I'm standing in a class of wild 14-year-old girls as they throw paper and howl with laughter. They won't listen to me. I never wanted to1. I wanted to be a writer. But when I arrived in London, they were 2 of teachers.
My efforts at teaching were3. When the bell finally rang, I4to the staff room, red with anger. The other teachers weren't 5 . "That's 4B, the worst class in school."
But I couldn't give up. I 6 formal lessons. Instead, I brought topics for class discussion. One of the liveliest talks was about the arguments they had with their 7
They paid attention and were 8 to share about their family lives. Then I had them write about themselves. As time went on, their essays became a 9 between us. I 10their humor, toughness and eagerness, and I think they appreciated my interest in their lives.
The musical My Fair Lady was playing in the West End and I asked if they'd like to see the musical. They thought I was joking and did not take it 11 since no teacher had ever suggested taking them out. A few weeks later, 4B and I were 12 in theater. They loved the musical and the characters.
Near the end of the term, two most rebellious (叛逆的) girls with flowers were knocking on my door. I was 13 to know I had touched their hearts and made a difference to their lives, but they had also touched mine. I enjoyed teaching and getting along with14
When I returned to Australia several years later, I still 15 to be a writer. Teaching wasn't the end of my writing career; it was the beginning.
