When I was a student I didn’t like school very much. The classroom was old, the walls were an awful greenish colour, there was no heating, the desks were chipped and too high. I guess some teachers would try to make the lesson a bit more interesting, but without much success. I don’t remember these people at all. Yet there were two or three teachers who loved their job, they liked being with us, and the hardship of their life didn’t get in the way when they entered the school door.
Those teachers were the best. They knew us. And they enjoyed talking to us, listening to our ideas, they wanted to know who we were outside those walls. Granted when it was time to grade our papers they wouldn’t do anyone any favours. They were strict when they needed to be. But somehow they had the key to make the class work. For some reason their lessons were interesting and the lesson content somewhat easy to learn.
Today I am a mum of two. I see that nothing much has changed since my days as a school-aged child...
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