Strange slow morphing times

This post is long overdue. Sir writes it in the study, with the slow pulsing of the washing machine in the fore-ground and the sweet dulcet tones of Neko Case in the lounge room. Perhaps it is time for Sir to stop writing in the third person, as she slowly detracts from the identity of mentor, teacher, role (mother) model.

The letter of acceptance came to Sir early this week. Some time off. An affirmation of the value of her as a member of the community of the Western Suburbs school she teaches at. 

Teaches. An interesting description of the dull classroom management that Sir has been engaged in recently. The life changing event that has occurred recently has put words like detached, uninspiring, into Sir's mind. At the funeral, Sir was approached by so many people... and it seemed to be easy to put on the mask, to be in the limelight.

Not so now. Now it is just hard. Now it is just heartbreaking. The time drags at the salt mine. The children know. They always know. Surprisingly gentle and unobtrusive. Sir walks down the corridors and the children don't jump out of the way... they never have. Why would they now?

Who ever put the idea out into the community that 15 and 16 year oldies are difficult and self centered was wrong. Uneducated. Never spent a deal of time with youth. Never felt the hand of year 10 student on their back in a gesture of condolence, never heard the attempts at humour to crack a smile. Never felt the envelopment of a crowd of eager teenagers asking "but where have you been?", "But are you okay?", "This is for you".

I always thought that time I would spend away would be about study or moving overseas. I thought that there would be time to continue in the persona that I had before my mother died. I didn't realise how much of my identity was sewn up in teaching, in the person I become in the classroom. 

Now the investment seems strange. I am not the person that I was a month ago but I don't grieve for that person. She is gone. A replacement in my being has occurred. Too soon perhaps, too young definitely. The replacement is this. I feel my mother in the classroom and in the school with me. Sounds strange and a little silly perhaps, yet it makes me happy. I know that she can see me, hear me, feel my emotions, read my thoughts and see my plans. She is no longer a stranger to a part of me that in life she could never see. A part of me is never alone while she is in my head and watching me do what I have done and will do.

You've got cock sucking lips

A couple of little beauties before Sir sinks into a haze of  holidays and pressing family business. 

The title of this blog-post refers to a particular young man who fits into the Melbournian inner North and Western suburbs 'Arabic gangsta' stereotype. Apparently he was suspended for telling another student that his lips were particularly attractive... was he inferring that his peer was gay? Sir would have responded with "why? do you want a head job?". 

One of Sir's dear friends has scored a job until the end of the year working as a junior Science teacher in 'Broady'. Cock sucking lips aside, Sir feels that the overtly mannish nature of this teacher friend will help in the fight against blatant heterosexism.... but wonders if  the suit fits rather too well? White, sport loving working class girl seeks similar position to  maintain status quo. Is Sir being too cruel?

It's ok, there is nothing you can say that I haven't heard before.

Excuse me Smiss.

Um, Sir? Can I get some help?

Do you watch the Ellen Degeneres show? Isn't she a lesbian?

She likes girls, right?

Have you even had long hair?

Er, can I help you set that up sir?

Hey mister! Pass the ball!

Hi five, bro.

Sorry, Dad.

Criteria: Teacher

Applicant: Positive role model.

Sexuality: Irrelevant

Gender: Should good with both

Necessary: Flawless boi walk, hard stare and soft eyes.

Mandatory: Sense of humour

Today all they wanted to talk about today was Sir's gender... sexuality... errr, hair. 

Coupla boys that mistook me for a Miss earlier in the year realised I was  Sir and agroed up for a while. Corridor scattered as I walked down it this morning. 

Offence? None taken. Tomorrow will be back to normal.

She's a Gansta!

Returning to the unreal world of reality has seen Sir immersed in a whole new series of classes for the year. Good things have come over the holidays.... a new position that is not co-ordination has allowed for a much more relaxed start to the year. Wot a relief. 

