulate their behaviour is almost impossible for them. What is it about the classroom that precludes their being able to manage their behaviour? Is it the constant do this, don't do that? Is it the closed-in space? The demand that you be passive? Is it the knowledge that they can't do the work? Is it not knowing the relevance, the point of it all? Is it the feeling that the teacher does not like them? For many humour is a tool to ease the tension of difficulties. If you’re in the company of people who dislike you or maintain an air of indifference any joking falls flat. Humour is in very short supply here.

It was Algebra. Now I loved algebra more than any other kind of Math in high school. It was like learning a code and solving a puzzle. For most of the students this looked like their first experience with algebra. We’re using letters instead of numbers, explained the teacher. No one said, But why, Miss? They’re too polite to question the teacher. Maybe if you tell kids why you are doing this you take them with you. Sadly, no-one is going anywhere.

After class I stop for a chat with the teacher. She thanked me for being there, it was her first week. I tell her she was great. She told me that a girl off her own bat went and got the Principal when the class got rowdy. It looked good to read the riot act to the boys and get them to agree to behaving better. Subdued.

The second Math class I went to was Pre-vocation Math—real-life, useful maths; this lesson was learning about calculating wages. Person A earns 80% of the award wage so how much does she get? When I arrived a couple of students including the one who has aide funding went into the other class. A couple of other students I’m meant to be helping stayed. When I suggested to them that I may have to go into the other class they pleaded with me not to go. This felt good, maybe I’m of use after all. While they were doing the exercises I went round every student and made sure they got what the thing was all about. The teacher stayed at his desk.

I spent the last lesson with C. Science, revision for the test tomorrow. Biology, genetics, cells, DNA. C doesn't care. How is it relevant to his life and what he needs now? He can't figure that out and no-one is telling him. I’m looking forward to conferring with the other aides. He puts up his hand to answer the teacher's question without really thinking on what it might be. Stabs at it, trying to connect. He goes out to get something, he returns and as he passes a girl's desk he touches something on it. She bites. If you touch anything of mine again C I’m going to cut you! Why is she not at fault? Surely responding to idiot behaviour makes you an idiot too? Why aren't they being told this?

He hasn't bought his textbook so we have to go get one from the library. I indicate to the teacher, off we go. She’s relieved. At the library very little revision happens. He does his best. What's wrong, Miss? he says, knowing full well I’m getting annoyed as I look exasperated while he’s on a laptop doing his own thing. He’s finding comfort in my discomfort. I’m bored, I tell him. I’m here to help you revise for the test. He tries. I get him to Google stuff. His cheeks are developing large, hot spots—sign of stress. We call it a day. I go see his bike and he shows me how easy it is to put the front wheel on. We part friends.

Think positive thoughts; there is garden and trees here and the birds are singing.

Chatting to my partner on our walk to the bus stop in the morning I mention that seeing the teachers at this school is almost making me tempted to do a teaching diploma. I am very curious about what is taught at teachers college. He says, quite rightly, to stay focused on the art. Yes, I must stay focused. That is what I want; to be good enough to earn an income selling paintings. Stay on track, lady.

It's been a challenging day for me, I lost my composure. The stressful week came to a head I guess. It hasn't happened in a long time. Just acknowledge that last week was a hard week. Poor sleep, new job, withdrawals from the lovely routine of painting. Also the intensity of my reaction to the crap that goes on in high schools. I’m not so much surprised as shocked that nothing much has improved in the nearly forty years since I was in high school. It's fairly hideous and I don't know what to do with it all. Well, I have to record this. The title of it comes to mind in the first week, ‘The Abuse of Innocents.’ We’re all innocents here.

Just sent off an email to a sister reporting on my first week at the new job. I told her it's tense because I get so involved. I’m meant to be painting but got distracted designing an Algebra lesson. I just think the way they’re teaching is so boring. Oh dear. With so many resources available on the net now it’s inexcusable not to get a fun lesson together

There’s a large contingent of refugee kids here and they don't know their times tables. They’re being asked to learn algebra when they don't know basic arithmetic. The teacher sat at his desk expecting students to come to him if they have a problem. And they all do. It's easier to move around the classroom helping each kid move through the exercise sheet. Isn't it? What do they teach these people in teachers college? Shouldn't the teacher be more proactive than the kids? What has happened to these teachers?

I should be painting but I’m incensed. And obviously I’m enjoying that; it makes me feel smart to know I could teach a better lesson than these uni grads. The CELTA course I did to train for English teaching was excellent. It gave me a framework to design lessons that are not too boring. If I’d taught English to those adults in the way they teach at this high school they would’ve asked for their money back. They were paying to learn English so they wanted some bang for their buck. Kids? Not given any bang at all. Just boring, unconnected, meaningless stuff. All day. Every day.

Chapter 2 Intractable Need

Talked briefly to C today about how to change a bad reputation. He thinks going to a new school will enable him to leave the bad one behind. This tells me he’s trying his best to solve his problems. Good on him.

C is proving intractable to change. He just can't see how what he does is making his peers hate him. He keeps running and running, manipulating every minute into what he can manage. I can see why he annoys people. Another kid I help in Maths does what he pleases and learns nothing. Algebra he grasps when led through it. His conclusion? See, Miss? I am smart.: Well yes, I say, you've got some of it but there's more, let's keep going.

I'm still not on the school computer system so when C and