I suppose everyone’s Golden Time has to come to an end at some point, hasn’t it? Sat here, surrounded by the detritus of a summer’s debauchery, I must ultimately contemplate the return to work that rears no earlier than tomorrow morning.
This year’s beginning is a little different, strangely. Or should I say, I am a little different. I don’t begin with any radical resolution or technological gimmickry; I shan’t be trialling #smallwriting, #bigpens (winks to #edutwitter) or #slowknowledge. I shall simply be there tomorrow, with my plans, my puppetry and my personage: and I am quietly pleased. Not excited – that would be too strong a word to describe my stillness of mind.
I do have a few little projects to liven up my teach-thang. I shall be shaking the dust off my guided-reading folders and giving the literature circle one last twirl before I decide whether to kick it in the nuts and replace it with whole-class texts.
I will be dabbling with Popplet (an online mind-mapping tool that teachers probably frothed about at BETT back in 2010 or something).
I shall even, to my gleeful shame, be offering my students an #Iwishmyteacherknew box into which they can confide in me anonymously. I promise not to publish their heartfelt confidences (as it appalls me to find others do). Although, to be fair, I wouldn’t have found out about the initiative otherwise, would I?
Tomorrow, again, I shall be a teacher. Just another teacher: trying, failing, trialling, succeeding in increments. Mostly, I am in it for the ruffling of hairstyles and the suggestion that amid the flurry of rising attainment, something might be dawning on someone, somewhere.
But mostly, as I said: the ruffling of hairstyles is what draws me back year after year.
Come tomorrow’s dawning: what hairstyles await?