In the University of Colorado Museum they have at least 223 terms and definitions in their glossary covering their exhibited textiles. Most of them I have never heard of because I’m not in the textile game. But I tell you one thing I learned at my advanced age, ‘warp and weft’ is a great physical metaphor for learning how to become a great teacher.
The ‘warp’ provides the vertical lines giving strength for the garment. This is you. Your personal qualities. Your presence. As well as adding more strength, the ‘weft’ is what provides the design of the garment. There are numerous ways the weft is completed depending on the designer, with the simplest being an easy criss-cross pattern.
This is the best bit. This is where you, as the designer of your own teaching destiny, have control. This is where you choose to be work-shy, good or great. You can choose to be an English teacher or a teacher who happens to specialise in English. You can choose to learn the many skills of managing behaviour and building relationships or not. You see, simply knowing the skills just isn’t enough. You have to practise them, drill them into your everyday actions so that they become as easy to do as breathing. You then carry them out without effort or conscious thought. Teaching is not an easy profession, but it is simple, providing you work hard to learn the trade and that takes a few years. My Year 7 PSHCE group have been a constant reminder to me about that fact.
The sun is streaming through the windows and I am looking forward to this lesson. I have a visitor; Aisha. She’s a trainee and she wants to see if I can practise what I preach. I feel like a performing seal. Fun times. We are in the latter stages of ‘norming’ with occasional flashes of ‘performing’ as a group. My willingness to trust students to sit where they choose causes me angst at times, but it’s worth it. I will keep on trusting them until they badly let me down. They are still only 11 or 12 years old and I remind myself of that every week.
No need for a getting attention routine. Standing in the same position does the job now. I have taught them how to treat me in that context and my earlier efforts were worth it. “OK. Let’s make a start.” Now they quieten inside 10 seconds and I am making eye contact like crazy across their young faces. I hear a pen tapping to my left and without looking I put my left arm out straight with fingers wide and pointing to the ceiling. The sight of my flat hand does the trick. Weft.
I introduce the ‘progress sheet’; a nifty little idea to help me and them show progress should Mr or Mrs OfSTED appear without notice. We are still being positive active citizens and I introduce the next activity which will need to be completed alone and in silence. Alone – Silence. Now that’s a strange concept for some of them.
“As you complete this activity you need to work alone and in silence. As I stand completely still I turn my head only and scan the room repeating slowly, “Alone … and … in silence.” Some glazed glances come back to me; we’ll see. “OK. You have six minutes, start now.” Always leave the action verb until last. A fine detail, but necessary for some. I’m still, standing still. Transition time. Scanning. Heads begin to lower. Some eyes look furtively at me and back to their desk. Me, desk, me, desk. Those concerned know I am watching them and their lips are preparing to open. Monitoring over, I move to help someone who’s stuck. More weft.
I haven’t moved more than 2 steps and I hear a mutter. Without looking up or at anyone, I state, “That’s strange. I said this section was to be completed alone and in silence. We’ll discuss later.” I don’t want to home in on anyone first of all, just a general reminder. Scattergun. Heads down. Some just can’t help themselves though. They’re too young to keep themselves in check.
Two heads face each other, attracting another’s attention. Their whispering sounds like heavy rain in the silence. “S … have you finished already?” I ask, surprised. I could have chosen either one. Exocet. Weft.
“Yes Sir.” “Bring it here then so I can have a look.” He looks confident.
“That’s good as far as it goes S, now I need you to think more deeply. Give me your opinions. You can’t go wrong with your own opinions.” Using his book, I point back to his seat, smile appreciatively for him to go back and carry on. He understands. He knows I know. As importantly, his friends know I know. I’m always trying to refer to the learning instead of inappropriate behaviour. Can’t go wrong. Well-designed weft.
They are working in pairs or 3’s. I’m walking round. Smiling when I hear profitable discussion, slowly rocking my head from side to side and sucking in air when I think they are nearly there. These small nearly private conversations between pairs and 3’s are giving them all the chance to make a contribution, to make progress in the smallest of ways. Until I reach a group of 3 who don’t. Their choice and I’m not upset. I understand it, but don’t accept it. I refuse to make a scene and interrupt the others. That would be easy. I need a simple yet elegant weft; a Tweed or maybe a gabardine.
I choose the middle student. “Can I have a look?” I say as I place my hand towards his book. He nods. “Thank you.” I already know what I will see up close as I saw it from afar. “Not enough.” I say in a volume just above a whisper as I shake my head slowly. “Not enough.” I repeat as the words slide across all 3 of their faces. My disappointed expression, lips together then slightly pouting, hits them like a sledgehammer. I walk away. They need time to take up my covert request for more and better. They understand.
I was wrong. One didn’t understand. As I return a few minutes later, he has not put pen to paper. “R .. I want you take your books and bag and sit at my desk at the front there. I motion with a bent arm and palm up. He hasn’t harmed anyone.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he says indignantly.
“That maybe so R. Just take your belongings to the front and I’ll come and help you in a moment.” Wonderfully simple weft. He moves slowly, dragging his bag along the floor and it gets caught up in a chair leg.
“Move man!” The unconcerned student sitting on the chair releases the bag, refusing to make eye contact or be intimidated. I am right there, but watch only with peripheral vision. I am not interested in this behaviour, only for him to reach his new destination and start learning. A calico-style weft, perfect for the job and unseen by anyone outside the teaching profession. I hope Aisha saw it. He reaches his new chair and drops his books on the floor. Not interested. He doesn’t begin. Not interested. He can own his behaviour because I don’t and the others deserve my time. They get it for the next 10 minutes until I make my way to him.
“What number are you on R?” He refuses to look. “Let me see your book, please.” He picks it up off the floor and holds it towards me. “So what’s your opinion about crime in our community?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Well, I’ll come back in a minute or two and see what you think.” I walk away and monitor him from afar, like an experienced Maitre D’. He takes his pen out of his pocket and places it by the paper.
I finish the lesson, saying goodbye to all but R. Aisha is watching what I do now.
“What did I do wrong?” he enquires without me saying anything.
“I wanted you to have the space and time to get on with the task R. You have nearly finished now. Thank you. See you next week.” He’s a bit perplexed as I haven’t got upset. My final silky weft, helping produce a silky student. Just give me another 12 hours and I’ll be able to put him on the catwalk.
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