Something struck me the other day with greater clarity than normal. I was teaching a class of GCSE students and helping one girl in particular. On this occasion she smelt so badly that I could not physically inhale without choking. I worked closely to her for approximately 5 minutes trying very hard to inhale as minimally as possible and only breathe through my mouth. As I moved away I stood and watched my class and observed the following things:
One student had asked if she could sleep during my lesson as she had been up all night dealing with her new born sister as her mother was unable to attend the baby. She had her head on the table. Another had a TA (teaching assistant) working closely with them as they have a learning age of an 8 year old.
The lesson was interrupted by a younger girl who had walked out of a maths lesson as she had had enough and she came to find her sister. Both girls live practically on their own as mother is such a complete alcoholic who does not function in any capacity. She politely asked to stay and as 'on call' were aware of her movements I happily let her sit down and join in.
Another student, who had failed to do any work for the past 2 hours was now working quietly - she is on the police aware terror suspect list and often makes threats of bomb making and suicide.
Two other students were drawing on their arms. One has a lot of scars from self harming. It was the first lesson back for her due to being kept in 'inclusion' for 7 weeks due to refusal to change hair colour. The other was possibly abused as a child, the investigation is ongoing. The content of the conversation was graphically sexual in nature.
Yet another student had headphones in their ears and was talking loudly about becoming a DJ. There are significant drug references in the conversation and often drugs have been taken before attending school.
One other always arrives and sits doing nothing, for every lesson. Never once producing a single piece of work in the whole year.
These are tiny snippets of only 10 students from one class of 22. It is quite an abnormal class for my school but not for hundreds of others. Five different classes of kids will pass through my classroom in a day. Each one of the children in every class will have a story; they may not have eaten properly that day or they may have had a problem in a previous lesson resulting in them feeling disengaged. One's mother may be dying from cancer whilst another's father passed away in a car accident the previous year. Another one might have seen a promising sports career go up in smoke as they have just had to have serious knee reconstruction surgery. Others still might just find growing up a little bit tough and despite all the love and support from a good family unit they just don't care enough about school.
Whatever the story (all true and plenty, plenty more) it is my job to engage them, motivate them, make them laugh, encourage them to learn, discipline them, listen to them and support them.
Regardless of the statistical data, the measurements of progress every 7 weeks, the amount of marks and feedback I give them or what I tell their parents or carers, in the end some of them will surpass their predicted grades, others will not attain it. I will do my best to help them, I will try and encourage them to do their best as they work with me.
But they are human beings, individuals with problems, baggage, self-confidence issues, pressures and passions. The only thing they have in common is that not one of them is a statistic.
Data works, it's extremely useful sometimes. It works particularly well on a large scale. It works rather less well when reduced to a class size or an individual. I'm not only a teacher, I'm a manager. I use data every day. I often question the arbitrary data that comes in telling me that young Samantha attained level 5 in ks2 (key stage 2) numeracy so therefore she should secure a grade B in GCSE Art but I keep it, monitor it and add it to my own data. I just don't treat it as more important than any of the individuals I teach in any of my classes. I never will.
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