9 People You Will Meet at Teacher CPD Courses

Continued Professional Development courses are becoming like hen’s teeth, but when you do get out on one, you experience the unmistakable rush of being somewhere you didn’t quite expect to be when you entered the teaching profession.

The giddiness of a late start. The placebo feeling of playing truant from work. The dressed down approach, even the tired old jokes about finishing at 6pm create an aura of otherworldliness.

Your companions for the day sit dotted around the room. Among them are the familiar characters you will encounter at every teaching course.

The Tutor

Usually stood at the front of the room, quietly becoming more disgruntled at the non-compliance of the data projector, is the tutor or facilitator of the day’s session.

Generally a former teacher who has traded the rat race of marking and monitoring for a life of presentation and mandatory evaluations, they are ultra-sensitive to the disdainful stare of the overworked and sceptical teachers in front of them.

The tutor will chat casually with the first few people who arrive before anxiously skating around the room ensuring everyone has the relevant hard copies of all the resources and keeping a rigorous eye on the whereabouts of the sign-in sheet.

Throughout the day, particularly after lunch, the tutor will tread the fine line between teacher and tutor, fighting the urge to clap a rhythm in order to bring the room to attention in favour of the more sedate and mannerly “Okay folks”.

Will always tell the group that this has been their most enjoyable session ever.

The Chatterbox

This particular attendee rips up the class contract in spectacular fashion the minute they leave the confines of their day-to-day environment. Released from its shackles, the Chatterbox displays the kind of behaviour that would no doubt draw their ire if it occurred in their classroom.

With the Tutor in mid-flow, the Chatterbox can often be heard to speak at full volume to their colleagues about a subject that holds little relevance to the session. Maybe Johnny from Year 3 is giving them a hard time and this is the perfect time to find out what he was like last year from his previous teacher, or perhaps there is a pressing need to ask if they have their reports completed.

The Chatterbox will often draw unsuspecting accomplices into their web of ill-manners, resulting in the understated “Okay folks”.

The bane of the Tutor’s life.

The Peacock

It’s generally accepted that sharing classroom practice is a positive thing. It allows others an insight into what worked for your class and where you could learn from them.

The Peacock, however, has no interest in what you have been doing in your classroom. They will listen with an agonised look on their face before the sounds that your mouth was making have ceased and then, with an ambiguous ‘Yeah’, they will flash their proverbial feathers.

“Well, what I do in my class is…” generally begins the Peacock’s narcissistic babble as they mount a verbal pedestal.

Their testimony is usually a very normal concept presented as if they had scrawled the answer on Professor Gerald Lambeau’s blackboard. When it comes to a close, the nods of agreement are accompanied by pained looks from all who witnessed it.

Often the last to leave as they seek affirmation from the Tutor.

The Latent Listener

This attendee has only the patience or the concentration span for certain parts of the day. They begin the morning jaded by the inane traffic chat and customary scramble for the sign-in sheet and their input to the early pre-amble is limited.

At various times throughout the day, they will enter the conversation, delivering a fairly lucid point before fading back into apparent indifference, only to arrive again at crucial junctures throughout the day.

Although outwardly unengaged, the Latent Listener is taking everything in, possibly filtering in their head what they can offer that might be new information to those in any way interested. Or maybe they genuinely just can’t be bothered.

Often irked into action by their arch-nemesis, The Peacock.

The Permanency Parrot (NI Specific)

In the current political and financial mire that passes for NI often means that a large percentage of those actually present at a training course are not, contrary to popular belief, in permanent employment.

What they love more than anything is to be reminded of this fact by every passer-by they encounter. In a phenomenon seemingly unique to the teaching profession, we seem obsessed with a drive for permanency that in any other line of work would be treated with bewilderment.

The Permanency Parrot simply repeats this well-meant enquiry because they have heard others do it. 

The Militant

Heavily unionised and wound-up, the Militant usually gets their speak in early in the day’s session. They might begin with a thinly-veiled assault on ‘The Board’ for the lack of sub cover available for CPD sessions, or they could be provoked into verbal action at the mere mention of industrial action.

Their input will be met with either nodding approval or with a shooting look, depending on the persuasion of the respondent. The Tutor is now shifting nervously, reluctant to allow The Militant to take over proceedings but equally keen not to be seen as a scab.

The Militant pulls back, his point suitably made. He may reiterate at timely intervals throughout the day.

The Moaning Myrtle

Teaching is a stressful occupation. Opportunities for professional development are shoehorned in among the myriad of other spinning plates in the teacher’s incessant to-do list. They are even more rare given the fact we have a poorly developed budget and a proudly vacuous government.

But here you are, out for the day. There’s even sub cover AND a free lunch. You have a nice relaxed rising that morning, registration isn’t until 9:30 and you’ve had time for a coffee on your way in. You’re even in your jeans and if you were any more laid back and refreshed you’d be horizontal.

Within minutes of taking your seat your good mood is dampened by that most effective of mood-killers; The Moaning Myrtle.

Myrtle usually presents with folded arms and a face like a well-caned posterior. Steam shoots out their ears as they renounce how much harder it is to leave work for your class. Their brow rises as they bemoan the extra work they’ll have to do to get caught up and wonder if the course is going to be worth it.

The lunch is never any good. They send too many people on the courses. Power Points are boring and sure we have the slides anyway. Do not engage.

