I have the utmost respect for the parent volunteers who give up their own time to run the various clubs and sporting activities that my children take part in during the evenings and over the weekends: just please, don’t ask me to help.
It’s not that I am unwilling. I volunteer for anything that’s not “child-facing” to help out. It’s just that I am psychologically unable to work with children when outside of the classroom after three o’clock on a Friday’s afternoon.
It must be the same in other professions. The expression “a busman’s holiday” can’t have come into common parlance out of thin air, and it’s an open secret within the catering industry that when a chef cooks at home, rather than preparing sumptuous dishes from carefully sourced ingredients, they are more likely to heat up a pie and beans. For the same reasons, I’m always rather vague when I’m asked what I do for a living when I drop off my kids at their various activities. The assumption is that teachers love to work with children and can’t wait to get stuck in, but I really don’t want to be press-ganged into something child-related in my time off.
My epiphany occurred last autumn at my daughter’s cycling club. They were desperately in need of a parent helper and as I was there on a bike and had clearance to work with children, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of it. While the coach patiently cajoled the truculent crew through their paces, I hung back, growing frustrated by the poor behaviour of some of the children, who would try to take shortcuts during the races or avoid them altogether through repeated trips to the toilet. But it was when they started eating their snacks before it was break time and began chatting when they should have been listening that I had to use every ounce of control not to intervene, internally repeating the mantra “It’s their weekend, too” to stop me ruining everyone’s morning. And, of course, embarrassing my daughter to such a degree that she would need many years of therapy to overcome it.
The temptation to take control
I glanced across at the lead coach to exchange an exasperated eyebrow-raise of adult solidarity, but my look wasn’t reciprocated - he was actually smiling through the mayhem. It was then I realised it was me who had the problem. My patience, which seems inexhaustible from Monday to Friday when there is a wage slip at the end of the month, had worn out. Without that tolerance, working with kids becomes extremely difficult for both you and them, especially when they are supposed to be having fun in their own time.
There is an unfortunate flip side to my pedagogical-related reluctance to get involved. When I observe any club leader talking to the pack or a parent helper delivering instructions, I begin a subconscious crit of the lesson: “Oh, he shouldn’t stand with his back to the sun,” or, “I can’t believe she began talking before having everyone’s attention.” I think teachers must have the same hard-wiring as sheepdogs: when we see a group of children aimlessly milling around enjoying themselves, we want to see them regimented, controlled and ideally driven into sheep pens.
And that’s why we should leave the parent coaching or guide leader roles to those who spend their nine-to-fives working with numbers, sales or adults without being torn by guilt as we go off and do something more interesting. We are letting the children enjoy their free time, learning for the fun of it, without the heavy hand of learning outcomes weighing them down, whilst the adults get those moments, which are becoming increasingly rare in education, when you can spark someone’s imagination through instruction.
By not volunteering, we are actually doing everyone a favour.
Gordon Cairns is a teacher of English in Scotland
