leaning towards learning

As a precocious (their words, not mine) 10/11 year old, I used to be given the books of my peers to check spelling tests, and was assigned as mentor to a couple of the less able members of my class. I wonder how Daniel is getting on these days.. I also have some memories of listening to the really young ones read, in the reading area of the primary school. I’ve no idea how that would have come about, as surely I’d have been in lessons, but the memories are there nonetheless.
When I was studying for my A-levels (although studying may be a bit too strong a word) I spent a good many of my free lessons helping teach science lessons to the younger kids. Our school was experimenting with something called ‘CASE – thinking Science’ which I don’t remember much about except that I approved of the techniques of stimulating thinking through practical work. I thoroughly enjoyed both the preparation and the delivery of each lesson, although I’m exceedingly grateful I never had to help with the class my brother was in. I also ended up actually teaching a lesson, as the teacher had gone off sick and the supply teacher taught English, not this scary science stuff, and basically left me to it. At 18. It went okay, despite my fear of the 14-year-olds.

For my work experience/community service, at more or less the same time, I was placed in a pre-school group, helping with the children. Mostly playing, if truth be told, but still educational playing, honest. Mmm Duplo ™.

Several years on and I found myself back in school, albeit as a lab technician. The school was a lot ‘rougher’ than the mildly genteel secondary school that I attended personally, and it was a bit of a shock to see how little respect the children had for certain teachers. Mind you, kids can certainly tell if you are confident or not and will take advantage of any lapse in discipline. One poor Indian lady, aged about 60 or so, was so cowed by her classes that I could scarcely hear myself think in my prep room. I resorted to standing at the doorway and glaring until they got the message. Poor Indira.

You would have thought that this would have put me off teaching, and to a certain extent, it has. I don’t think I would ever go straight to secondary school teaching. I think that would be something you have to work up to once you’ve found your feet.

I do, however, want to be a primary school teacher, in Scotland, on a remote island. Which seems a far cry from where I am now – working in Basingstoke, writing a ridiculously-ambitious piece of software, living in a ghastly town, in a cookie-cutter house. I long for the boundless skies and breathtaking scenery of Scotland. I long to do something useful, and I love teaching: whether it be demonstrating how to use some software, or explaining how something works. The joy of passing on understanding to another person is beyond compare.

Oh I know it’s not always a joyous experience. Nothing is. Many’s the time I’ve left a meeting frustrated because I’ve not been able to make myself understood. I assume that’s why some training is involved. It’s not enough to know your subject, you must be able to inspire, provoke and entertain your audience. I’m thinking this is where my drama classes might come in handy.

My mother trained as a primary school teacher, and did teach for many years. I find it weird that I want to follow in her footsteps, when we’ve disagreed on so many subjects in the past. But it’s not necessarily her that has inspired me. If I had to blame anyone for even putting the thought into my head, it would have to be the late, great Richard P Feynman. If I could only learn to emulate his talent for breaking the problem down into the simplest form, I would be a happy lady. I believe that anyone can understand anything, as long as the presentation is suitable. He had a knack of finding a common ground that most people could meet on.

I was lucky enough to be taught by a wonderful teacher at secondary school. His name was Pete Kaufman, and I’ve heard that he has since died. I mourn his loss, not only for myself, but for all the people who will never have a chance to be taught by such a truly great teacher. I don’t think many of us realised just how good he was. I certainly didn’t at the time. He was always the eccentric one, humble and kind, slightly zany, always had time to talk something over. He didn’t come from the traditional educational conveyor-belt – he did his chemistry degree through the Open University, which I think caused a few of the staff to look down on him slightly, but he did have the knack of making a potentially gnarly subject relate to everyday terms that we could understand. That is a priceless skill, and I only realise later how precious he was. Mr Kaufman, I may have disappointed you with only a C at A-Level chemistry, but you’ve left a far more profound mark on me than a grade could ever measure. I want to be like you.

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