I probably wasn’t the easiest student to teach at school. Some may have thought I was a toe-rag in fact!

I cannot recall accurately, but I suspect most of my school reports mentioned that I needed to inject the ‘required’ level of effort to ‘achieve my potential’. As if they knew what that was! They probably also said that I questioned too much, thought too much and should do this and should do that. However, I always worked hard and seemed to get the grades.

Looking back, what really irritated me about school (I acknowledge everyone’s experience is different due to a multiplicity of internal drivers and external variables) was the general lack of purposeful ‘connection’ I had with my teachers. Please don’t get me wrong, many were highly effective practitioners in the sense that their students achieved good grades, learning was participatory and rigorous and many students went on to happily secure employment or other training that THEY desired.

There was one teacher however who I loved to butt-heads with, let’s call him Mr E. He was a very successful sports and occasional science teacher. What I loathed was his ‘man of few words’ approach.  Somehow he commanded compliance, intentionally or not. He provoked a corporeal response in me that many who have experienced similar will attest to; grinding teeth, clenched fists, rolling eyes and steam coming out of my ears. The other frustrating thing was that he didn’t smack of pomposity, he didn’t exude hubris and wasn’t a man of tradition. He seemed to be his own man. In fact, he was probably one of the most anodyne people I have ever met. Whatever the story was, I had made up my mind about him.

My breakthrough moment came in my final year of school. Days after breaking up for Christmas, my father suddenly and unexpectedly died. This changed everything. What was great, and what I miss about my old-man was that he was uncomplicated, caring and committed. He had a few mantra’s which have stuck with me. ‘Head down and work hard’, ‘keep growing’ and ‘be humble and considerate’. I try hard to live and work by these. I was dreading going back to school and couldn’t face the prospect of revision, exams and the like. Upon my return I was engulfed on one hand by a tsunami of sympathy (which at the time seemed hollow and patronising – but I look back now and realise it was well-intentioned), and on the other people working overtime to avoid eye-contact, conversation etc. probably because they were unsure how to act, what to say and what to do to support me.

A moment of serendipity occurred in the second week back. I always loved Sport, except was always a walk down to the local fields. I remember vividly trudging down that one bitter January morning to rugby on my own. Not long after leaving the school grounds, I heard a voice rising above the whistling cold air. “Slow down Andrews’. I didn’t turn around. “Slow down Andrews’ came the voice again. I stopped, turned around only to see my old sparring-partner, the teacher I loved to hate, Mr E.

“If you need to talk, know that me and the other teachers are here for you”. That was all he said. He walked past briskly towards the sports fields. I stood, literally frozen, hood up, rooted to the pavement. Cars whizzed past, other students shouldered past me. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I was almost disappointed. I wanted to continue to clash with him but I couldn’t. He had levelled me with a swift, reassuring and kind sentiment.

I did take Mr E up on his offer, after Easter during the cricket season. After being unceremoniously bowled out for a duck (even more embarrassing as I was an opener), I sat and chatted to him on the pavilion steps while watching the game with other students and parents. I discovered that my assumptions were wrong about him, he was not hewn from some monolithic ideal of what teaching should be, some bombastic, ineffectual old-schooler. Moreover, he was a thinker, a challenger and he recoiled at the prospect of scripted education. I discovered that he was a staunch supporter of two things I believed in; that agency and identity are profoundly important, and hard work pays off. These notions were akin to my father beliefs – things that I also hold dear.

I love teaching and I have no regrets whatsoever about entering the profession. I was never one of those ‘I always knew I wanted to teach people’, I required a nudge, a prompt from a surprising person. I required my father’s mantra’s to get here. I guess when I reflect, they are also partially responsible for surfacing and crystalising some of my professional and philosophical beliefs about education. I am very thankful for that and wish I had had the chance to articulate this before they both sadly passed away. I can see now that Mr E taught with an unwavering conviction to help every student achieve. I misunderstood him. He valued a holistic education and was a kind man. A man of few words perhaps, but profound words, words I very nearly didn’t hear.

As I reflect, I challenge you to consider and recall, what has and still shapes your practices and beliefs? Where do they emanate from? One quote that sums up for me why teaching is such a great but complex job, an unfinished job, a job that is not airtight and is iterative, is this from Jennifer Nias;

 “Teachers have hearts and bodies, as well as heads and hands, though the deep and unruly nature of their hearts is governed by their heads, by the sense of moral responsibility for students and the integrity of their subject matter which are at the core of their professional identity…Teachers are emotionally committed to many different aspects of their jobs. This is not an indulgence; it is a professional necessity. Without feeling, without the freedom to ‘face themselves’, to be whole persons in the classroom, they implode, explode—or walk away.”

(Nias, 1989, p. 305)