Sad news has also come over the holidays.... Sir's faithful partner in crime, a true blue Croatian battle axe has has a mastectomy and will be facing chemo and radiation therapy over the next 6 months. Much sadness and support will follow for this woman that Sir highly respects and admires.

Crusty and inappropriate as it is, Sir must comment on the amusing situation that has unfolded because of this heavy situation. Misogynist hairy has seen his day.... a leader he will be! And golly, what a leader he is turning out to be. A never-present holding-up-the-law type of guy he has never been, however how fortunate that he has managed to step into he role of co-ordinator after Sir. What smooth sailing! After all of the hard work of weeding out difficult students and teachers alike, setting up procedures and negotiating strategies, squeezing blood out of a stone and showing that there is hope for good natured sweet mouthed sober young people in society. At least in the outer west...

Yes, Sir is a little grouchy. She admits that timing has never been her forte. However neither has taking on a role that has been shaped by someone else been Sir's scene. Should Sir be grateful that the position is now so highly sought after because it appears to be easy? Oh this is too much! Perhaps it is time to move on.

"But it was all right with me"

At some stage the sex issue will always come up. Unsuspectingly usually, tragic always. 

Sir had one of these moments on Saturday night. It accompanied the open happy face of a young woman, probably about 25 years old now. She crept up on Sir at a party in the school holidays... one is never safe from ex students....She was proud and useless, clinging to the act like it was a trophy of her childhood. Perhaps she thought it was? Power and control can be sexy... between explicitly consenting adults. After she told and smiled, a previously happy drunk became a morbidly smashed one. Luckily Sir has an amazing and understanding partner who coaxed her home and locked her in for the night without complaining at all about Sir's fruity methanoic breath and misunderstood grunts at a cuddle puddle.

But what of the taboo? 

Sir has had many conversations with other teachers about the fundamental organic sexuality of students. Most teachers will acknowledge a beautiful student, a student with lovely eyes, or lovely hair, or a pleasant manner. The way that these adults justify their feeling is by projecting these qualities onto the future student, the grown up student, in a manner that explains away both inherent role of mentor in teaching as well as the dodgy position they find themselves in by verbally objectifying the student. 

Sir always feels like her skin wants to crawl off her body after these conversation, which incidently inevitably turn nasty. "Don't you ever think about it?" is the usual question put to the horrified look on Sir's face, while Sir starts to questions whether perhaps her boundaries around under 18 yr olds are indeed archaic, and perhaps intrinsic beauty can be spoken of in the secondary school context if it is purely philosophical?.... 

No. As adult teachers, we occupy the space of highly sexually charged adolescent bodies. The brains of these young people are rewiring. They are lucky to be able to connect their social identity with their (r)age. They are bodies without heads, trying to order and qualify the sexualised ideas that soak society and social interactions while literally pickled in hormones. 

So these disjointed teacher conversations are not about beauty, or platonic admiration. They cannot be disguised as absent minded harmless talk. They are not about teachers being cool with sexuality and hip with bodies. The sex issue is about power and ambition. Its about boundaries and trading in body capital. Its about teachers being clear about the motivation behind their relationships with students. Its about explicit and assumed consent. 

Its not a difficult relationship to have. It just requires the teacher to assume the position of an adult in order to allow the student to remain safe. 

Can you see yourself in a leadership position in the future?

You may or may not know that teachers in Victoria a paid on a scale. This scale ranges from Graduate to Expert. Depending on the status of certain extra curricular positions there are added position types like Leading Teacher. Each year, teachers that have not reached the ceiling of this scale are required to complete a P&D Plan. The purpose of this document is widely advertised as a tool to check that teachers have developed their skills as professionals by setting goals that will improve student outcomes.

In Sir's humble opinion, the reality of this process, this time wasting document, is to act as a front for a more sinister purpose. The purpose being the insidious creep of the generic UK based secondary education system. 

