The Girl From Yesterday (7 page)

I had an introductory class planned for the first hour, in which I would tell the students what to expect from me and my teaching methods, then there would be coffee, and after that I would get the group to introduce themselves, tell me what they wanted from the course, and hopefully provide the option for some discussion and conversation.

I had taught off and on for quite a few years, and I had my style down pretty well. I felt that teaching, in its most effective form, was a sort of educational stand-up. Many educators believe that they do not need to entertain, that they are purely a delivery system for the information. I can see the logic behind that, I just don’t agree with it. I have always found that people learn more when they are engaged, and that people tune in more when they are interested and amused by the topic at hand. I believe that making each lesson as attractive and interesting as possible can only be a positive thing. I hoped that my introduction would set the tone for that.

Foremost on my mind that evening was the need to match my delivery to the needs of the punters I was going to have sitting in front of me, all of whom would be expecting to be enlightened and inspired. Night-class students can be a mixed bunch. I am aware that people sign up for childcare courses for lots of different reasons, and people come to night classes often without the intention of pursuing their chosen subject as anything more than a hobby. I expected to have a group mostly made up of female students, all adults, the vast majority in middle age, who were coming along as much for the social experience as to learn a new set of skills.

I had no problem with that. I like teaching because I think it is important to get the information I teach out there – I harbour the belief that childcare and child protection are essential sciences for the development and progression of our society – and I make no apology for it. But I also enjoy the interaction with my students and the opportunity to learn from them – for me teaching has always been a two-way street. I love hearing their stories, participating in their learning experience and seeing that wonderful moment when the penny drops and they really ‘get’ a difficult concept or idea. That, for me, is what teaching is all about.

When I was satisfied that the computer and projector were working seamlessly, I chose some music from the vast library I keep on my computer and set it playing gently. I went for recognizable, middle-of-the-road, non-threatening material: Johnny Cash, James Taylor, early Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell – I wanted to create a soothing, pleasant atmosphere. I also made a point of turning off most of the lights, so the room was in a comfortable glow – this made it easier to read the images projected onto the board, and also relaxed the learners. While many would bound in, fresh-faced and ready for action, others would be nervous and not a little scared, feeling a dread of the classroom having last spent time in one to do their Leaving Cert. Some not even having gotten that far. I never underestimate the bravery required to sign up for a night class. I wanted to make the experience as easy as possible for each and every member of the group – those happy to be returning to learning, and those there against their better judgement.

Class was due to begin at seven, but as I had predicted the first student – a woman in her late twenties with short hair dyed purple – came in, looking about her meekly, at twenty minutes to the hour. I was by then seated at the teacher’s desk with my feet up on it, reading a Lee Child novel. I smiled and nodded, invited her to sit, but did no more than that. I felt it was important that everyone find their own feet, and I did not want to engage the group in small talk before class began. The dynamic was different than in a college or a school, and I was very conscious of the fact that I would have to grade assignments and class work. Therefore, I was not and could not be their friend. It did no harm to keep a little bit of a distance.

The room filled up, slowly at first, but gradually the flow of bodies came quicker and quicker. Of course the seats at the back of the room filled up first, but by five to seven we were pretty much chock-a-block. I checked the time. I would give it right up until seven, but I was determined (as much for the gratification of George Taylor as for my own professionalism) to begin at seven o’clock on the button. I turned the page and began another chapter in the exciting life of Jack Reacher.

There was a gentle, comfortable murmur as I read. The group, which, if everyone showed up, was thirty-eight in number, were a motley bunch – there were four males among them (which pleased me) and a broad cross section of age – one girl was not yet out of her teens, I guessed, while one of the men could have been seventy.

At seven I stood, closed my book and cleared my throat. All chat ceased almost immediately, and eyes turned to the front of the room.

‘My name is Shane Dunphy, and I’m going to be teaching you this year as you cover half the modules for your Certificate in Childcare. I’m going to call the register in just a moment, and when I call each of your names, I’d like you to stand up quickly and make yourself known. It’ll take me some time to get to know all of you, and the more I connect faces to the names the better.’

There was general discomfort and a few murmurs of unhappiness at this looming exposure, but I didn’t give them a chance to dwell on it. I turned the focus back on to myself.

‘Okay, so, why am I – a bloke – teaching you a subject that is, let’s face it, dominated by women? The statistics for childcare as a profession show us that 90 per cent of all childcare work, both inside and outside the home, is done by women. It’s inarguable, and I bet most of you were expecting a female teacher.’

There was some nodding and one or two mutters at this. I smiled.

‘Here is my main response to the question,’ I said. ‘Why a male childcare teacher? Why not? Why shouldn’t a guy be as competent in looking after the care and welfare of children as a woman? I am here because I am qualified to be, and also because I have worked in almost every area of childcare and child protection. I’ve run crèches, I’ve worked in residential care, I’ve done community-based child protection work, I’ve spent time in day centres with adults with intellectual disabilities and I’ve also worked in the early years with children with special needs. I’ve worked with the travelling community and with non-Irish nationals. I’ve done community arts work and I’ve been in almost every prison in the country – not as a detainee, I hasten to add! So I have some experience to fall back on.’

They were quiet now. I had them. They were listening intently.

‘You’ll have to make your own minds up about me,’ I said. ‘But there is one thing I know for certain about all of you. You may be here for different reasons, but you have one thing in common. You are here because you
want to be here
. I have taught on professional courses in colleges and universities, and a lot of those students were there because
their parents
wanted them to be there, not because they really had any interest in the course themselves. You have all taken the initiative to come out in the evening after you’ve finished work, or when your family have come home, to do this course because you truly feel compelled to know more about children and what makes them tick. And I really admire that. You see, I think childcare is the most important job in the world. In childcare, we go out every day and we ask people to hand over their kids to us for a while. We take parental responsibility for those children – for the future police officers and doctors and petrol pump attendants and teachers and chefs and insurance salesmen – there is no greater thing you could ask anybody to do than allow you to care for their young.’

