I had to raise my voice at a class today. Roared rather. It was a last resort, and it worked, but I hated doing it. To tell the truth, it upset me enough to spoil lunch. (Nothing ever spoils my meals.)
The thing is, I take issue with disrespect. And today seemed to’ve been the day for it.
The Matric class that brought me to roaring-point got me there by blatantly disrespecting one of my colleagues, who was doing her level best to keep their work as fun and light-hearted as possible. No matter how much she asked for their cooperation – or just to keep it down – the kids acted as if she wasn’t even there. Even less so that the other observing student-teacher and I were there as wel.
So I roared. And it worked.
But I hated doing it.
Little did I know that the undercurrent of disrespect had only started manifesting.
But I hated doing it.
Little did I know that the undercurrent of disrespect had only started manifesting.
We were asked to invigilate at the Gr. 12’s final exam (paper 3) in Afrikaans after school. All went well, until a member of staff and Gr.12 accomplice decided to throw a bomb-cracker down the corridor where the paper was being written. I happened to be standing in the corridor at the time. The bomb-cracker went off right behind me, and when I looked around I saw the culprits tearing up with laughter. Such blatant disrespect for the other students, the exam and the invigilators (not counting my stinging ears) struck me dumb. And from faculty!?
Apparently it’s that teacher’s “thing”.
Everyone looks the other way.
I can not see myself associated with any school where this sort of thing is accepted.
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