Day 2: Called Into Principal's Office for Inappropriate Touching

Thursday was my second visit to my prac school. Watched in horror as my school chum J stole blank notebooks from the classroom while we were supposed to be marking more spelling during the student's library time.

'There's my pay for the day,' he rationalised as he shoved them in his tucker bag.

I considered my options.

Considered dobbing, but can't bring myself to do it, though he truly deserves it. Considered punching him fair in his face then putting him in a rear-naked choke until he 'did the chicken', but violence never solves anything - and he could find out where I live. Considered simply doing nothing and hating myself later.

I hate myself.

Later in singing I positioned myself near two of the boys who are really struggling with their school work. Neither of them were impressed when I pointed out that the original, and superior, version of My Island Home had the line, 'six years I've been living in the desert' rather than city. Then they started fighting and one of them grabbed hold of me in the fracas. The dispute was over fart ownership, not musical taste.

We all got sent to the Deputy Principal's office. My role was witness for the prosecution but I still felt nervous. Both the boys were let off with a warning and sent back to class. I was given a pep-talk on behaviour management by the Deputy.

I really like her and all the students respect her. Her manner of bouncing from talking to you to embarking on impromptu role plays is disconcerting though. I'm never sure if she is talking to me as a teacher or an imaginary student. It's like playing theatre sports in a dementia ward.

I have to volunteer at the school for a few hours a week for the rest of the school year, also as part of our assessment. I've chosen to help out in a special program for remedial readers. I'm quietly confident that will cure me of any lingering fantasies I may posses about getting all students to love reading as much as I did.