During my teacher training in UCD, a lecturer asked the room of hundreds of trainees how many of us would like to be a principal one day. A few raised their hands.
The lecturer went on to say that people whose end goal is to be principal know that when they go into teaching. He didn’t mean it as a criticism, or make the pronouncement like a disappointed father (at least, I don’t think he did), but I thought: how could you not take it that way? In effect, he was saying that, for some people, going into teaching is just a means to an end.
I would never want to be a principal or a deputy. It’s a parallel job. It’s an office job hidden in a school; except, on top of the tedium of jockeying a desk, you have to deal with every parent and student with a grievance. The money draws some people; others just want to get out of teaching but remain in its protective fold, with the holidays mostly intact; others go on a power trip. Most, in my experience, are the ones who “fell into teaching” for the wrong reasons. If they loved it so much, they wouldn’t have left. Stands to reason. I may not teach till I’m 65, but I won’t go into that office.
At a previous school, I spoke to my principal once in six years. He wanted to extend some perfunctory condolences after a family loss. After that, never again. That kind of aloofness is not healthy for school culture. Nowadays, most principals’ offices resemble departure gate desks. Lines of fidgeting students looking to press in and complain. Some are genuine; most are unable to take correction. A mere reprimand over being late or forgetting homework morphs into an accusation of prejudice and verbal abuse.
Of course, any accusation of a serious nature needs to be taken seriously, but in today’s climate too many principals bow to “parent power”. So scared are they of any hassle or impugning the school’s status in the town, they bend the knee at the first turn or rarely back their staff. Like a first-year teacher, staff are temporary and expendable.
Principals and their staff need a healthy relationship defined by trust and support. Many teachers I’ve worked with over the years don’t feel valued, respected or trusted. It’s them-and-us.
A case in point: a student is seen down the town during school hours. We report it to the principal. The student is brought into the principal’s office. They’re not given detention or suspended. A verbal slap on the wrist is all. The student incorrectly thinks we just had an axe to grind; that we couldn’t let a little thing go like the principal did. The student then goes completely against you in class. Their learning suffers. What was the point? Who benefited from the principal’s handling of it? Now, when I see a student behind me in the queue for a coffee, I just nod and almost say: “See you period five.”
In the end, I was dragged into a meeting and the collected data about me was presented. I not only felt betrayed. I got angry. Very angry
This is why the system breaks down: teachers nowadays won’t go out on a limb for their principal because they know they’ll be thrown under the bus, one way or the other, down the line. I’m sure there are principals who have the conviction to do what is right – I just haven’t had the fortune to work with them yet.
Another warning to new teachers: do not expect your principal to trust you. Not by a long shot. When I was a trainee, I had a first-year student (and, more importantly, a parent) with “notions”. The student was a mid-to-high C (60-70 per cent). Behind the scenes, the parent had been ringing in, complaining. I wasn’t qualified enough. I wasn’t giving enough homework.
Instead of coming to me in good faith to sort the situation out, my principal would sidle up to me at the canteen counter and ask me seemingly innocuous questions about my classes while we made tea. How much homework was I giving? I answered that I was following what my mentor was doing, to which he replied: “Tom can get more done in 40 minutes than you.” In short, Tom doesn’t need to give homework – he’s just that effective a teacher. Harsh, but true. That being said, my principal was operating on the assumption that I was inept and needed to be handled with subterfuge.
In the end, I was dragged into a meeting and the collected data about me was presented. I not only felt betrayed. I got angry. Very angry. The principal and deputy looked at each other and decided that making me meet these parents the following day would be a bad idea. I was a loose cannon. I could bring the school down if I went on a tirade. Yes, I was a trainee, nowhere near as competent as I am today. But to be set up for a fall like that sent a terrible message to a burgeoning teacher hoping to enter into a fulfilling environment where you are nurtured, just like the students.
That’s probably the most disillusioning thing about your first year on the job – coming to terms with the fact that working in a school will be very different from going to school.
I often feel sorry for trainee teachers, and I usually make time for them. I’ve seen a good few mishandled, sent home in tears, questioning whether to come in the next day or not. Where I can, I put in a good word with the principal.
Unfortunately, I’ve had to watch a few, who just don’t have the stuff, crash out. I don’t tell these ones any lies. I try to offer some consoling advice on other possible career paths. That time isn’t a waste. Even if you decide that teaching isn’t for you, you’ll pick up many transferable skills, as dealing with so many people in such an intensely social environment will benefit you in many other fields.
- The Secret Teacher column is written by a variety of serving teachers whose identity is known to The Irish Times
