I occasionally go for a wander down memory lane, back to the dark ages when I terrorised a few teachers, oops, I mean went to school. Good times. Back to the days when I realised I had a gift for talking my way out of a lot of things. Back when my innocent look actually worked.
Some teachers recognised the bored little twerp at the back of the class for what she was. I liked them, they were the ones with the sense of humour and knew who to blame when a yawning epidemic hit the class.
My wish that Wonder kid would have the same fond memories of school have all but ended. I don’t know how she deals with some of the teachers she has these days. I would have been moved to a full scale riot if it was me sitting in the seat. For starters, her ‘full time’ teacher can only bring herself to work at an absolute maximum limit of four days a week. Other weeks she might be there three days, they sometimes have a permanent part time teacher, but have been known to have substitute teachers that normally teach chemistry in high school. My problem? This is for a year five class!
The lovely little bit of fluff who is allegedly teaching my girl is very good. Very good at listening to herself. She can’t stop talking, I hope she isn’t married, and if she is, the husband is profoundly deaf. I feel pity for any man who would have to put up with her endless and equally brainless prattle. Somehow the parent – teacher chats got mixed up a while ago and we have been summoned to attend for the said meeting. Because after all, I have no idea just what my daughter has achieved and how far she has progressed without this little bit of fluff telling me. No matter she has probably only lived about four years longer than I have been a mother, I mustn’t have a clue because Miss Knucklehead said so. No doubt she will immediately commence with the know it all attitude, and no doubt I will point out to her as far as I am concerned until she can bring herself to actually take the task of teaching seriously in the remotest way I couldn’t give a flying fat rat’s freckle about her pin head opinion. When I need a twenty-something wanna be tell me about any child of mine and what she has been doing I will be the first to hand her over to someone else to raise.
I am sure this woman believes I must live in a different house to Wonder kid and obviously she is the only one aware of the fact my daughter actually does stuff while at school.
She still hasn’t clued into the fact I have been taking shots at her all year. Given the randomness of who actually may be teaching my girl on any given day, I simply address all letters – ‘To whom it may concern’. After much to – ing and fro – ing, we might have settled on a day next week. After all we have to fit in with various days off, must be attended by all teachers meetings, (I suspect these are conducted at the near by pub), and pupil free days.
I do hope the poor love has a good day in class, because I have been looking forward SO much to catching up with her. And as you may have worked out by now, not in a good way.
2 comments:
Sadly the quality of teachers these days is proof of the old axiom - you pay peanuts, you get monkeys. I'm fairly biased on this, being the offspring of teachers myself, but if teaching was a profession which was valued by society, in terms of pay and status, then we might get people deserving of entrusting our kids' education to (which is surely a pretty bloody important role isn't it??) Instead the situation is that teaching is the 'drop out' option for people with mediocre science or humanities degrees who can't come up with something better to do with their careers.
You have it in a nutshell. Queensland teachers are doing it hard. I do feel for them. But the lack of quality teaching is just ridiculous. How bad does it have to be Doc when even the daughter has asked about being home schooled because she knows at least with me she would learn. Pretty sad.
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