Why six months is enough + Teacher worship

In Tours, I spent around six and a half months. Twenty-nine weeks. Twenty-three of them I had school. I worked three or four days a week. Twelve hours- or less- as the last few weeks of tests and school trips and changes in schedule have taught me. I do not mark homework-or any kind of work. And I love it. I love this job. I love talking to the students, getting to know them, hearing the silly things they say, getting excited that they can finally conjugate properly or know that you have to say ‘I am sixteen,’ instead of ‘I have sixteen’. It’s awesome, amazing and fun. And I am good at it. Yes, it helps in a giant class of boys that I am a twenty-two year old female. Yes, when I tell them to be quiet, they listen more than they listen to their other teachers. But I have had these same teachers tell me how good I am with them.

I did a class on leadership a few weeks ago; same topic with a bunch of different classes. And as a side point, I asked about teachers. What they preferred? What they hated? What could be better or worse and what made a teacher a leader*. They invariably told me that a great teacher is happy and loves their job. This is the bottom line to making their classes interesting. It is interesting to see it from this side. One of my classes asked where I lived, if I lived alone and when I mentioned that I rent from Brigitte (Mme Madeline, to them), their jaws dropped. “Is she nice?” they whispered. I forget what that is like. They see the disciplinarian. Not that Brigitte is even harsh to them at all. I have taught with her, she is an angel compared to some outbreaks I’ve seen in the past. But she is like an alien to them. Another species, un prof.

From my spot in the staffroom, from eavesdropping and from talking, from having parents who have both been teachers (full time and substitute), I know this world. My twenty-three weeks as an assistant do not compare. There is so much that students don’t see here. Over my free hours today, I read an article in a French education newspaper that talked about the burn-out experienced by the language teachers- especially relevant, because this week, above all, I have seen it. The article used the phrase on achève bien les chevaux, or (roughly) cutting the heads clear off the horses. It’s a metaphor. Where the horses are the language teachers. This year, they reformed the end of year exams. For the first time, the oral exam is considered equal to written and reading. It is composed of two different tests. A part where the student speaks on two of four notions and then a part that is a conversation. The other thing that changed was that the exam is now written by the language teachers at the school. Adding even more pressure to the already reduced work force of language teachers. The number of hours that students have per week has fallen to two, but the results are expected to be the same. And if they are not, it is never the fault of the students, whose parents call and blame teachers.

And the marking. It is never ending. I did some during my time and it really does pain your brain. It's editing your own high-school essays thirty times over. And as students, it never crosses your mind. Maybe I would sign myself up to be a full-time assistant. Full-time speaking and laughing and playing games and getting down to a bit of work. But a teacher? Hours of preparation, hours of marking, all to be told that with the two hours you have per week with the students, you aren’t doing enough. I see students who want to learn and can’t, shoved in a class of 35, I see teachers who want to teach, but are shoved in front of that same class. And of course, no matter what kind of teacher you are, you are building on top of what has come before. If a student reaches terminale (the final year) with no knowledge, no work ethic, nothing, you try to turn it around, of course. But when there are so many in so little time.

Yes, great holidays. Having a summer like you did when you were young is awesome. It’s rewarding. It’s wonderful to see the light go on. It’s fun to get caught up in their lives and find that student who is really special or really shy or really loud. I admire these people to the end of the Earth. Anyone who can love teaching after years and years is a magical unicorn of optimism. But me? I would never do it. I would not let my life be swallowed up and the find out that my school, my students, the other teachers do not appreciate me. That the hours I put in go unnoticed, are expected, but not paid. That my weekends begin and end with marking. It can be, at times, a thankless job. This is not just France. There is a reason that my parents used to be full time teachers.

Anyone who does it is a marvel.

*I feel that the French are less inclined to see their teachers as leaders, as inspirations, which makes me wonder if my opinion of my teachers has changed from when I was their age and it is only now, in retrospect that I view them as so incredible. But no, I had teachers who were inspirational. That made me love subjects I never thought I would. I’m an English, French and Business student, whose favourite teachers of all time have been maths and science teachers. France is different. The connection is not so common here.