There is an old joke about not being able to decide whether you have decision fatigue that seems apt as the school gates close on another term of constant disruption. Everyone in schools has, for 22 months now, been forced to make the calls no one else wants to, and to do so with little support and too few thank yous.
While all around them there has been paralysis, they’ve weighed things up and, in the end, always come down on the side of what is best for the kids in front of them. But it’s taking its toll.
It is tempting to use the next 500 words to expand upon that, but I’ll be honest: it will do no good. That schools have been left to fend for themselves should be widely understood by all outside of education, but nothing ever seems to be done about it. The focus groups that are feeding national policy clearly aren’t indicating that help for schools is a priority. This piece would not change that: I’m preaching to the converted.
So instead, I want to do something useful and provide some space for the appreciation of those small moments of school life that too often go without due recognition. These are those short bursts of humanity that bind school life together: a joke, a smile, a nod, a look, a raise of an eyebrow, a subtle shift in the body, a single word, a laugh, a tear, a brief written comment, a shared experience.
There were times in my school experience when one small gesture like these, often done instinctively by a teacher, changed my outlook for days. I might feel better understood, more secure, boosted in my self-esteem. I might feel more mature, less anxious, better equipped to engage. I’d feel more a part of something.
There were students who would bounce between these instances, dipping towards exclusion only to be pulled back by a quip or a well-timed stare. Friends were saved by those small moments, some literally.
It sounds silly, almost, to think this could be true. And yet, if we really break it down, it is human connection that powers education. Unfortunately, as we attempt to distil the variables out of pedagogy with an ever-more prescriptive approach, we are shoving that humanity into the margins of fleeting moments.
The pandemic seemed to accelerate this trend. We were told that only through a more regimented approach to teaching could we ensure continuity of provision and be sure of “closing the gap”.
But it’s the small things that have kept kids going into school, that have made parents feel safer sending them in. We - parents and our children - needed to trust teachers, and we did so not because of how they taught but because of who they were.
I remember at the height of the fear around Covid, there was a teaching assistant on the school gate every morning welcoming every child by name, with the biggest smile on her face. Without her, I’m sure some of us would have left that day pledging not to come back for months.
We need to stop and properly appreciate the micro-moments of teaching. They have got us through the pandemic, they get kids through school every single day whether Covid is lingering or not, and we need to recognise that. Because if we don’t - if we let the post-Covid narrative be one of clinical prescription - then we’re not only doomed to failure, but we will also have forgotten that what really powers teaching is people.
@jon_severs
This article originally appeared in the 17 December 2021 issue under the headline “Teachers’ little moments of magic have got us through the pandemic”
