Why is life so painfully monotonous and dull?

It isn’t.  Not at all. Not remotely.

Granted, there are parts of the day you have to go through the motions; I’ll give you that. There are parts of the day, routine related, which are kind of depressing. Making my lunch for the following day at school is always a bit sad.  A short, repetitive chore that carries the additional benefit that it signals it’s almost time to go to bed and start the merry-go-round of going to work again.

But generally speaking, life is not dull, it’s not monotonous, it’s not repetitive and it certainly isn’t painful. My job, despite the ups and downs and the occasional scariness, is EXCITING.

There is drama every day. Not always a good thing, obviously, but it certainly isn’t dull. And there is inherent comedy in every day because some of the things we do and that they do are JUST SO DAMN FUNNY.

But never monotonous.

Let’s take an example -  I’ve been on half term this week (again, not monotonous and dull. A magnificent cycle of lying in, internet, TV, Playstation, porn and booze) – but on my final working day before this, last Friday, ANYTHING but dull...

A boy, let’s call him Mark, wanted to get into a room he wasn’t allowed in, because he was just being too dangerous. He wanted to get back into a classroom so he could clobber one of the children within.  Obviously we weren’t going to let him.

A few vain attempts to shove past us and sidle his way between us (he’s a slippery, agile thing) as we stood in front of the door trying to talk him down did not meet with success.  He became more and more frustrated, shouting and swearing and screaming as if being murdered. He slides quite quickly into what I can only call psychosis, flailing around, screaming and rasping, trying to run into or jump over fixtures, fitting and furniture. We prevented him doing himself any serious harm, but in his attempt to jump over a stair well 20ft to the floor below, he banged his knee.

Poor boy. Hah.

He really lost the plot at this point. He lay on the floor and screamed. And I mean really screamed. I will find it hard to articulate in writing -  it would be much easier to do an impression -  but imagine that girl from the exorcist. That screaming, raspy, guttural, wild, savage growling. Like a long, drawn out wildcat roar, but punctuated with word-fragments and odd, out-of-context swear words.

It was sort of terrifying, but actually quite funny too. All the adults made eye contact and it made you want to laugh a bit, because it was frankly so ridiculous.

So there he was, laying on the floor, screaming and growling and swearing in this savage, wild, demonic way, flailing around on the floor, making these horrendous sounds and I thought:

Yes – no wonder people used to believe in possession. That is exactly what this looks like.  A tiny young boy hurting himself, flailing wildly, screaming obscenities you’re surprised he knows, in this frankly terrifying demon-creature voice. It was textbook possession material. No wonder people with special needs were once under the purview of the church.

I didn't get my own way so now I'm going to do THIS! 

But as this rather unnecessary display unfolded, and I remarked to a colleague about possession and how this once would have been perceived, I remember thinking to myself- it IS exciting though, it is dramatic and scary. What was going to happen?  How could we prevent it escalating, how could we prevent him hurting himself seriously? How long would it last?  Were the rest of my class alright in the meantime?

It was more than likely he would simply burn himself out within a couple of minutes. Throwing yourself on the floor and screaming is fairly exhausting and he never usually lasts that long, so it was a fairly safe bet it would happen again.  But it was one of those situations where you walk away, back to your maths group (who haven’t batted an eyelid -  their capacity to accept and ignore complete insanity unfolding just outside never ceases to amaze me) and think – wow, my days are never dull.

5 reasons you get out of bed...

I generally get up without too much complaint. It’s hard some days, because my bed is too damn comfy and I am warm and cosy and have a hard-on I need to re-organise.

But I don’t really struggle to get up.  I just leave it to the last possible second before I do.

But in that fuzzy little bit of time where I fantasise unrealistically about phoning in sick, or going back under the covers and hiding – in that strange 10 minutes that feels like 10 seconds, I wonder about what it would be like if I stayed in bed, and then I immediately leap out of bed and get ready for school.

And here are 5 reasons why...

