Scribo Ergo Cogito (I think therefore I write)

Hallelujah or really? I have started to write again, it has been a long slow progress, getting my writing mojo going again. Lots of reasons why such a lengthy hiatus they can be … oh I know blog posts. Highly personal, sometimes offensive, potty-mouthed at times however authentic, a reflection of me if you wish, so lets start at the very beginning of the decline as it were, (as good as any place) I think, it all started with a door (that’s another subject as well, doors).

I was trying to crack the nod as it were as a provisional teacher, I did some relief at a school and they offered me a short-term reliving contract (two terms). It was a hospital pass that I didn’t see coming. I was to be the 5th teacher in two terms to tackle a class of year nine pupils teaching English. These young people were at the bottom of the learning ratings with behavioural issues and learning difficulties at all sorts of levels, from coming to school high on meth, through to being bone tired because they were working to help support their families. I didn’t ask the right questions so essentially it was my own fault, I went ahead and did it. One of the teachers had been on extensive time off because of a concussion issue, the others had bailed in varying states of distress or thankfulness that they had escaped.

The night before I was due to start I was horsing around with one of my sons, pretending to chase him with a fairly large hammer (just under 2 kgs). I chased him into the bedroom and he shut the door on me knocking me out. Needless to say, I didn’t feel the best! However, I soldiered on anyway as I didn’t;’t want to ring the school and say I had concussion. (I clearly did). (Strike 1) The first day there one of my more polite students when asked to engage enquired of me “Would you like me to knock you the fuck out…., sir?) I had to add the polite bit really. At that point I should have bailed and just gone heck no I won’t go, however, permanent jobs were few and far between, with many very experienced teachers selling their Auckland homes and moving to the Waikato cashed up and able to buy freehold and in some instances even a place at the beach as well.

I had earlier applied for a one-term relieving position and the Principal let me know that they had 45 applicants for the job and that I shouldn’t feel bad as the person who took it was fully registered and had 15+ years of experience. I had trained on the basis of English Teachers being in hot demand however found that was not so in the Waikato, I desperately wanted to be working rather than the alternatives so I was prepared to commute to Auckland daily (strike 2).

I persevered, throwing everything in the book that I had from freestyling rap lessons to refusing to allow some students in the class to attend due to their ongoing behavioral issues. The school in question straddled a divide between some fairly affluent suburbs through to what some might say were effluent. The culture of the school seemed to be rather insular (partly I guess because of its size) and partly due to the way it structured its learning, add a new Principal in and it was not a cohesive place.

Back to strike 1, tiredness and fatigue dogged me, apart from the 4-hour commute there and back and being a full-time sole parent to 4 I was clearly out of my depth. Having just come from a dysfunctional school where a senior staff member had been committing sexual crimes against pupils I wanted to work it out and hopefully that would help crack the nod for a permanent position.

Concussion injuries manifest in a myriad of ways I have found out. I was simply dumb in continuing in the job. To be frank I was out of my depth, I was struggling, didn’t really know where to turn to, I didn’t fit in the highly urban environment, it was foreign to me and I didn’t fit in with the staff. I don’t point any fingers around that, I was a very small cog in a very big clock, and in the end, if I had stopped working the clock may have skipped a second but then with a step like a rugby winger bursting through his opponents, it would have kept on ticking.

The end came when a student (without malice or intent) crept up to a door I was holding and pulled it out of my grasp in the process blowing my shoulder apart, it wasn’t helped when an eager newly qualified physiotherapist thought traction would sort it after all it was merely bursitis (a misdiagnosis). I finished my term at the school. I guess it probably looked cloudy however I was unable to drive for 4 hours a day and cope with the shoulder injury as well as coping with concussion. I had been going to apply for a permanent position however I was told not to bother as it was already earmarked for another beginning teacher.

To say I was disappointed was true, I constructed my own narrative of my time at the school instead of just accepting that I am not a round peg. This narrative when I look back is embarrassing, frankly stupid, and unnecessary, there is nothing wrong with admitting you cannot cope or you do not fit. In the end, it was pretty irrelevant as my shoulder injury was somewhat more extensive than what was first diagnosed with my hands turning different colours, a huge loss of strength and mobility, and add the ongoing concussion issues I didn’t continue teaching.

I had stepped away from statutory social work, burnt out from all the assaults and threats, retrained, and found myself in a place where actually on a numerical basis the assaults threats and pure antagonism were worse than working at Child Youth and Family, (the only difference was that the assaults were much more minor). I had not understood when I left the Department that I needed to carry my registration through so without another two possibly three years of study I was not able to be a registered social worker, essentially consigning me to working as under valued, underpaid, overworked resource worker.

I guess that is really enough for today, my shoulder is certainly telling me that, and brain fog is slowly descending again. So I will leave it there to continue.

Paul