Day 9: A moment in your day.

 A moment in my day?

My days are a blur.  You know in the West Wing, where they do those long, tracking shots through the White House, where they talk to multiple people as they storm through, and interlocutors drop in and out asking questions, rambling information and handing them things to read, sign or approve?

That is my day. All day.

Most days I get just 30 minutes on my own between 8am and 4pm. 30 minutes without people asking me to do stuff, deal with kids, fix something, sign something or phone something. And half the time I don’t get that.  If a kid is difficult on the playground, or a parent needs to talk, or a social worker needs a question answered, or someone has cut their knee, or someone’s printer isn’t plugged in, or whatever... then I don’t even get that. Sometimes I can’t even eat my sandwich.

But I love it.  I love how they all rack ‘em up and I keep knocking ‘em down.  It’s satisfying and it makes the day just FLY by.

I love being busy.

Today’s moment: It is 9.45am, I am teaching English. My support staff haven’t turned up or are indisposed elsewhere and I’m on my own with the largest of the English groups. I don’t mind- mostly I prefer having the class on my own, though it does get fraught.  In special schools you tend to have 3 staff to 10 kids, roughly, depending on their needs.

I have 13 and it’s just me, but we’re doing alright. Everyone is settled. They’re making WANTED posters. Offering rewards for the capture of a villain, not posters for that boy band. Hands are up, some kids need help. A couple are arguing a bit, but nothing serious. I’m getting round to everyone. The mood is positive.

Phone call: “Can you come down. Nicky’s (let’s call him Nicky) mum is here- she’s had a terrible morning and we can’t get him out of the car. We’ve been trying for ages, but he won’t get out.”

Nicky is 6ft 5 and weighs double what I weigh. He is super mega autistic and near impossible to move if he doesn’t want to be moved. Like a giant, autistic bear...

“Give me two minutes- Tell her I’ll be right down” I say, noticing my TA wandering slowly back up the corridor. A bit too slowly for me.  I do everything fast.

“Can you hold the fort for 5 minutes? I have to go and sort out a Nicky issue.” My TA, ever dependable, carries on. As I make my way down, I see my other TA appear, carrying a hot beverage.  Nice that they’ve got time to waltz out of lessons and help themself whilst I’m running about crazy. But it means that that class should be fine to carry on now they’re all settled.

As I run down to reception, I realise I’m wearing my nice new fitted jacket, and I deliberate whether to chuck it somewhere en route in case I have to restrain. I decide not to as he’s outside and it’s cold. Also he’s really too big to restrain, so we don’t often. It doesn’t help with him really.

Mum is by the car, straining to look cheerful, though she looks like she’s not slept and is worryingly close to tears. I’m not good with criers.

Imagine.

So I send her in to get a cup of tea from reception and leave me to sort it out.

I don’t really remember what I say to Nicky. He is non-responsive to questions about what is wrong, and just hides his face, making occasional grunting noises. I go through the usual motions- textbook scripts about ‘making a good choice’, ‘not spoiling your day’ and ‘having a fresh start now we’re at school.’

To his credit, he doesn’t tell me to go fuck myself. I probably would. Most of the kids would, but he doesn’t swear. He does continue to ignore me though. I notice I’ve had 4 of my 5 minutes and resort to: “Nicky, can we go inside and find somewhere to sit and talk. You’re in a nice warm car and I’m really cold.” He sort of looks up, but glares a bit.

So I manoeuvre his shoulders round and say “Well done. Let’s go then” pretending he’d agreed when he hadn’t. Then I manually swing his legs out and say “Good choice” like he made a good choice.

Then I steer him up to reception, past mum. He’s 6 inches taller than me and could probably kill me if the mood took him, but I sort of navigate him by the shoulders until he shakes my arm off and tells me to get off.  By this point we’re at the stairs though. I wink at mum and whisper “Thanks! Sorry! Thanks!” and roll my eyes at Nicky. She says exactly that same as I steer him up to class.

Nicky lies on our sofa (we have a sofa, but don’t get excited- it’s gross) for the last 10 minutes of the lesson whilst I slip back into teaching the class. He loses his tick for this, so won’t get a reward later. Whatever...  as long as he doesn’t get away with it completely. He actually snaps out of it when his maths group arrives anyway. They are small and chirpy and adorable. All half his size and obsessed with him because he’s like a big, sleepy bear. They all sing HELLO NICKY and climb on him in a bundle, which cheers him up as I set up maths.

The whole thing took 5 minutes and 30 seconds and I’m always pleased when I breeze in, fix a situation others couldn’t, then breeze out again like some underpaid teaching superhero.

But my overriding feeling afterwards is one of guilt, in case I made mum feel powerless and incapable by stepping in and doing it myself.

And that was my moment. 

Victory, efficiency, anxiety. 

Nice little microcosm of my day though...

Hell. My whole career...