Working as a relief specialist teacher I get to teach the entire school during the week.
When I pick them up for their lessons, there’s a decided difference in the usual conversations between me and the varying age groups.
Preps: (Whilst clinging onto my thighs in a vice grip, five at a time)
We love you, Mrs Poinker. You’re the bestest most beautifullest teacher ever, Mrs Poinker!!!!
Me: I know.
Preps: YOU look like Mrs. Poinker!
Me: I know. That’s because I am Mrs Poinker.
Preps: Ooooooh!
Grade Ones: I like your earrings Mrs Poinker. I like your hair Mrs Poinker. I like your necklace Mrs Poinker. I like your red top, Mrs Poinker, it’s really nice.
Me: I know.
Grade Twos: I lost a tooth yesterday, Mrs Poinker. I have a cut on my wart, Mrs Poinker. I have a blister on my tongue, Mrs Poinker. My eyes is sore and full of pus, Mrs Poinker. I have nits, Mrs Poinker.
Me: I know.
Grade Threes: You have a yellow car, Mrs Poinker. I saw you at the shopping centre and you waved at me. Mrs Poinker. You wore that shirt last time we had you, Mrs Poinker.
Me: I know.
Grade Fours: Mercutio is walking along the garden bed, Mrs Poinker. Mercutio is not coming inside the classroom, Mrs Poinker. Mercutio is pulling faces through the window, Mrs Poinker.
Me: I know. Just ignore him.
Grade Fours: Mercutio is showing us his bottom, Mrs Poinker.
Me: I know. Just ignore him, don’t give him any attention and he’ll come inside in a moment.
Grade Fours: (Squealing very loudly) He’s really showing us his bottom Mrs Poinker.
Mrs Poinker looks towards the window and sees Mercutio spreading his cheeks in a Jackass-type, explicit manner.
Mercutio could get a job with an all-male review when he leaves school.
Mrs Poinker rings admin in a somewhat urgent mode.
Mrs Poinker on phone: Mercutio from year four is doing dreadful things. He’s out of control.
Admin: Sigh. We know.
Mercutio is rounded up with a swift reconnaissance type mission by harried, long-suffering administration officer.
Grade Fours: Mercutio always does that when we have a relief teacher, Mrs Poinker.
Me: I suspected so. I didn’t actually KNOW. But I suspected.
Mercutio could get a job with an all-male review when he leaves school.
Mrs Poinker rings admin in a somewhat urgent mode.
Mrs Poinker on phone: Mercutio from year four is doing dreadful things. He’s out of control.
Admin: Sigh. We know.
Mercutio is rounded up with a swift reconnaissance type mission by harried, long-suffering administration officer.
Grade Fours: Mercutio always does that when we have a relief teacher, Mrs Poinker.
Me: I suspected so. I didn’t actually KNOW. But I suspected.
Grade Fives: Mrs Poinker, Garibaldi is giving you the rude finger every time you turn around.
Me: I know.
Grade Six: Mrs Poinker, do you know what a dab is?
Me: Yep.
Grade Six: Will you do one for us?
Me: No.
Grade Six: Dabs are really cool.
Me: I know.
See. Teachers really DO know everything.
Me: I know.
Grade Six: Mrs Poinker, do you know what a dab is?
Me: Yep.
Grade Six: Will you do one for us?
Me: No.
Grade Six: Dabs are really cool.
Me: I know.
See. Teachers really DO know everything.