Esther McCarthy: Teachers are capeless heroes — we should pay them whatever they want

Esther McCarthy shares her experience as being a not any regular teacher, but a cool teacher

You know, a lot has been said about the recent public service strike, and people more clued in than me have delivered succinct analysis from both sides of the story.

But following a long, long week of midterm break, I feel the need to weigh in, so can I just say one thing? PAY THE TEACHERS WHATEVER THEY WANT.

They deserve it all. They demand grapes and wine in every staff room in the country? I’ll vote yes to that... They require us all to set up a standing order for their end of year spa retreats? Here’s my bank info. If those capeless heroes want us to come and cut their grass, we should make a rota and give out antihistamines to the parents with allergies. Those teachers earn every goddamn penny in their paychecks.

Because let’s be honest, was that a long week or what? Ok the bank holiday broke it up a bit, but it was a rainy one, and any indoor activities, like padel, bowling, climbing walls, and the like cost more than Trump’s tan bill.

Obviously, we love our kids blah blah blah, but it’s HARD keeping them entertained, especially in October.

It’s not the same as summer parenting, is it? The neighbours tend to frown if you chuck the kids out the front door with a compass and packet of biscuits in an orange weather warning. Nosy parkers.

You know, back in the day, I used to be a teacher. But I was broke, so when I was doing my HDip, I was also picking up lots of part-time jobs, including working a couple of evenings a week as a drinks promoter.

This mainly involved wearing a short skirt and a tight waistcoat and rocking into pubs with coupons for whatever gargle we were shilling that week. Some nights were more successful than others.

I remember breezing into a bar in Fermoy on a chilly Wednesday eve. It was completely empty except for the barman and three auld fellas in flat caps sat hunched at the bar, like a Killnascully skit.

“Would you like a coupon for a pint of Coors Lite?” I asked brightly. “It’s free!”

“Gway and feck off with that, I’d rather drink a pint of piss,” came the reply, as the three of them took a slug of their stout, in unison.

That was a long two hours, let me tell you, but to be fair, a pint of urine would probably have had a bit more zing to it.

I had to give up the gig altogether when I arrived at a pub one Friday night with my free T-shirts, Jameson, and ginger ale bottles clinking only to behold a rowdy group of second years I’d given homework to that very same day. They started cheering and clinking their pints at me. It slightly undermined my authority on the Monday when they declined to recite ‘Stony Grey Soil’ because they confided they had a raging whiskey hangover, accompanied by wink-winks and elbow nudges. It was an ethical grey area at the very least.

After I graduated with my HDip in Education (to the astonishment, of everyone, especially me), I went on the subbing circuit.

I was filling in at various Cork secondary school classes, I would cover anything, any school, I didn’t care, the money was unreal. Much better than the drinks gig.

My hack was – no matter the age group – I would use episodes of The Simpsons to illustrate literally any thematic device you care to think of.

You must remember, this was the late nineties, The Simpsons, like the poncho I used to wear, were relevant. I was showing them I wasn’t a regular teacher, I was a cool teacher.

For example, say, juxtaposition, which literally just means “placing things side by side”. As a substitute, you’re only there for a little while so rather than intoning to the snotty little teenagers that in literary analysis, juxtaposition refers to the placement of two or more contrasting elements near each other for a specific effect, I’d think of an episode of The Simpsons that used it.

It’s not simply about contrast; it’s about the relationship that contrast creates.

So in season 5, they did a take on the classic Cape Fear with Sideshow Bob in the role of Max Cady (previously played by Robert Mitchum and Robert DeNiro, depending on how old you are).

“The sinister menace of Sideshow Bob,” I would intone, importantly, “is repeatedly undercut by slapstick, most famously of course, the rake gag, where escalating suspense is juxtaposed with absurd repetition.”

Then I’d roll in the TV and VCR, and we’d watch the episode and talk about how many times Sideshow Bob stood on the rake and I’d give a little prize for whoever did the best shudder.

Which was fine when I was subbing for an English teacher, but let me tell you it was a bit of a stretch in Woodwork. Let’s just say journalism’s gain is not teaching’s loss. My point is, the proper teachers, the ones that, you know, make lesson plans and know what they’re talking about, are national treasures.

Of course, the other option is to dispose of midterm breaks altogether. I’d vote for that too.