Rebel Child: Rebel Teacher
Reflecting on my education, I realise that I may have been the politest rebel in school. When I read back over a decade and a bit of school reports, the same themes emerge time and time again and the frustrations of teacher after teacher are etched in consternation between the lines. Every complementary comment - capable, polite, imaginative, friendly - balanced with a caveat. My A-level English teacher even felt it necessary to qualify the fact that I was on track to an A grade with the observation that perhaps my refusal to complete most of the non-essential work meant it wasn’t necessarily deserved! As a teacher looking back, I know exactly the kind of pupil I must have been; I have taught a few. I was the reasonable non-conformist; the peg that would quietly contort so as not to fit whichever hole I was thrust towards, the insistent questioner of everything. It must have been unbearable!
My rebellion peaked, in a characteristically calm and measured way, with a decision to leave my prestigious all-boys grammar school half-way through my A-level studies. The reason? Whilst it is difficult to climb back into the teenage brain and make sense of the chaos and conflict going on inside, on some level it stemmed from a single line in the sixth-form code of conduct:
“Students must be clean-shaven - no facial hair or extremes of hairstyle are allowed.”
It had already been a year of regularly growing out an array of facial adornments - mutton chops, goatees, trucker ‘taches and chin straps - waiting for the inevitable moment when I would be asked to “go home and shave” - I wish I had calculated the learning hours lost to those round trips home to reunite my face with the conformist caress of the razor.
Ultimately, I realised my mistake and crawled back to my head of sixth-form, a wonderful man called Mark Valencia - who I credit for so much of my academic success - and explained how wrong I had been. In turn, he explained that he had never taken my off roll and that I would be welcomed back to continue my studies. I was beyond relieved, never mind the fact I was offering up my wrists to the cuffs of conformity so willingly; selling my soul like Faustus for the chance of success. It was settled; I could return that very week.
There was just one more question to ask, though… “Do I have to shave the beard off?” Of course I did, but not before taking an extra week and a half off to complete a run of ‘Oklahoma!’ at the sister all-girls grammar school across town, for which I had cultivated my best Persian goatee for the role. I still marvel at the cheek of it. Perhaps I was fortunate that my head of sixth-form was also my Drama & Theatre Studies teacher. Perhaps he secretly supported my rebellion. Whatever the truth of it, I remained clean-shaven for the rest of my time at school out of respect for him.
Within every gently rebellious act I committed whilst at school, I never recognised in my actions any disrespect for teachers as individuals. The system was my enemy and my teachers, the mouthpieces of conformity, were other victims like me. I debated the rules and expectations calmly, imploring those I opposed to admit the lunacy of them and drop the act - surely we both saw these for what they were?
But what about now? Have I become a mouthpiece for everything I despised?
Thankfully, the streak of rebellion has never left me. I am as resolute in my individuality but maturity has opened for me safer avenues for expressing it.
Rather than falling short of any professional dress code, I dress in a three-piece suit each day, socks and ties colour-matched without exception. My pupils gasp in horror when I move furniture mid-lesson, act out Greek myths from tabletops and, in John Nash-like fury, write across every smooth surface I can find in whiteboard ink.
Whilst I recognise and respect every boundary, this does not mean I cannot lean on some a little, right?
Am I a rebel teacher? Perhaps I am.
My enemy is conformity; my weapons are self-expression and conviction, and I will continue to gently rebel in every way it is safe to do so.
And as for my pupils? The message is clear: Respect others, respect yourself, question everything, but do it gently.
A brief caveat: As a senior leader, I recognise the importance of boundaries, clear and simple rules and predictable routines that keep children safe and able to work, play and learn successfully. Within any sensible set of rules is the room for self-expression, individuality and respect for differences. There is a transparency of intent and no ulterior motives.
When we get on the bus, we all put on our seatbelts. Litter is collected and disposed of with respect for the driver. But within our conversations, the songs we sing, the games we play and the books we read on the journey, there is plenty of room for choice.
