The proud tutor

Either my year seven group have entered the school in a rich vein of form, or they’re genuinely lovely young people, as they have so far yet to set a foot wrong. Of course, it’s only been a total of five school days, so we’re hardly out of the woods, but so far 7B are ahead of the curve in terms of their behaviour and their achievement in lessons. Two young gentlemen, under gentle but steady pressure from their form tutor, even took part in auditions for the school musical. Watching them valiantly duke it out with the older, more experienced pupils in the hall, I realised how proud of my form I have already become. I have taken to vainly bathing in the reflected glory of their successes (both pupils will receive small but essential roles) in a manner familiar to competitive and proud parents the world over. And it’s a new and heady experience: seeing your own enthusiasm, beliefs or convictions filtered through the brains of 22 youngsters and presented back to you in the form of merits, excellent pieces of work, or even the surprisingly convincing Nuu Yawk accents of two year sevens auditioning for Bugsey Malone. There’s nothing better in my professional experience to date. But I suppose there’s another side to all of this. I’m clearly willing to attribute every success my tutor group achieves directly to my own input. Fine. But will I be as willing to accept responsibility when one of my form wrecks the learning of others during a lesson? Or viciously bullies another pupil? Or violently assaults a member of staff? Ultimately, our pastoral duties can only extend over the school day, and the millions of individual experiences our tutees are party to when they leave and before they arrive will always outweigh our tutor time chats and activities. So, for the time being I can smile and quietly enjoy the fact that 7B are ahead of the pack. But I sure as hell better be there for them when things start going wrong. And can I – or any of us – really guarantee that for the children in our care?