1) THE GUILT

You may have read fairly recently, about what happens when I don’t go to work. I have my class pretty much under the thumb now, though there are always surprises in special needs. But when I’m not there, they turn into animals. They are abusive, they are violent, they are obnoxious. And my staff will have a shocking day, and the children will have a shocking day, and their parents will have a shocking night...  all because I didn’t go to work. I am the glue that holds the class together, and without me it will be a disaster and I really can’t do that to my staff. Also, I will have to pick up the pieces when I return and it’s really just much easier if I go in and make the day work.

I should add, I’m not blowing my own trumpet.  I’m not especially skilled or amazing. It’s just the way it works in my class.  That is the pattern and always has been. I am their consistent, trusted adult, and no-one else will do. They will punish the other staff if I’m not there... as they did last week.

2) THE HASSLE

It’s not just a case of phoning in sick. It’s getting up, calling in sick, then firing up my laptop, then spending probably an hour writing cover plans for my lessons that day, then emailing them. Then contacting my staff to warn them. By the time I’ve done all that I could be at work, at my desk, listening to Radio 4 and doing something useful. It’s not practical to skip school unless you really have to.

3) THE MONEY

I’m pretty well paid these days. Everything you hear about teachers’ pay and teachers’ pensions being poor is a bit of a myth really. My pay goes up all the time, and it’s pretty generous. And the pension is REALLY generous. Don’t get me wrong, I work extremely hard. It is not an easy job most days, and we get ignored, we get abused, we get spat at... we get hurt! Often, in fact. But the pay really is pretty reasonable.  Especially for the hours I do... it’s not like mainstream where the kids are lovely but you lose every weekend and evening. The days in special are hard and scary, but you don’t have the same level paperwork of waiting for you afterwards.

I find money quite motivating. When I’m having a particularly hard day, and they’ve pushed me a little too far, I calculate my hourly rate. Then my half hourly, then how much money I’ve actually earned in the time I’ve been being verbally abused and I think “Ooh, actually, this is a bargain!” and it really helps me endure it professionally.

4) THE MUSIC

When I am struggling to get up in the morning (usually at the end of term when I have cumulative exhaustion) I burn myself a new CD. So excited am I at the prospect of playing my new CD in the car, that I happily leap out of bed and hurry to work so I can hear it. The same can be said for sunny weather and roof-down days. There is no greater pleasure than driving to work on a morning warm enough to have the roof down.

5) THE FUN

I actually kind of love my job.  Yes, when you get right down to it, they’re completely mad, but it is immensely satisfying and I’m GOOD AT IT. The reason the days (usually) go well for me is because I am getting very, very good at steering my charges through their various frustrations and misapprehensions, especially at this point in the year when I know them so well. They’re good fun, they’re endlessly amusing and I manage to build quite a lot of fun into most days. I need them to enjoy it, so on top of the maths and English and science and RE, we always find time to do something fun.

And consequently, I have fun too.

APOLOGISE FOR THAT!

Sorry!

I took a day off yesterday. I wasn’t well. I wasn’t well Tuesday either, but I went in anyway. I found myself texting my staff (and my boss) apologising for being ill.

Bad isn’t it? I never have time off, and yet on the rare occasions I fall ill, I feel I have to apologise.

Here’s why...

If I don’t go in, my pupils have a BAD day. I feel guilty even saying it, but it’s true. I have wonderful and very capable support staff, who work really hard and who are great with the children, but when I’m not there the atmosphere changes. It’s partly me, partly just the autism.

“You’re not my teacher... you can fuck off!” sort of thing. But times a million.

They will all behave like animals if I am ever away, or on a course or whatever. They will be rude, spiteful and often violent, but they don’t do it if I’m there. Mainly just because of my presence alone – I don’t have to DO anything.  They just keep it together when I’m around, and if they can’t, they allow me to steer them through and talk them round.  I can calm them down, pretty fast. They don’t let other people get anywhere near that stage, once they’re angry.

But I’m not all “Ooh, get me. Check me out” about it. It’s not a good thing. It means I have THE GUILT if I’m ever off.

They will all have a bad day, my staff will have a horrendous day with all the children kicking off at once, and then they will all go home and take it out on their families. The pupils, this is, not the staff.

Though they might too, I don’t know.

So it gets to a point by which 25 or 30 people all have a horrendous day because I didn’t go in.

