I wrote this poem after a particularly trying lesson with one of my lower ability English groups. Please don’t get me wrong when you read the poem – I love teaching these groups and I certainly don’t mean to be disparaging in any way. It’s the students that are struggling, the ones who’ve been in and out of trouble for years, the ones that can’t stand the subject and the ones that want to push your buttons, that I enjoy teaching the most.
I seem to have become a bit of a specialist in this area of my job and I’ve lost count of the number of bottom set GCSE groups I’ve been handed over the years. It’s definitely an aquired taste, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So here’s my poem
On teaching those that aren't really listening... On teaching those that aren't really listening, the disengaged and disenfranchised and those who would, quite frankly, rather be anywhere but here you must make like a boy scout; be prepared. Because, make no mistake; no task is ever simple. Although each lesson will start the same for hundreds in a row, your simple instruction - 'Date, Title, Learning Purpose' will still be met by at least one motionless student who may well imagine that the pen will write itself. There will also be at least another who will ask, "Do we write the date?" and another who simply ignores what's on not one board, but two to ask, "What's the title?" You're allowed to sigh. It's fine to indulge in some eye-rolling. But. Stay calm. Your sarcasm will fly through the nearest window, so be prepared to repeat or at the very least, to point it out again. Even your request to write even a bullet point list will be questioned. "Do I need to use bullet points?" or "Can I do a Spider Diagram?" Then, when you've spent the best part of an hour prepping them with every detail of every feature of how to write A REPORT, showed them an example, got them to label the features and look for language examples, told them how to start, told them how to finish and showed them the types of things to write in between, given them example sentences, and done everything you could apart from write the actual thing yourself... you walk around the room, peeping over shoulders to see one will not start because, in their words, "Eh, what we supposed to be doing?" and, I'm not exaggerating, when I say that 32 out of the 14 in the class will not have written anywhere near enough and that still half of the class are writing A F***ING LETTER.
I’ve taught many of the members of this particular group for a number of years now. Some of them for every year of their high school careers. So it’s safe to say that I know what to expect and that nothing at all will come as a surprise. But I have to admit that the lesson that inspired this poem was a particularly trying one. Any copying out was met with at least one, ‘Do we copy that?’, any task was met with at least one, ‘So are we (and then they’d either repeat the task back at you or just ask if we were writing a letter!) and almost every period of silence was punctuated by a silly noise and a fit of giggles.
It didn’t make me angry at all. Well, not particularly. I’d like to think I have some patience in these scenarios. I certainly should do as I’ve taught these groups for over twenty years now. But the fact that it still left me a bit exasperated gave me the idea for the poem.
It was an unusual process for me in terms of how I wrote the poem in that I just sat down at the computer and wrote. Or typed. Where usually I’ll sit and write notes and maybe even the odd few lines that might pop into my head and then knit them all together later, this was pretty much a stream of consciousness. There were one or two bits of re-ordering made, but this poem was pretty much just written as I thought of it (and I’m not very sure of it as a result.)
As ever, I’m genuinely interested in opinions, so let me know what you think in the comments.