Saturday, September 11, 2010
Yesterday was a weird day. I thought I'd be spending the whole day being told what an amazing profession teaching was. I thought I'd be told it was a vocation and be persuaded that I was a fantastic person for wanting to spend my life teaching the youth of society. I thought it would be a day of paperwork and form-filling and dullness.
Don't get me wrong, all of the above was true, but there was also the overwhelming sense of utter confidence that the tutors had in us all. Person after person told us how they had seen something in us that would ultimately make a good teacher. The course convener told us how lucky we all were to be there since there had been so many applications; the Head of Department congratulated us on getting this far; the Vice-Chancellor spent (far) too long telling us how we were the hope of future generations (or something) But through it all, they kept telling us all how they'd chosen us. How they wanted us. How they believed in us.
Our English lecturer (lets call her The Huntress) really rammed it home during our subject induction in the afternoon. 242 people applied before she closed the course. She interviewed 71. 39 of us got places. She saw something in us that set us apart from everyone else who applied. She saw something in us that she can make good teachers out of. She believes in me more after a twenty minute interview than I believe in myself after 23 years.
Unexpected, but not altogether unwelcome.