So I just go in. Even if I’m not well. And by the time you’ve got up to phone in sick, AND spent an hour writing your cover lessons for the day, you’d be at work anyway. It’s rarely worth it, especially when you add the fall-out to the occasion.

A friend who teaches next door, who has exactly the same with his class, put it this way:

“Me at 10% is better than someone else at 100%” and he hit that nail right on the head.

It’s easier to muddle through and do some slightly crappy, fun, lazy lessons to ensure the day runs smoothly, than to try and hand it over to someone else. Because YOU have to pick up all the pieces and hand out all the consequences and sanctions when you get back. It’s a nightmare.

You feel guilty; you know you’re setting up 30 people for a rough day and you know it will be carnage when you return.

So I rarely take a day off, but my throat hurts so much! Talking all day Tuesday destroyed it, and I couldn’t face it Wednesday. So I sent my cover notes, made my apologies to all concerned and a few people who weren’t but I felt guilty about, and I went back to sleep.

And I felt tons better- I wonder what happened in my absence?  We’re about to find out. I can pretty much guess though – it’s always the same pattern.

So yes – sorry about that, staff, pupils and parents.  Sorry you got kicked and spat at and abused because I didn’t come into work.

But if I got hit by a bus, you’d have to cope, so it’s probably worth practising.

You know the funny thing?  Next year, when these kids move up a class, my presence won’t mean a damn thing to them. And the kids coming up to my class, suddenly *they’ll* start responding only to me instead of their current teacher next door, and they'll start giving everyone else a rough ride.

Did I say funny?

I meant annoying. Sorry.

Discuss a quote: The problem with parents...

People think I hate children, but it’s not true. They are well annoying, no doubt about it. They are dirty and loud and selfish and expensive and generally unlikeable, but I don’t hate children.

Because I just don’t blame them.

It’s parents I hate, and here’s why...

There was a time, perhaps long, long ago, during which teachers were respected members of their local community. They were trained, qualified and people valued their advice. People looked up to them.

Parents respected them.

Something has gone very wrong in recent years.  Parents now talk about ‘Parents’ Rights’ and see themselves as customers, or clients. They are not.  They are inexperienced amateurs guessing their way through child rearing. They are not qualified to make decisions, they are not experienced, they are not trained.

And there would be nothing wrong with that; that would be fine, were it not for the fact that they seem to believe that the very fact that they have conceived a child makes them an expert on children.

They say things like “He’s my child. I know best!” And sometimes that is no doubt true, but not always.

They say things like “Don’t you tell me how to bring up my child!” and sometimes that is valid. But not always.

And they say things like “If you were a parent, you'd say the same thing" and sometimes that is relevant, but not always.

I should add that this is not all parents.  Only the most moronic and aggressive, usually. But in my line of work, I hear it a lot.  And every time, I have to bite my tongue.

Now, sadly, they very fact of having a child means that you are automatically right about everything to do with that child. That you can do no wrong and that every decision you make is sacrosanct because it is your child and you cannot be questioned.  You cannot be mistaken.

You are beyond reproach and beyond accountability.

YOU ARE A PARENT.

And yet, so many manage to get it so, so wrong.

Most parents are fine. They do their best, and muddle through. You only get two or three goes at it, generally, so you don’t get to hone your art. And that’s okay. Mistakes are expected- you learn as you go.

But don’t go thinking that your every decision is the only one; that other ideas, opinions and suggestions are irrelevant. Don’t go thinking that you know best, in every situation, regardless of prior experience, irrespective of circumstances and contrary to advice. You don’t always have the answer, and being the parent does not always make you right.

Having a child makes you no more a parent than having a piano makes you a pianist.

School can’t teach you...

School can’t teach you NOT TO BE AUTISTIC.

Sorry mums and dads, I know it’s my job to cure your child and make them not autistic anymore, so you can have the child you want, but- no hang on...

That’s NOT my job.

My job is to educate your child and help them manage their condition, so they can be part of the world, and achieve everything realistically possible, and participate in and experience as much as they can.  

And for some of them, that isn’t much. Some of them, by the nature and severity of their disability, are going to need care and support with all aspects of their lives for their entire lifetimes. And some of them, with our intervention, will go on to achieve qualifications and have relationships and jobs and children of their own.

