Fish Don't Climb Trees

“Do not judge me by my successes, judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again.” Nelson Mandela

When I meet a student who is struggling with their behaviour, the first part of the puzzle we begin to unpick is the problems they are having accessing their learning. It may sound like an agonising cliché, but behaviour is a bi-product of a systemic issue, it is rarely if ever the issue in and of itself, and the relationship between behaviour and education is symbiotic. A young person so lost in themselves they are mute, tearing off the door frames, throwing rocks through classroom windows and putting their teachers and peers in headlocks – I have experienced them all – do not indicate a child beyond help or destined for failure. These are behaviours that betray a child grotesquely misunderstood by and systemically lost in a one size fits all system. A system akin to a glass hammer if you will, being used to nail together a tower block. An education system that is not, in my personal and professional opinion, fit for purpose. A whole generation of children who are neuro-diverse, creative, gifted with their hands and any number of labels we might like to attribute to a person who is not “mainstream” are being disenfranchised within it, instead of rising to the top within their field of expertise. And we all, every single one of us, have a field of expertise.

When I meet a learner who is struggling (or sinking) their first response is almost always a combination of disinterest, disengagement, holding me at arm’s length with an aloof “wtf do you know” along with the predictably scripted evasive conversation, poor eye contact, bouncing foot, twisting sleeves and nonchalant shrugs. Sometimes they refuse to sit down, sometimes they swear. A lot. Sometimes they don’t speak. At all. In essence; mistrust.

So much of our initial meetings is about sharing the space, building trust and consistency, demonstrating to them that I care, that I will keep showing up without judgment and that I have no preconceptions. Anything that has gone before holds no power or influence in the work we will do, and my priority is to support that young person in re-crafting their own narrative. Changing the voice in their head that tells them they’re naughty, failing, not good enough, not meeting standards or expectations, and replacing it with a voice that repeats the same positive messages with such relentless repetition, they get bored of hearing it. There is not one lesson that goes by where I don’t say the words “well done everyone, I am proud of each and every one of you” as they leave the classroom. For many of them, just turning up has meant confronting and overcoming their demons and I often work at a ratio of 1:1 or 2:1 because of this.

Whilst I don’t explicitly share the following belief with my students, I would like to share with you now that in my opinion, the “standards” to which we hold up every young person in our education system are arbitrary. For those on an academic pathway they fulfil a very practical purpose and suited me (and many other learners) entirely. Otherwise, it is pertinent to acknowledge that they are human-made and have little relevance in the workplace and leave a massive percentage of our young people completely stranded, with perilous consequences. Even as a passionate advocate of outstanding educational standards and as a die-hard literary academic, I cannot – in good conscience – argue that structural analysis of Jane Eyre and critical evaluation of subordinate clauses is a useful, practical skill and should be a fundamental requirement of every child’s educational pathway.

Anecdotally, I reached PhD level study, run a home, hold three degrees and have successfully raised two multi-talented children to teenage-hood with a mediocre maths qualification and NOBODY would pay me to teach their toddler maths! My point is, we’re all good at different things and what a waste of time it would be for me to spend years and years on the Prime Minister’s new maths initiative which arguably marginalises even more young people who are brilliant at other things.

When I first met my current cohort of GCSE English students, I asked them what they liked to read so we could make a “Top Reads” poster for our classroom wall. Every one of them – without exception - told me they didn’t read, couldn’t read, or had never read. We chatted about literature in all its forms, and what reading was and could be. By the end of the lesson, we had a poster for our classroom wall, crafted by the students themselves. It included works of literature from Harry Potter and Alice in Wonderland to favourite cult magazines. My students, all aged 16-18, did not understand that books read in their childhood “counted” as reading, and had been led to believe that reading magazines was not reading at all. My students did not understand that they could all read just fine and possessed all the requisite skills to comprehend the texts that I would be putting in front of them to study. They had however, in other environments, spent years being told they had to read from a particular shelf in the school library, that they hadn’t passed the test, that they had failed. This had been translated by them as “I can’t read.” It’s a very simple equation when you’re a child, and they are the learners I receive over, and over again. When I worked in mainstream, I was the teacher being directed to tell such students they couldn’t choose the book in the library that interested them, but rather from a pre-designated selection that had been determined as being the “right level” for them. Somewhat inevitably, instead of reading, that child would then mess about until the librarian threw them out, exasperated, and they were put into isolation as punishment for their inappropriate and unacceptable behaviour. As their teacher, I was incredulous at having to tell a child who was ready and willing to read "Horrible History" that they couldn't, but were obliged to read a book written for very little children about cars from the "one star shelf" because they had only made that level of progress on the designated reading scheme. Their actual ability and degree of interest in literary genre was disregarded and irrelevant. In a system however where there is simply no way around it, the approved mechanisms of discipline are implemented and no reading at all takes place whilst the child bounces around the internal isolation room and letters are sent home reporting "refusal to engage." I observed it time, and time and time again.

As it happens, I was as incompatible with such an environment as these students were, and we have both found our place in the margins and "alternative" settings, where these bright young people now bring me what they’re reading with a smile on their faces and the one on mine is even bigger. The utterly marvellous thing about reading is that it’s a transferable skill! I can testify to this as an academic, a teacher and a mother with two very, very different children; both of whom are avid readers and able scholars. One learned reading the classics, the other by reading programming and gaming magazines.

I work with young people who have been through educational settings that have been such a poor fit, our starting point is sadly all too often one of crippling anxiety, PTSD, self-harm or total disengagement. The concept of success is not one at all familiar to them, and they sometimes arrive with paperwork that assures me they are incapable of “success,” signed off by professionals. This crushes my spirit, I can only begin to imagine what it does to the spirit of my students and their parents, if they have parents – and some don’t. Months into our journey together is where the seeds we have planted begin to flourish, then flower. The tight buds tentatively open and I get to see what kind of seeds we planted in the dark, wet ground all those painful months prior; and it is always worth it. Students begin to write poetry, letters, learn literary skills they tried to convince me they had no ability to master. We talk, we debate, we laugh out loud, and these brilliant young people teach me things I didn’t know, about politics, nature, fashion, construction and the fast-food industry. Eventually, they pass their exams and thank me for my time. Both achievements that were unthinkable only months before.

There is nothing wrong with any one of them, but they have all been failed by a system that has wildly unapologetic expectations that asks a goldfish to climb a tree and then spends the rest of the goldfish’s life mocking it for being stupid, incapable and naughty.

I can think of no worthier mission than scooping up every flapping fish on the forest floor - even the piranhas - and simply reminding them; “It’s ok, I promise. You just weren’t born to climb trees.”