FROM MINI MARKET TO MINI EDUCATION
I did something a bit brave a couple of weeks ago. I turned down teacher training at my school here in London, starting in September. I was offered a student teacher’s role. Full time. No pay. I turned it down. WOW. Why? Ha!
I’ve gone from the mini market to mini education. At least this system kind of speaks sense sometimes. No missing ice cubes, no plastic bags on heads… just sucking Gove’s balls…
The school I am currently employed at is as a teacher’s assistant, but hey, I do a damn lot of teaching. I may not prepare or plan yet, but I stand in front of my class as their teacher about two full days a week. Otherwise I am guiding the “lower learners”, often in small groups, often separate to the class, up to 10 children out of 30, to catch up with the rest. I am basically responsible for the most difficult kids in the class. Most often am helping with behavioural issues. Jesus, inner city London – I believe you need two adults in a class for those thirty kids. I am not responsible for the data that these children represent seemingly, but ultimately, yes.
They pay 10000 for my job.
Not a lot. Insulting really.
Madness to refuse teacher training option, leading to better options for me quicker?
Not really. Wait, it may seem madness until I explain it.
Since I came from the mini market, my goal has been to consolidate my 8 years of teaching overseas and try to properly qualify so that simply, I can move. Literally, move. Open doors. Go anywhere. Do my job. Which is – I am good with kids. Really good. I’m a born teacher. Not perfect, but, well, I care. I’m the one who goes home and frets how much I can do for “Joshua” or “Ahmed” or “Lisa” or “Stavros”.
And also, for me. For my son. So that we can make choices. So that I can make choices for us that don’t include selling fifty pence bars of chocolate behind a mini market counter for me and him for the rest of our lives, knowing I will be pushing Yanni or Maria around in a wheelchair one day when they actually never liked me. “So pretty… This is your colour!”
So teaching it is. My thing. If I can do this, and there’s a long road ahead, I may be able at some point to do that bloody comedy stand up I’ve been going on about for so long.
I simply can’t do anything for free. Anymore.
I can’t afford to anymore. I’m on the breadline.
Option 1) I train to teach, while already being pretty damn good, and be paid. (This was denied me this year, I didn’t get the role I wanted). Go for it again next year.
Option 2) I train to teach, but without pay and really full on, for nothing. Benefits only, tight tight money.
Option 3) Wait and be a “teacher’s assistant” again, be paid, while waiting to apply for a paid position next year.
I went for option three.
Ooh, I forgot Option 4)
Start stand up comedy. Take Angelo along for night time slots as a single Mum. Don’t get paid until you do, but perhaps I could start charging for every time I make someone laugh… and get someone to hold his dolls and him as I go on…
I make Angelo my son laugh. He makes me laugh –
We were skyping tonight. He’s in Greece with Jimmy and the in laws –
“What is yiayia feeding you…?”
“Eggs, mummy. All the time eggs. And she feeds me like a baby. Then I tell her I’m not a baby. Then she remembers. Then she forgets and I have to tell her again.”
Angelo and I will be charging 50p for every time we make you laugh. It’s a deal, and a guarantee X