But they’re always going to be autistic, even if they overcome some of the difficulties that entails.

They’re always going to have some of those wacky idiosyncrasies, strange obsessions, bizarre speech patterns and odd behaviours, even in adulthood. Some of it they’ll learn to leave behind (or tone down in given situations, given time and help) but some of it is with them for good.  And to be honest, that’s half the fun... It’s part of the charm.

You can’t cure them. You can’t make them not autistic anymore. You can’t.

AND YOU SHOULDN’T WANT TO.  That’s your child, that is! I know they’re a nightmare sometimes, but that’s part of it. We’re not there to cure them. 

We’re there to teach them independence, social skills, as well as the academic stuff,  so they can have a future with some normality, stability and – if they learn to tone it down – hopefully, some company.

This post is dedicated to the vile Mrs Thompson, who I gave up my time to meet with today after school so she could rant aggressively at me about her 13 year old child still having autism.

Sorry, son. You're just not the child I wanted.

Boys and their Toys

Today I read a tweet about gay men all loving Lego.

This is true.  Gay men DO all love Lego. Fact.

But it’s also inaccurate.  It’s not gay men that love Lego.  It’s just men. They love Lego.

And it’s not just Lego. Men love toys.  Because men, if we’re honest, are generally just little boys who got taller. And boys love their toys... So why, I hear you ask, is there this gay perception pertaining to toys, games, gadgets and geekery? The gays genuinely ARE all obsessed with Playstation, comics, Star Trek, Dr Who, Lego, etc, etc, the list goes on.

Well, straight men are too. But straight men have to hide their enthusiasm for toys, games, comics and science fiction to attract girls. They have to hide it in the first instance, and then once settled comfortably into relationships, they’re just not allowed the free run of filling their homes up with Lego or geeky posters or Dr Who memorabilia.  They’re not allowed to spend loads of time shopping for comics, or playing x-box.

I spend all my disposable income on myself.

Don’t get me wrong -  straight guys with girlfriends still DO these things, but there often appears to be a serious limit on it. They always complain how they never get to play PS3 anymore, because of this and that.  Especially post-child.

But the gays? The gays get to continue to be little children, buy themselves Lego, play computer games, watch Dr Who, watch Star Wars for the 187^th time, and spend all their disposable income on gadgets. And when they get into relationships and get a place together?  It doesn’t change. You’re allowed to continue to be geeky, collect crap, watch crap, stay up drinking cocktails and playing Playstation all night because you both like doing it. In fact, you can do it together...!

That’s kind of the best bit about being gay. You get to play together and share boy things, and kind of... be yourself in a way that I often feel straight guys have to subdue. Being straight means you have to pretend not to like certain things, or to like them but leave them behind whilst you pretend to be a grown up. That’s why I see dads walking around the Lego shop with their children, with looks of wonder and longing on their faces. They have to live a bit more vicariously than the gays do...

We’re all still 10 year old boys at heart – so treat yourself.  Go and get yourself some Lego...

Many boys like to lounge around in
pants, playing playstation all day.

NO PIZZA FOR YOU!

Today I got paid for eating Domino’s Pizza and watching The Amazing Spider-man.

Jimmy came in in a foul mood and refused to do any work all morning (and it’s end of term, so for ‘work’, read maths games/colouring in/gentle, undemanding, semi-educational activities punctuated by treats and end of term reward events. Like DVDs. Or pizza).

To try and help him recover his day and get out of his foul mood, I tried to persuade him to come and choose his pizza toppings.

“Don’t want stupid pizza. It’s boring!”  (He’s been talking about nothing else for days)

“You’ll be sad if you miss having pizza.”  (He will)

“I hate pizza. It’s boring.”  (It’s not. It’s his favourite thing in the world)

“Well, you need to make a good choice now if you want pizza.” (He does)

“Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. DON'T CARE. DON'T CARE!”  (He blatantly does)

“Okay then. I’ll have to order you a school dinner...”  (I do)

Time Passes.

Our pizzas arrive. Staff and students. It’s a pizza party and the mood is euphoric. Every pizza is labelled with the appropriate pupil’s name. They locate and collect their pizza and take it to their seat.

