That door marked STAFF, with frosted glass
With blurry figures sweeping past,
A sudden burst of laughter from the other side;
It always seemed so impenetrable,
It may as well be bullet proof, with metal locks
To keep the students out, unaware of what was said,
The whispered secrets teachers held,
Never to be shared……
I went into school the other day. And, in case you don’t know, my current placement is at the school that I went to as a kid. And it’s really strange. I really don’t understand how teachers can choose to teach at their old schools?
The thing that makes it weird is the fact that there are still some teachers there that were there back then. I left exactly twenty years ago, so those teachers really are lifers.
The weirdness comes from the fact that I’m now involved in all of the conversations that they have. These are the conversations that I wanted to know about as a kid. I’ve always been curious and I wanted to know exactly what teachers thought of me, if they mentioned me over coffee.
I was on duty in the playground with my old maths teacher and we were standing side by side watching this kid being loud and obnoxious. The maths teacher sighed and shook his head. “I hate that kid,” he said. “He’s such a twat.”
My world suddenly opened up and I very nearly fell on the floor, laughing. There was this teacher that I had looked up to during my five years at the school. I’d felt nervous becoming his ‘equal’, and I find that he just stands there calling kids twats under his breath.
The moral of my story is to never put anyone on a pedestal. Never put words in people’s mouths. Because if they are human, they will probably just speak like you. For what it’s worth, I love that maths teacher even more now that I heard him say the word twat.