Why Teaching Is No Laughing Matter

It’s the end of an incredibly long day. I’m with other teachers in the main hall, watching someone present a CPD session. On comedy.

That’s right — comedy. How we should use laughter to engage and enthuse our students. He’s not doing a bad job under the circumstances. There’s a lot of banter and a lot of observational humour. At one point I almost smiled, but I managed to resist the temptation. Because it’s really not funny.

Humour is the most dangerous thing a teacher can use in the classroom. It’s so easy to take one step too far and say the wrong thing to the wrong student. Everyone is laughing so you make a comment that’s then reported to a parent and — well, sometimes it’s the way you tell ‘em. What you thought was the height of hilarity comes over as crude, offensive, or maybe even smacking of racism.

A lot of younger teachers tell jokes because they think that "wins over" the class. If they are laughing they are not behaving badly. Perhaps — but they are unlikely to be learning effectively, either. Because if you start making the lessons look like an evening at "The Wheeltapper’s and Shunters Social Club" the students will too. Your lessons start to become a joke. An escape from learning, not an enhancement of it.

We all have enjoyable moments in the classroom. We all like sharing these with our colleagues. But I worry about the kind of teacher who seems to go out of their way to make the class fall about laughing. When they describe their lessons it’s more like a stand-up comedian reviewing a good gig. They couldn’t say whether the class made an inch of progress but they got a really big laugh by doing X Y or Z. They seem really keen to go back for an encore. To hell with whether the children learned anything.

The best humour just happens. For instance, today I was teaching a lesson on the Restoration. I said that Charles might want to punish people who had executed his father, but only a few of them were still alive (in 1660). A rather baffled student looked up and said:

“What – you mean they are still alive now?”

“No, because this was three hundred years ago. They’re deader than Elvis!”

“Oh. That’s a bit sad.”

Their baffled mournful tone brought the house down. You can’t plan moments like that. You just have to enjoy them when they happen.

The argument is that laughter activates parts of the brain which would otherwise be dormant. Once these are working, the student can absorb more, feel more involved in the lesson and — well, to me, it’s all nonsense. Sorry, it just is. I’ve been teaching long enough to have seen every other theory like this come and die. I’ve done mind gym activities. I’ve taught whilst making use of their emotional state. I’ve played them Mozart and I’ve flooded the classroom with aromas designed to stimulate their learning. None of it has made jot of difference. Except I now hate the stench of camomile and if I hear the Marriage of Figaro one more time…..

Telling jokes, putting on silly voices dressing up in fancy dress or wearing revolving "novelty" ties — this is all "high ego teaching." Where the supposed adult in the room is screaming to be the centre of attention. ("Look at ME, children! I'm so funny! I'm so clever! I want you to remember me even if you can't remember what I'm teaching you.") It’s an ideal quality for a children’s entertainer but it’s not education.

Sometimes we have to accept that our job is to be boring. To set them work they don’t enjoy. To go over the salient points of the Treaty of Utrecht until each one is clear. Without red noses, custard pies, or a joke book. "Low ego teaching" means that you step back from the limelight and let the students get on with learning. The satisfaction doesn’t come from a room full of laughing students, it’s from a sense of progress. A job well done.

Bottom line? You’re a teacher, not a comedian. Just teach.