In a class of my own.

By Bad Dad on July 21, 2008 6:07 PM | Permalink

WHEN I was asked by my son's school to give a talk about journalism I didn't hesitate to say yes.

It would be my chance to "give something back" and to see for myself just how difficult this teaching lark really is.

Once I'd said yes, his school English teacher was thrilled...and duly started inviting different classes. Gulp.

Would I be able to cope with a load of feral 14-year-olds? Would they eat me alive? What do I know about journalism anyway? (that last one couresty of my Birmingham Mail colleagues).

When I walked in and was introduced as Nicks dad (sic) - a journalist on the white board by one of the girl students and promptly added the apostrophe, I felt their hackles rise.

And when one of the girls asked, perfectly genuinely, 'what's a journalist?' I thought I was making a huge mistake.

But then I got on a roll - telling them about the purpose of the Birmingham Mail to inform, educate, entertain and most importantly to challenge those in society who think they are above challenge, and I could see their eyes sparkling.

To have a job where you are paid to challenge authority, to right wrongs and to mirror and mould the views of our hard working readers is a privilege indeed.

And when, just as he was going to sleep, Nick said after I'd shut his bedroom door "dad, you were good today" - I realised there was no other job for me...apart from teaching perhaps!

Or maybe not.