For sure, Australia used to be the lucky country. For Monsantic corporations on the lookout for Engineering, Science and Mathematics tertiary graduates the poaching pickings are slim indeed. But do not be fooled. The intelligence of young people has not declined... in fact, it could be said that the capitalistic intelligence of generation Z is outstanding. Why go to University to study for at least three years, more realistically seven years, on the Melbourne Model, when you can make four times as much money after five years in the workforce by morphing into a tradie? 

I digress. This serious subject of educational decline will be addressed in much more depth at a later time. For now....

The P&D plan has highlighted the relevance of certain things to Sir. Teaching is good, rewarding, and hard work, certainly. But also, as a Science teacher Sir gets to be a real geek. Titration, Filtration, Saturation. All joyous things in a dark time of year. Let your life be lit up by Luminol.

Would all the female staff members remain beind, please?

     

The Management meeting on a Monday morning. Term 4 week 9. Twelve leaders present discussing the placement of important dates on next year calendar. Needs to be done ASAP! Request from the Senior Campus! Oh my! Sir is sagging, and so are ten other pairs of eyes. Its just about over.

Then. A request. Female staff members. It appears that there have been some complaints made to the front office lady about the state of the female toilets. Toilet paper is being left on the floor. Tampon wrappers are floating in toilet bowls. Drips are appearing on seats and the floor in all colours of the rainbow. Wrapped pads are being left on the feminine hygiene bin lids. Footprints have been sighted on toilet seats. An unsavory business indeed. Signs have been made and laminated, with appropriate instructions for toilet use, stuck on the back of toilet doors for the convenience of all... but they have been removed. Twice. What should we do?

November, December. Tricky times on Campus. Scratching out reports for all students, friend or foe. Waiting to hear about teaching allotments for the next year, team changes, year level coordinators and positions of responsibility. Sir has managed to be at school for the least amount of time possible in this, her least favourite time of year. Hideously banal, stupidly tetchy, bad weather December in Melbourne.

However, despite the pressure  bone fido teaching commitments stretched around grappling with the ever dodgy report writing program, a lady-teacher drama unravels.

The toilets in the Salt Mine. Well, toilet is the more appropriate singular.

Toilet is located in the administration block of the school. A small unpleasant wee cave, comprising of four cubicles, shared by twenty five women. Twenty five women bound to urinate, change feminine dressings, wash hands and faces, apply deodorant and/or makeup, sunscreen and any other personal product, in a half by one half meter space in front of a mirror that uncannily highlights only greying temples and dark eye rings. Twenty five women, in and out, between teaching periods, dictated by bells, on cue. The things we are never told.

Dykix hygenix lady comes to change over the feminine hygiene bins once a fortnight, there are only two of them. Often there is a funny smell around the lady-teacher wee cave, perhaps due to a dry drain, maybe due to overfilled sanitary bins, who knows? Its a public toilet and as far as Sir is concerned & people are pigs in public places... and even more so in public private places.`

In preparation for a day of teaching, Sir, and all other lady teachers, arrives to school immaculately clean. Clean of dirt and grime and well presented to be sure. But also clean of any smell at all, ladylike or not. In class and out we are required to be devoid of scent and sexuality. We are decent role models, positive and blemish free. Our bodies are public property, open to touch and scrutiny by grotty pimply teenagers, yet we do not touch or scrutinise. We are sexless and do not wear our sexuality.

Sir needs to use toilet. This requires hand washing and removal of clothes to expose gendered body parts. Time alone, if only to change a tampon and breathe slowly through period pain. Time alone, if only to sit, relax and urinate. Time.... three minutes until the bell and a cubicle..... without a lady-plug bin. Sir looks up and reads the sign about how to behave appropriately in this private, quiet space. The irritation that solidifies in her guts, into rage, manifests into highly inappropriate behavior. Sir wraps her tampon in shiny single ply paper, pops it in her pocket and trots out of the lady-teacher wee cave with four laminated pieces of paper tucked under her arm.