I have never heard anyone admit that they always sat in the front row in school or college. Admitting that one is a nerd is not easy. Most are convinced that they were one among the gang that teachers dreaded and whose antics drove their educators to tears.
Sometimes this pattern carries on until much later in life as is evident at staff meetings when most make a beeline for the back rows. Once the chairs are filled, the last men or women left standing will opt to squeeze into a corner rather than take one of the many empty seats in front. I can understand this. It’s a survival instinct. Keep out of the limelight and keep a low profile.
Think back to your schooldays when you were sure you couldn’t be seen by the teacher the farther away you sat from him or her. It was only when I crossed over to the other side of the desk that I realised how wrong I was. But there are some things that teachers prefer to ignore. One has to get on with the lesson and finish the syllabus. So, a blind eye is turned to the antics happening at the far end.
However, many girls prefer sitting in front as they want to be seen and heard by the person who matters, that is the teacher.
The worst part for many was when questions were asked and the teacher’s eyes darted around, trying to find a victim. That’s when heads would suddenly be bent or someone would decide to pick up an exercise book or scribble furiously to make the hunter think that one was writing down every word that had been said.
Saving grace
Of course, these vain attempts to make oneself as invisible as possible were always seen through. The saving grace were the eager beavers who raised their hands and waited breathless with expectation, wanting to answer the question asked and let everyone know how clever they were.
As a pupil, I have been on both sides of the fence, depending on the subject and my preparedness. Sometimes I have tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible if it was a maths class. I could never make sense of what seemed like hieroglyphics to me. Why should one know how fast or slow a train travels relative to the speed of another? Wasn’t it enough to know that both were on their way? Why second guess expected times of arrival or when one would overtake the other? Did it really matter in the larger scheme of things?
However, if it were an English class, I was one of those eager beavers, wanting to prove how clever and attentive I was. My arm was one of those flailing wildly in class, trying to will the teacher to pick on me. When I look back, I find the thought amusing and wonder why it was so important to stand up and answer questions just because one knew the answers. Wanting acknowledgement of one’s prowess is a characteristic of children who like to be in the limelight and revel in adult attention.
The thought of being an object of ridicule to others who bent over backwards to avoid participating in any classroom activity never crossed the mind if the teacher was someone from whom you sought recognition. All you wanted was appreciation from the one whom you held in respect.
Of course, there were some teachers whom we found most uninspiring and we had no interest in drawing their attention. So, they would drone on in class while we went about doing our own thing, the sound of their voices like a buzzing in the background, easily ignored.
Even among adults, one can easily recognise what kind of pupil they must have been. It’s easy to identify the eager beavers and the bored backbenchers. Sadly, there are too few of the former and too many of the latter!