“Where’s my pizza?”

“You didn’t want one, remember? You said pizza is boring and you hate pizza, then you started shouting at me.”

“I was only joking. Can I have my pizza now?”

“There is no pizza for you.  I didn’t order one for you because you didn’t make good choices.”

“But I want it now.”

“It’s too late now. You need to be good when I say, otherwise you don’t get nice things.”

Jimmy sulks and refuses to eat his school dinner, which- to be fair- looks questionable, though he’ll literally eat anything. I saw him try to eat a shoe once. If I’m honest, he could stand to skip a meal or two, so I let him sulk and refuse to eat.

Perhaps meanly, I also make a point of saying to everyone as we eat our pizzas:
“Is everyone enjoying their pizza? Good!  Well done- you all made GOOD CHOICES so we get to have a pizza party. Mmm- delicious pizza!  Mmmmm!”

But we have to do that to make sure he connects the dots.

He totally does.

After about 20 minutes, once his school dinner is nice and cold and the baked beans are all disgusting and congealed, he sits down and starts sheepishly eating it.

It doesn't look very nice.

Maybe next time he won’t be such a little bitch about it...

What do you do?

What do you do with a boy who hasn’t been to school in 8 months?

What do you do when he’s sent to your school, to your class, to get him back into school routine?

What do you do when he pretends to be sick, to be sent home, to avoid being in school?

What do you do when he has done this successively, for 8 months?

And what do you do when his mother colludes with him? When she is too soft, too weak, and allows him to be off school for so long? Ignores the faking, collects him from school, keeps him home for months on end, with one pretend illness after another? When she is afraid to challenge him?

What do you do when he starts crying, wailing and whimpering that he’s going to be sick, that he’s so unwell, that he has to go home, that you must ring his mum? When he’s been in your class for a day and a half?

Here’s what you do...

TAKE. BACK. CONTROL.

I didn’t accuse him of lying as such. Not initially anyway. He has used this as an avoidance tactic for months, years even, taking control of his home environment completely, and using feigned illness to completely opt out of school. He’s an anxious boy, and we need to build his confidence and make him happy and comfortable in my class.

But I’m not having that. Not after a day. A DAY!!

So I let him splutter, cry, wail and retch. I let him refuse to eat lunch. I let him moan and whimper and cry. I let him beg and plead to call his mum.

But he still stayed in school all day.

I even said I’d call his mum, but that I would be advising her that he was fine, that he was anxious and was making himself feel sick, and that we should see the day out.  He refused to eat a thing.

I said fine.

And then I spoke to mum. I said he was faking it. But I said it tactfully.... I said it was an avoidance tactic, and that he was anxious and that we really should not give him control of the situation so immediately, as this is where things went wrong in his previous school. I said that I advised we keep him in school, and that she collect him at the usual time, and that we would keep a close eye, but we should stay strong at this point and make the placement work.

And then she surprised me.

A parent actually took my advice.

So he stayed.  And you know what?  As soon as he knew the gambit had failed, and that he was staying right where he was, he settled down, his anxiety lowered, he joined in, he had a successful afternoon.  He even enjoyed himself, a little grudgingly.

It was a power struggle right from the start. One where he’d always won in the past, because the school and the parents had caved so quickly. All children look for control of the situation, lots of them find ways of getting it and keeping it.

But once we took back control- for him and for mum, he just got on with it.

Fuck me, what child wouldn’t rather be at home? I know I would.

But if you give them a tactic that works, they’ll use it to control everything.

Day 15: A Day in the life.

A day in quotes, in chronological order.

“Oh thank you. Thank you for coming, and at really short notice.  We really do appreciate it. I hope we’re not keeping you from something important.”

“Sorry about that meeting this morning.  People are so negative about anything new.”

“Can I go on the computer?”

“Hello?  Oh okay. Thanks, I’ll tell him. Thanks, byeeee... No Nicky today... *YESSSSSSSS!*”

“Can I go to the toilet?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Well...  now.”

“What’s for lunch today? Spinach b...?”
“It’s spaghetti bolognese.”
“Alright! I don’t know, do I? I’m fick! I can’t help it!”

