exit persued by cynicism

Are you really going? Where to? Is it true that this is your last day? Is it? Is it? Is it?

Actually, sweet as their concern is, I’ve grown a little tired of hearing these questions today. Yes I am moving on. The regular teacher has recovered. I have another job in another town. Winter is being replaced by Spring. Snowdrops are fading, daffodils are sprouting.

I didn’t meant to sound so flippant but I really have had it up to my neck and eventually even I begin to get tetchy sometimes. As it happens every time I spend a length of time in a school I do grow attached; it is a wrench when I move on - but I have become used to it and perhaps a little desensitised.
Tonight I will file away my literature resources and clear my room of all traces of one school and start preparing space for another. It’s a routine I’ve grown accustomed to. To be perfectly honest the toughest part is retraining my car to go South rather than East in the mornings when I am still half asleep. I try not to let it affect me too much.

But this time it is slightly different. For one thing I have to be careful what I write. Never before have I taught in a school where so many pupils actually track down my blog. And worse still, several of them actually read it. I know of some who inform me that they are working their way through the older posts - I even had one girl who complained that my standard was slipping. I was taken aback - I agree with her but I was still taken aback.

Does it worry me that they are reading this blog? Indeed it does. Greatly. The last time that happened (coincidentally at the same school) I ended up closing the blog down for a while until they lost interest. This time I reckon I’ll just watch my words and avoid all controversy - until they lose interest.

In the meantime my sixth years will be upset if I don’t mention them. I think they taught me more about the confusing modern teen ecosystem than I taught them about Street Car or Kite Runner. An entertaining bunch indeed. I won’t admit it but secretly I’ll miss them a little. The dramas caused by errant yoghurt, the random sidetracks, the torrent of abuse they shared - the pupil of the week badge is on its way and never let anyone say you’re sad for reading this.

My year 12s. Poetry buddies. I eventually got round to reading your blogs - and saw your kind comments. I was both a little embarrassed and a little touched - that was kind of you. Thank you. I’ll miss the power walks round the park, the highly competitive badminton matches, the posh Eastern European accents (who knew Shakespeare was polish?) and all the arguments in class. If poetry wasn’t mean’t to cause arguments it wouldn’t be worth studying.

Right, now I’ve had a chance to keep them all happy I’ll assure both my regular readers that normal service will be resumed. Just maybe with a touch less cynicism. For a week or two.