When I decided to leave teaching, I handed in my notice way too early. I didn’t need to do it that early but I wanted to make sure we handled the transition well as a team. Some of the children I worked with found change hard, as did many of us on the team, and I wanted us to do it right.
We didn’t tell everyone at first. We came up with a plan to tell people at the right times, to not disrupt things, or do people wrong, but to give everyone the right chance to process it. I worked with the same families for the entirety of those children’s school life, which was quite a long time. So me leaving wasn’t business as usual.
Nonetheless, I started making preparations in week one. I started Special assembly.
It wasn’t actually called “Special assembly”. It was called something else but I’ve changed the name here to keep it all anonymous.
Most days, there was an assembly, where all the children of the school came together for a get together. The head teachers, or other teachers, sometimes me, spoke with the whole school, sharing things and asking for input from children, to stand up and share— speak with everyone.
Every day had a different kind of assembly. Sometimes it was about celebrating achievements in the school. Other times it was to share information about specific days or events, like Divali or Ramadan or other things like Autism Acceptance Week. Or “Autism Awareness Week” as it was known back then. I usually gave those ones.
At the start of the year, I made the case for our class to skip one assembly a week and instead do Special assembly, in preparation for my eventual leaving.
It was simple. Every week, we learned about two or three people that I thought could be role models for the children. I picked out many people who were openly neurodivergent and spoke positively about it: People like Greta Thunberg and Chris Packham and Pierre!!!!
Pierre appeared almost every week, as a class favourite.
I knew that I wouldn’t forgive myself if didn’t introduce the class to some of these people. But yes, it was simple. I told the class what I admired in those people, and that was that.
The weeks went on and the Special assemblies continued. The class grew a bit bored of them, to be completely honest. The assemblies were repetitive and the class knew exactly what was coming, so it was boring. But that was also the point. I wanted the structure to feel familiar.
Then I started the twists. Instead of picking out well known figures, I changed the role models to people we knew within the school itself. The Special assemblies changed to become about my colleagues, instead. Each week, I went through two or three of my team members. I went through a few things they were really good at, and I told the class why I admired them.
The class found it funny, of course. It was breaking the formula, and also the rules of what a school assembly could be.
It was a nice chance for me to praise my team too. Sometimes they were in the room when I did it, and sometimes the children went to find them afterwards, to tell them what I said. I wanted the class to notice and pay attention to all the other adults they had with them apart from me. And I wanted my team to know how good they were.
The weeks continued and we eventually told everyone, including the kids, that I was leaving. I spoke with every single child and every single family and every single member of my team.
“Yes, no, I’m fine. I just need to spend some time on my health.”
“No, yes, I’ll be fine.”
“No I won’t be coming back, I’m sorry.”
In Special assemblies, we got through all of my team, including some of the most beloved members, like Miss K (not her real name).
Special assemblies became a time to talk about the big day: My final day at school. We went through the plan again and again.
The plan didn’t feel too crazy, because it ended in something familiar: A Special assembly.
I walked into the classroom late, having been caught up with something else, to find the whole room laughing, including my teammates.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Then I looked at the board to see a scrappy drawing of…
“We’re doing a Special assembly, Mr Wilson”, said Katy (not her real name).
Harry (not his real name) pointed at the drawing on the board.
Yes, that’s a drawing of me.
Here it was. The moment we were all building up to. It’s Special assembly time!
Today, as we all know, the Special assembly is not a normal Special assembly. It’s a special Special assembly. Today’s Special assembly is not about any celebrity, or public figure, or Pierre. No, it’s not even about any of the teachers, or me. In today’s Special assembly, we are talking about every child in the class. Oh yes, and the entire team is here today, and so are all the parents and families, and Miss K is crying.
We’ll go in the usual order, of course. Katy’s first.
Katy sat next to me, at the front of the class. And I told everyone what I admired Katy for.
I handed Katy a card, which said those same things. I asked her if she wanted to read it now, or later. Knowing Katy— Oh yes she’s opening it, and reading it out loud for everyone.
“What will you pick Katy?”
Katy looked up and down the list.
“A hug.”
So I gave her a hug, and a smile, and then Katy stood up and walked out with her mum and I never saw her again.
“Are you ready for your turn Harry?”
He shook his head. He’s looking down. He looks cross. Oh dear.
“No problem Harry. I’ll ask you a bit later.”
Let’s carry on. Karan’s turn. (not his real name)
I told Karan what I thought about him, in front of his parents, and he didn’t stop beaming and stimming with his hands.
“What will you pick Karan?” I asked again.
No answer.
No answer.
The stimming stopped.
His answer came, and I said, “Yes, that’s totally fine.” Then we hugged, high fived, shook hands and waved, and he left.
Karan left with his mum and I said goodbye again later in the playground, where he reminded me to watch the new Spiderman film when it comes out, and to email the school to say what I think of it.
Two months later, I kept my promise and emailed Miss K with my review. It was great, just as Karan had predicted.
“Are you ready now Harry?”
Marty’s turn. (not his real name)
I was worried about Marty getting angry or losing his temper, but he didn’t. As he now knows, I admire how pragmatic his thinking is. He has a gripping sense of fairness. If the doctor says I need to spend time on my health, then that is what I must do. But above all else, Marty is a compassionate, and highly caring boy, despite what some adults might say. He understands more than most, the importance of a break.
“Mr Wilson I’m ready now.”
“Ok, come on up Harry.”
Harry, you are a role model to me. To see how far you have come these past five years, it blows me away. I am beyond proud. I am inspired by your progress and your positive mindset, that you keep coming back to, no matter what. You are— You are a great friend to your peers and you are—
“Mr Wilson, shall I get you some water?” asked a red eyed Miss K.
Harry you are—
“Here you go Mr Wilson.”
“A high five.”
Sure thing Harry, high five. Then he hugged me.
Everyone was gone from the classroom and I sat in emptiness, ready to tidy up my folders on the network before I left. But a message popped up on the screen telling me my account was removed. So that was that.
I was always worried that I had not done enough as a teacher. I wondered if I could have or should have done more or better to help them to learn phonics or arithmetic or even social skills or sports or everything else. I always grappled with, or I should say— I struggled to grapple with the fact that my own performance could shape the future success in these children’s educations and therefore lives. I always felt guilty about not working those extra evenings to get extra things ready, or to think things through more.
However, when the end came, no one mentioned that. All of the families and parents thanked me for the same thing: They thanked me for caring for their child, and respecting them, and giving them time. This reassured me.
It’s true that I’ve made many many many mistakes in my education career, and career on the whole. I’ve fucked up many times, and I’ll fuck up many more.
But after it all, I can truly say— I am truly happy / relieved to say— When it came to my leaving, and Special assembly, I know that we did it right.
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