“Again? He’s faking it. He was on x-box live this morning.”

“Can we do no work today instead?”

“It’s a weird fruit day today. Look!”

“Can I do my work in Loser’s Corner?”

“End of the lesson.”
“Not yet.”
“Now end of the lesson.”
“Not yet.”
“Now end of the lesson.”
“Now end of the lesson, yes.”

“There was cake in the staffroom, but now it’s all gone.”

“He was just being an idiot, so I made him sit in Knob’s Corner.”

“Don’t sit on that chair- that’s the poo chair.”

“That’s not a poo chair, but I still wouldn’t sit on it.”

“But have you actually ever worked with any children who actually lick windows?”

“Lucy in Chestnut Class licks the railings every play time.”

“As you all walked nicely, you can go straight up for lunch.”

“I’m not taking it home. My whole family don’t like quiche.”

“Well, he wanted to eat his quiche now, and I said it wasn’t ready yet. So he called me a fucking twat and that’s why he’s in for playtime.”

“Aooww!  It’s borin’. Do we have to?“

“It may look like a weird penis, but it was actually just... an aeroplane. Well done.”

“He actually said it! Oh my god! Did you hear him say penis?!”

“Can we do that again?  That was my favourite lesson ever.”

“If you don’t like it, why did you choose it?”
“I don’t know!”

"He's been touching us all day today."

“Everyone has to leave through the side door today.  Someone is being very unsafe at the front of the school, so we’re all going to go to the hall.  You all need to be extra sensible and extra helpful, okay? Just to make sure everyone stays safe. Okay – let’s go.”

“You’re all going to have to vacate. This room is double booked...sorry.”

“Right- let’s move on-  we still have 3 more items and AOB  and we’re supposed to be going in... 30 seconds.”

“Are you staying late?”

"Fuck that."

"No, I'm not. I just thought you were."

Day 13: Issue a public apology.

Dear parents of the UK,

I am SORRY that having children is such a burden to you.

I am SORRY that, unlike me, the whole of the internet, the whole of the population of the world and the whole entirety of popular culture, you never realised that sometimes having children might inconvenience you or preclude you from doing something enjoyable.

I am SORRY that you no longer sleep.

I am SORRY that you never go out.

I am SORRY that you have nothing else to talk about.

I am SORRY that your life choices have been limited by your decision to have children.

But it was YOUR decision.

In view of that decision, I find it unfathomable that you now demand the right to the parking spaces nearest the entrance to the supermarket, the right to board before everyone else at airports, and the right to first choice of holiday dates in the work place.

Obviously, it is incredibly hard work having children. After all, you feel the need to complain about it ad infinitum on the internet, in person and on television, radio and in magazines. Obviously, it must have become much harder, and requires all these additional concessions to allow you as parents to cope, since World War II- when people still managed to bring up children with no money, no resources, husbands fighting overseas and bombs dropping from above throughout the night.

But most of all, I am SORRY that I, as a teacher who spends a mere 6 hours a day with your child, am unable to bring them up to your satisfaction. I am SORRY that you repeatedly feel the need to remind me:

“Well, it ain’t my job to bring ‘em up, is it?! That’s what you lot are for!”

And I am SORRY that you feel the need to constantly tell everyone how magical having children is, via the medium of inspirational-motivational-parenting-quotes, as if saying it all the time might distract from the soul-crushing depression and drudgery your life has become.

I offer you an alternative that I rather like:

Having children makes you no more a parent than having a piano makes you a pianist.

I am SORRY that you find it so difficult and yet at the same time harp on about it so incessantly to convince the world that you haven’t made a terrible mistake, and I am SORRY that the fact that your life is on hold until they reach 25 and maybe consider moving out, and that you won’t be able to go to a pub, restaurant or cinema without become a social pariah for the next 12 years.

But most of all I am SORRY that I have the time, energy and resources to go out, eat out, drink cocktails, go dancing, take holidays and basically have a FUCKING GOOD TIME.

Want fun, money, a successful career, regular holidays, a nice home, a nice car and a rewarding social life? 

Easy-peasy: Don’t have kids then.