Paul Galvin In His Own Words: Hard knock life - The duster debacle

My room in the Sem was number 11.

One day, out of sheer boredom as I waited for my next group to enter the room, I climbed on my desk and pulled myself up on to the steel beams that ran overhead along the ceiling. Clinging on with my arms and legs I stayed up there as the first few kids came in. No one noticed me. More arrived until, eventually, the class was almost full. They took their seats and ducked into their bags for books and copybooks, as kids do, before coming up for air, back down then maybe for the pencil case before burrowing in that for their best pen or pencil. Whatever they were at, no one noticed me clinging to the beam like a bat. Thinking I was out of the room, a din of noise erupted before I dropped to the floor.

‘Open your books, guys, let’s go, time for class,’ letting on like it’s the most normal thing in the world to drop from the ceiling. The look on the boys’ faces was priceless. ‘Jeeeeeeesus, he just came down from the ceeeeeeilin’ . . .’ That got their attention.

I kept a football in the press too. Most kids in the Sem were football-mad. As a bonus for doing their homework well, or a good class average in an exam, I would take the ball out towards the end of class and have a game of donkey. If the ball went around the class in one-twos (from me to the student and back) without being dropped I would let them finish up a few minutes early. I found it a good way to keep the boys happy and also to practise my hand-passing.

One day, in early 2010, my boss came to me and asked if I would take a particular student into my third-year Irish class. His behaviour had become intolerable to his own Irish teacher. I agreed. This particular boy turned out to be no real trouble to me. It was clear from his general attitude, though, how a teacher could have problems with him. Often the cross lads weren’t that troublesome at all, they just had different experiences of life to the rest of us, and different attitudes as a result. They need you to find their level and to communicate with them. I could do that.

In the new year the school had applied for funding to refurbish nearly every classroom. Out went the self-contained benches that you sat into, in came new tables and chairs. This small development changed a lot. The novelty factor was way too much for some. After years of being stuck fast behind small, cramped, self-contained desks the kids now enjoyed new freedom. They could move around. This new mobility meant new noise for me.

One morning in late January a third-year class entered my room. I was wiping down the blackboard to start a new class. A gang of third-year students entered and sat at the back of the room. They began to use their chairs and desks in unison to make as much noise as possible, while my back was turned at the board. Without turning around I stopped wiping the blackboard. Usually this would have been enough for me to get the message across.

The noise continued. These boys were normally well-behaved and didn’t need to be told anything twice. I knew them well. We got on well. The games continued with the desks and chairs behind my back.

This time I asked for silence, again without turning around. The games continued however. After asking for silence more of them joined in to add to the chorus and make an even louder din. I was disappointed that they were being sneaky while my back was turned. The novelty of the new desks had obviously gotten the better of them. If this was to be the new practice I’d be in for a long year.

I felt I had to nip this in the bud. As I wiped the board I thought about throwing the duster in my hand at the back wall.

A warning shot. Then I thought better of throwing it and kept wiping the board. I needed to do something to halt this. It was the type of misbehaviour that can escalate and undermine you quickly. Usually, if I really wanted to make a point in class I’d whisper it. To the class generally or in the ear of an individual.

Whispering wouldn’t solve this problem. The din grew louder. Without looking I threw the duster aiming for the back wall behind me. It flew to my left at an angle you couldn’t imagine. It hit the side wall to my left about two desks down a row of six desks. It landed a few feet away from me. That wasn’t all. It ricocheted and hit a boy on the head. If I tried to do it again a million times I couldn’t. It was a freak occurrence. I was as shocked as anyone in the class. I immediately apologised.

I went straight to his desk and said I was sorry and I hadn’t meant it. He knew I hadn’t. Everyone in the room could see that. He wasn’t even one of the lads who was dragging the desks. From what I could make out the noise was coming from another part of the room. The boy was calm and accepted my apology. I brought him outside and rang the principal to meet me at his office. We waited in a room off the principal’s office. When he got there I told him exactly what had happened.

The boy told him the same, that I hadn’t meant it. We then drove to his house. I walked him inside with my principal and explained everything to his mother first and then his father, who arrived later.

I was disappointed but mostly sorry for the boy. It was irresponsible of me to do what I did, but not atypical of me to do something unconventional. What happened shouldn’t have happened. Of course I am sorry it did.

Someone, somewhere decided to run to a newspaper with the story. It being in the public domain made life more difficult. I heard about a settlement on the radio one night. I was driving home from The Courtyard in Leixlip. Luke Moriarty, a great Kerryman domiciled in Dublin, was driving. Darran O’Sullivan was in the back. The story led the nine o’clock news headlines on RTÉ Radio One.

I was embarrassed. It was an unfortunate accident, but as far as I was concerned the matter was closed when I went to the student’s family home to explain what had happened. Hence my surprise when I realised that it was still ongoing more than three years later.

While it cost me nothing financially, it did cost me something in terms of my reputation, which is why I need to address it now from my point of view. A newspaper report around that time described the family as being ‘very upset’ at reports that what happened was indeed an accident. I didn’t see this report at the time. I’m glad I didn’t. I would have been very upset too.

In the summer of 2010 my principal in the Sem called me in to discuss my contract for the following year. The same hours were offered with the same subjects. Everything was in order for me to continue. Had I worked another year I would be eligible for a Contract of Indefinite Duration, which had replaced permanent contracts at that stage.

On the football side of things I worked closely with Gary McGrath and Haulie Clifford with the senior team. We enjoyed success for the first time in fifteen years, winning two Corn Uí Mhuirís and contesting two Hogan Cup finals in the three years since I’d arrived, following a barren run at that level. My future at St Brendan’s was secure if I wanted it. I didn’t. I told him I wouldn’t be returning in September.

By 2010, aged 30, I had nearly ten years of teaching under my belt. That was enough of that. I was spending my days repeating myself. Repetition is a good way to drive yourself up the wall.

The onset of social media has affected kids’ ability to retain information. I saw this in class. (I also have experienced it myself. Since I started working in social media my attention span isn’t what it was.) Repetition and routine wasn’t for me. For some people routine is hard to do without. For me it was hard to do. After nearly ten years I couldn’t see myself doing one more year, never mind 20 more. Apart from being time-governed every day, I wasn’t enjoying teaching any more.

I respect teachers, teaching and the Irish language. There must be a more interactive, technology-led way of teaching students Irish. Maybe there is by now. Every week I used to record Aifric on TG4 and play it for my junior cert Irish classes. It’s a drama series based on the lives of secondary school students in Connemara, dealing with the same issues and challenges students deal with in real life every day.

I wondered back then why the programme wasn’t on the syllabus instead of one of the many expensive books kids were dragging around after them. All they would have to do is go home and slump in front of the TV and watch it, like they were doing anyway. Make kids watch every episode and incorporate the programme into the junior cert exam paper. If kids want to watch television why not put part of the syllabus on TG4? Or online? A lot of my good friends are teachers and love their jobs and I enjoy talking to them about it. I enjoyed it for most of the time I spent doing it.

For now writing, blogging, social media, multimedia, fashion and television offer too many possibilities and opportunities. I might go back to it someday. To teach English. I might still be at it if it wasn’t for that bloody alarm clock.