As I predicted yesterday, this morning's discussion was pretty much the same in terms of essential content as the stuff being discussed when I started out as a teacher (a very bad one) in September 1978. Though back then there was something like actual discussion. Nowadays people stand at the front and tell you stuff claiming you are in a 'conversation'. But it's not their fault; it's just the nature of things.
I did a bit of sage nodding, and a fair amount of inscrutable frowning of the sort that used to get under the collective skins of my own teachers: Is there something wrong, Connor? No sir, I'm thinking. Oh, and I made one pretty strident intervention.
Funnily enough this came about as a result of having the first lines of Dylan's Mississippi running through my head once the phrase 'boxed-in' had occurred to me in response to a question about how I felt: Every step of the way, we walk the line / Your days are numbered, so are mine / Time is pilin' up, we struggle and we scrape / We're all boxed in, nowhere to escape.
Sort of says it all, really. As Dylan usually does.
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