Kick Out The Jams, Brothers & Sisters

 

Kick Out The Jams
 
If you have burned your fingers on the scorching ink-drum of a photocopier, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have stood, rictus-grinning, before a group of children whilst a YouTube video buffers on the interactive whiteboard behind, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have watched a meticulously planned lesson descend into a Maelström of swirling desks and a montage of cavorting students, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have scrawled ‘good work’ on the last levelled piece with barely a calorie spare to lift the nib away, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have stood waiting for silence and felt your consciousness rise out of your body, somewhere beyond your right hemisphere, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have forgotten your code, your username, your password, your flies, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have traipsed around Asda at close to midnight on a desparate and irrational mission for pipe cleaners or twine, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have carried unmarked work to and fro between school and home, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have asked someone the whereabouts of Barnaby Bear; if you have handed out a wordsearch, taught a lesson from an incomprehensible textbook, or let an enjoyable activity bleed over into your plenary, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have felt the awful, electrical hum of a passing inspector-on-castors, your legs turned to icy water, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have baulked at a homelife from which a child still manages to emerge with grace, stillness and a hunger for knowledge, then you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you have lost it and burned with self-loathing, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you plunge deep into a spreadsheet never to return, I will wait here for your return. You will remain to me a brother. You will remain to me a sister.

If you treasure a gift from a difficult child, you are my brother and you are my sister.

If you are spent, disheveled, crushed – too far gone on progress, pie charts and policy- let me breathe for you. For you are my brother and you are my sister.

When your socks don’t match and your eyes rim red with stagnant tears. When your tie is stained and your shirt collar is frayed. When you’re winging it and you’re losing it, and your heart is so numb you cannot feel its beating…

I am your brother.

Unconditionally so, and all that that implies.

Advertisements

Was it something I said?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s