Murmurs of assent. Some were nodding.

‘I take this very seriously, and I’m going to ask you to as well. Now don’t get me wrong – we will have a lot of fun, too. But I need you to be prepared to give me a hundred and ten per cent when you are here. I don’t care what you do when you’re outside these walls – when you come in to me you are childcare workers, and I will treat you the exact same way I treat a team in the field. I expect the same level of professionalism and the same level of commitment. Okay?’

Enthusiastic nods. Good.

‘All right, let’s call the register, get to know you a little bit.’

I ran through the list of students, and learned three things: firstly, we were one down – someone named Gladys Pointer had not arrived; secondly, I would never remember all these names – I would have to work hard at learning them; thirdly, Carla, the pretty waitress from the café was among my students: I was glad to see at least one face I sort of knew. It looked like there was going to be great diversity in terms of confidence and ability: even the simple act of standing up and nodding hello to the group elicited vastly differing reactions – some stood up straight, beamed a smile and said hello in an open, friendly way, others barely lifted themselves from their seats and simply raised a finger in my direction. Still more seemed ready to say a few words about themselves: ‘I’m Julianne and I’m really pleased to be here.’

When I had called out the last name I closed the register and stood again, tucking my pen back into my breast pocket.

‘I know some of you are glad that’s over,’ I said (more nodding and some relieved laughter). ‘You are all very welcome. Could I have a volunteer to help me with something please?’

No one raised their hand, so I picked out one of the group who had been very anxious to speak during the register and introduction section. It was one of the male students, a guy in his early twenties called Tim Phelan.

‘Okay Tim,’ I said, leading him to the top of the class. ‘Do you have a day job?’

‘I do,’ he said.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Well, I work for a company that sells medical equipment,’ he began. ‘I always wanted to be a nurse, see, but I didn’t get on that well at school . . .’

He stopped, because I had my head bowed, clearly in the middle of texting someone on my mobile phone.

‘Carry on,’ I said. ‘I just have to take this. You work away. I’m listening.’

‘Well, I always wanted to do somethin’ that involved helpin’ people, givin’ somethin’ back, y’know?’

He stopped again at this point, because I burst out laughing, not at what he’d said but at whatever I was reading in my latest message.

‘Oh, sorry, sorry,’ I said. ‘My bad. Keep going, you’re doing great. You wanted to give something back, yeah?’

‘That’s right yeah. I . . . I had an aunt y’see who was a nurse, and she was real good to me and my family. I remember havin’ to go into hospital when I was maybe nine or ten and I was so proud when I saw how the other nurses listened to what she had to say . . .’

He trailed off again because I was now lifting the phone up to the light, shaking it and banging it gently into my palm.

‘Sorry Tim,’ I said. ‘Um . . . has anyone got a charger? I think it’s dead.’

I played it utterly deadpan. I think at this point they really believed I was intent on continuing my phone antics. I did nothing to change that perception until one of the group, a timid-looking girl at the back of the room, actually did produce a charger. I took it from her and plugged in my phone, which was not really dying at all.

‘You can sit down, Tim,’ I said. ‘Now, what was wrong with that picture?’

‘You were rude,’ said a girl called Rebecca.

‘Was I?’ I asked.

‘That was really mean,’ a woman in the middle of the room said. ‘I was getting quite angry with you.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you may be right. Yet at various points in the year many among you will do exactly what I just did. You’ll do it in a slightly less up-front way – you’ll hide the phone under the desk and think I can’t see you, but guess what? I can.’

I hit the mouse and an image appeared on the whiteboard. It was a shot of a poster that had been put up in a classroom in an American university by one of the lecturers:

Dear Students
,

I know when you’re texting
.

No one just looks down at their crotch
and smiles
.

That got a laugh.

‘I don’t ask any of you to do what I don’t do myself. There may be times in class when I have to take a call. If I need to, I’ll bring it outside and come back in as quickly as I can. I promise that my phone will not be constantly ringing during class – if it looks like that might happen I’ll switch it off . . .’

At this precise moment the door burst open and a girl in her mid-twenties bustled in, speaking loudly into a phone and carrying a load of shopping bags. I stopped and all eyes in the room turned on her. Many would have been terribly embarrassed at this. Most people would have ended the phone conversation. Or at least apologized. This young lady did none of the aforementioned.

‘Yeah, yeah I’m just after gettin’ to the college. I’ll drop over to you tomorrow. No, she won’t be there. No, I’m certain she won’t. She will? Fuck off!
Fuck off!
I don’t believe you!’

At this juncture I cleared my throat very loudly. She threw me a look that said:
what is your problem?

‘Look, Pansy, I’m gonna haveta split, the
teacher
is givin’ me evils. Yeah, call me again, all right? Seeya soon.’

The phone was begrudgingly set down. Smiling, I pulled out the only chair left empty.

‘You are Gladys Pointer, I presume?’ I said as I settled her into her place.

‘You presume right,’ she said.

‘Shall I take some of these bags and put them down over there out of the way?’ I offered.

‘I’d prefer to have them right where they are,’ Gladys said.

‘Right you be. You will have to pardon me if I trample over them in the event of a fire.’

‘Okay, move them,’ the latecomer said through gritted teeth.

‘Thank you, I will,’ I said.

The rest of the class went off without event. Gladys’s arrival had actually worked as a kind of icebreaker, and by the time we hit eight everyone was in high spirits ready to relax over tea and biscuits. I went along for a few minutes just to broach the issue of setting up a kitty.