They will digress to complaints about having to do duties, how industrial action is making things harder, how the helpless downtrodden educators have no recourse. The fact that everyone else in the room has similar issues doesn’t seem to register.

Will always be first down for lunch.

Question Quigley

It’s 3:30pm. The session has already run over time and the Tutor’s pleas for attention have become louder and more irritable. The evaluations have still to be completed, but it looks like finish line is in sight. The Tutor prepares for their token request for enquiries.

“Any questions folks?”

Furtive looks shoot around the room. Invisible daggers are drawn. The coast looks clear as the Tutor even begins to hand out the evaluation sheets. We’ll be home and hosed within minutes.

“Actually, I have a question.”

A voice from the back of the room penetrates the giddy quitting time optimism. A rumble of ill-concealed discontent rises like a stormy tide. The Tutor pauses, forcing a smile.

You know the rest.

The Hungover One

Whatever it is about the late start, the slight relinquishing of pedagogical duty for the day, or the nostalgic yearning for a university hall, there is always one person who will rekindle the old flame and go on the absolute rip the night before a course.

They’ll either arrive ridiculously early so as not to arouse suspicion or try and sneak in late. Either way, their groggy demeanour and unwillingness to raise their head too high is a dead giveaway. Or breathe, they often don’t want to do that either.

They make frequent trips to the toilet as the Tutor smiles knowingly. They’ve seen this before. These may be regurgitative trips or simply a quick breather in a cooler, less intense environment but a stringent don’t ask-don’t tell policy is strictly adhered to.

Depending on how severe their symptoms are, they may lapse into the role of the Latent Listener, but this may be an optimistic assessment.

May sacrifice the free lunch for a half-hour lie down in the car.

***

Whether you meet any of these characters or not, one thing is for certain.

Someone, at some point, will make a joke about coffee being available.

You’ll all chuckle dutifully.

Plus ça change.

Why Do You Teach?

“Why do you teach?” is a question every teacher has heard at least once in their career.

The planning, obviously. The staff meetings. The endless futile paperwork demanded by various government bodies.

I jest. This is not another belligerent litany from a downtrodden workhorse. Yes, there are challenges, but all of the above pale into insignificance when I begin to answer the question.

We’ve just passed the summer equinox, the longest day of the year. The daylight stretches long into the evening, rendering previously punctual bedtimes sporadic and ineffectual.  The traditional end-of-year routines are in full flow.

Parents may be on the lookout for a gift for their child’s teacher. They may feel under pressure to get something fantastic – a Best Teacher mug maybe.

Teachers appreciate every gift they receive and still, years later, I am overwhelmed with the kindness shown by parents and children at the end of the year. However, one thing in particular sticks out in my mind when I think of end-of-year gifts.

It was simple, yet profound. Small in stature but awesome in intent. A card, with the simple message:

“Life is a journey and your words have been a guiding light throughout the year.”

Life is indeed a journey. Some journeys are long, arduous and draw every ounce of effort from the traveller. Some are short, fleeting and come to an end all too soon. Some journeys are taken independently, confidently, in search of exploration and adventure. Others are travelled in step with those around us, reassurance sought with every cautious step along the way.

Journeys can be scary. They can be fraught with danger at every turn. Some veer uphill at an alarming incline as the traveller fights wearily against the overwhelming desire to yield. Others are fortunate to be travelling down the incline, new paths popping up at every turn, each as profitable as the next.

Every journey is different, but they are never taken alone. Along each personal journey there are many encounters.

Your journey becomes intertwined in the winding paths of others’ lives. For some, this is a difficult transition. Your journey begins to affect others. Your actions create paths for yourself and others to explore.

Occasionally you take a wrong turn. The path becomes dark and worrying. The feeling of regret rises wildly around you and you begin flailing in the darkness in search of guidance.

Of a guiding light.

That guiding light comes in numerous forms. It can be the caring hand of a parent or relative, plucking you from the abyss of your folly. It could be the calming voice of a friend, beckoning you back on course. It may even be the words or actions of a teacher, those you thought were long deemed background noise.

So why do I teach?

While following your own path, you become aware of the journeys all around you. The twenty or thirty unique journeys that swirl around in your consciousness every day.

You see the child straining desperately against the incline and offer an alternative route to their next destination.

You see the child racing complacently down the incline and guide them to a more challenging route for their talents to thrive.

You see the child that has fallen so often that they no longer have the will to carry on. The apparent comfort of a downhill stroll summons them, but you usher them away from a path littered with a myriad of dangers and help them to find a way up the hill.

There is the child whose path is rockier than the rest, who longs to bound through the jagged rocks that delay their progress. You help them choose their path carefully through the perilous ravine.

Then, almost as fleetingly as theirs arrived around you, your path veers again. You are among a new web of journeys, all once again unique and challenging. These young people need new paths to follow.

Now and again you encounter on your journey someone whose path you have influenced.

The child who took your alternative route and made it to the top of the incline.

The child who made it even further down the road than they thought they could.

The child who pushed away from the dangers of the downhill stroll and never looked back.

The child who made it through the jagged ravine of their early path and onto smooth ground.

Our words are guiding lights in the journeys of lives, and, every now and then, a seemingly insignificant encounter reminds us that we too are guided by those in our care.

This is the reason I love my job.

That and the summer holidays, obviously.