The Scottish Play
Readafterburnout.com has chronicled my journey through a time of madness to this moment in time when I think that I am relatively (something). It’s like saying Macbeth in a theatre; it brings bad luck. As the S word or the N word. If you don’t know what I am referring to by now, you ought to do your homework- Readafterburnout.com
Okay, let’s take it back a ways.
A while ago, I was this senior teacher allowing myself to be washed in the rivers of bullshit. I am an admirer of natural bullshit as long as it’s in a field and without too many bullshit flies feeding upon it. In a school, it is less than admirable. Whilst coming from the mouths of man, it just stinks and repels in equal quantities. That’s why I became a supply/substitute teacher. I wanted the simplicity of teaching rather than the duplicity of education and its systems; and bullshit.
Life was supposed to be good. Life was supposed to be grand. Life was supposed to be one last farewell to a job that I had loved, at times. Let me loose in a classroom and let me do my magic.
Actually, my magic now has a tinge of the tragic. I can see the arc of my own demise. I have some tricks left. Occasionally, I go into full inspirational teacher mode (Robin Williams on acid). Poetry exists to woo. But what has China got to do with verse? But I am a teacher of history now and verse no longer is my metier.
Today was about the slave trade.
Now, my fellow teacher is also a senior member of the leadership team. He has recently begun to tweak a number of my nerves with his ‘need to fit the role that he is in’ routine. He says things like, “I only do this for the children,” when he is not even remotely dressed as Ronald McDonald. Happy meal or not, he didn’t make me pleased when he wanted a meeting for an hour after work.
“SUPPLY TEACHER,” I wanted to tattoo on his forehead. “Me supply teacher. Me leave only seconds after the kids. Me like it that way. Me no get paid for holidays or pension.”
The truth is that I did say all of this, but not fully in a language that he seemed to understand. He went quite. His eyes closed in an effort to compute what I had just said. His eyes opened again and he looked at me as if I were a foreign being.
“But it’s in your contract,” he pushed back.
“No, it’s not.”
Without boring you, as this could have gone on for a number of days, the bell went for the first lesson. The senior leader left quizzically. I sat back into one of those moments of supreme triumph. And the reason for my victory? I had found another missing item.
I had happened upon another genetic jigsaw piece that I had forgotten about.