Something Old, Something New. Darcie Boleyn
tell.
‘Repetition, Miss.’
‘Excellent!’ Always praise them: positive behaviour management. ‘And could you give me an example?’
He frowns, drawing his partially shaved black eyebrows together, and his eyes go blank. I wait. And I wait. Come on! I step from one foot to the other, twirling my board pen in my right hand like an ageing jazz band member. I want to help him out, but so many times we are told: Don’t be afraid of the silence. Give them time and they will answer. And this from people who’ve never taught, or who taught for all of three years before climbing the educational career ladder.
Nope. He’s not going to answer, is he?
Another hand slowly raises and I meet the boy’s eyes. ‘Do you have an example of repetition, Aaron?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Would you like to share it?’ I encourage him to tell his peers as they stare at him, eyes wide as saucers as they roll their forbidden balls of gum around their open mouths. I try not to notice that some of the busy tongues are decorated with large silver balls. Jewellery is forbidden, so the pupils pierce tongues, necks, belly buttons and who knows what else in an attempt to craftily defy the system. But rebelling is a part of growing up, so the experts say.
Aaron blushes and I think I’ve lost. But then, he takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare. I bite my lip and watch him. The other pupils watch him.
What will he say?
What? What?
‘Bag a bargain!’ His eyes light up as he whispers to the class. My stomach lurches. Not that, please not that annoying catchphrase for a bargain retail chain! ‘Bag a bargain!’ This time a bit louder. Then the pupils around him join in. ‘Bag a bargain! Bag a bargain! Bag a bargain!’ They get to their feet and start swinging their arms out in front of them as if they want to sing to the world. Shanice, a small yet rather loud girl who wears thick black eyeliner and has a pierced tongue which has given her a speech impediment, points at me. ‘Come on, Missth. Join in!’
I stare at her for a moment then back at my PowerPoint, which is frozen on my board. I press the space-bar on my laptop as if it’s a panic button that will summon a special forces rescue team, but nothing happens. Technology has deserted me and I cannot access YouTube and the nice educational video I’d planned to share. I glance at the classroom door, torn between worrying that someone will arrive to find out what the commotion is or just opening it and fleeing. But I can’t run, however much I want to. I need this job; I have to provide for my children, I have bills to pay.
Then I think, what the hell, it’s Friday, and I walk into the middle of the room, take a deep breath and fling out my arms.
‘Bag a bargain!’ I squeak.
‘Louder Missth!’ Shanice waves at me.
‘BAG A BARGAIN!’ I belt it out this time.
The kids cheer and clap. ‘That’s it Miss!’
Then we sing in unison, pulling faces and making silly gestures to imitate the overly enthusiastic actors on the television commercial. Thankfully though, no one here is dressed in the luminous spandex featured in the advert.
As the pupils sing and laugh, then quit as suddenly as they began at the ringing of the final bell, I reassure myself. My lesson has not, as it might seem to some, been abandoned. It has evolved. For even though, to an outsider, what just happened could seem weird and a deviation from a more formal teaching method, it is one that will work for these modern-day children. Because if they learnt nothing else in my lesson today, I know that they will never forget the persuasive technique of repetition.
Even if they don’t actually know how to spell it.
Wishing My Life Away
I hate that I do it but I do it anyway; I wish my life away.
The trouble with a job like teaching is that you live your life in chunks; everything is about waiting until the next holiday, working your way through the weeks until you can finally relax on a Friday night knowing that you don’t have to get up and go to school on a Monday morning. Every half-term break, I leave school with bags full of books and my laptop, intent on getting organised and finally… finally… getting on top of my marking, but it never quite goes to plan. By the time I’ve worked my way through the normal life stuff like cleaning the house, sorting the garden, taking the dogs for vet check-ups and the three children for eye tests, to the dentist and whatever social events they have planned, it’s time to go back to work and my marking remains untouched. Either in the dining room, where it sits in its extra-strong carrier bags for life, or sometimes in the boot of the car if I completely forget about it.
This means, of course, that I have to juggle it all when term begins again. But I often convince myself that this is the better option. After all, I’m more determined and productive under pressure, right?
January has given way to February and I can feel my spirits slowly lifting. The worst month of the year is over and done and I’m trying to look ahead to the spring and summer. Things seem to be running quite smoothly – Dex is happier now that his relationship with Trevor is out in the open, which in turn means that Henry and Anabelle are more relaxed. Janis is focused on her studies and Evan speaks to her at least three times a week to touch base. However, I’m well aware that something will come up. It always does. After all, life rarely continues without a bump in the road when you have three kids, two dogs and two divorces behind you.
Two divorces… That’s the deal breaker for me now isn’t it? I’m almost forty, have three kids and I failed to make two marriages work. Sometimes, I wonder what the future might hold for me but I try to push my concerns away. After Evan, I thought I’d never care for anyone again but I met Dex and we kind of fell into step together. It was no grand passion but it was company, friendship and better than being alone. Which was the problem. A marriage should be about love, lust, friendship, equality and a mutual desire to be together and to grow together. With Evan, there was passion, need, love and longing. But it was so consuming that at times, it was terrifying. I was afraid of being hurt, of ending up like my mother with a child relying on me and no husband in sight. It was different with Dex because I never loved him the way I loved Evan. I knew it from the outset, deep down, but I thought that what we had could be enough. Yet it wasn’t, for either of us.
Even so, splitting up wasn’t easy; it was heartbreaking. Dex and I both wanted our marriage to work and we were both angry that it didn’t. There was shouting, there were tears and there were horrible, tense silences when neither of us knew how to make it better. But somehow, one day, the clouds began to part and time has helped us both to heal. Life is short and I don’t want to be a bitter old lady who can’t let go of the past. I just wish I had a crystal ball.
As usual, I keep busy. I’m good at being busy.
The washer is on, I’ve vacuumed downstairs and the fridge and cupboards are well stocked as I went shopping last night after work. I’m contemplating tackling the ironing mountain when I receive a text. I check the display to see Evan’s name. Even now, after all these years, seeing his name on my mobile gives me a flutter in my stomach. Nothing romantic or silly of course. He’s a good guy but it wouldn’t have worked out all those years ago and we did the right thing splitting up. If we’d stayed together, who knows, we might have ended up hating each other; but as it was, I truly believe that we salvaged something.
I rub my chest with the heel of my hand. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then; including another marriage, two kids and a second divorce.
I lift my mobile and read his message.
Hey Annie! Just to let you know, I’ve a few ideas about what we could do for Janis’ birthday – seeing as how it’s the BIG one. I’ll run them by