Tutor: Super-Rich Kids are Isolated and Sad

[vibranium]

Children of the super rich are often too stressed and distracted to engage in lessons. Seeing their lives has made me realise there are no winners with wealth inequality.

 

I am reading about cars with my teenage tutee. Although the article is difficult and English is not his first language, he gets the gist: cars are pollution-generating status symbols. "That reminds me!" he says, grabbing his phone and chatting loudly to someone in Arabic. "I told my driver to fix my Land Ranger." It's fine though, he says, he has eight cars. I feign being unfazed by this; it's my first experience of tutoring the super rich.

 

I was employed through an agency to teach English to Salman* and, while rather disengaged, he was chatty and we got on well. It's a long way from where my teaching career began in an inner city state school with a bad Ofsted rating. Like Salman, many of my pupils there were immigrants -- the difference being, most were living in poverty: while Salman worries about his SUV, my former students are preoccupied by having no money for heating and worn out shoes.
 
Although I loved my class in Hackney, the onerous 14-hour days in a profession that felt void of autonomy and creativity took their toll. I was forced to resign and now, like many of my peers, I keep afloat by selling my services to an elite tutoring agency.

 

The agency makes no secret of its desire for prim and proper tutors; but, little do they know, I no longer hide behind smiles and silences. I've realised that, beyond household staff, the families I work with have little or no contact with people outside their select sphere -- and I'd certainly never met anyone from their circles -- so I've begun to see our encounters as opportune.

 

Once, a grammar lesson almost resulted in an existential crisis. I asked my student -- a Russian woman in Mayfair -- to list her daily duties. I started her off: "I have to make my breakfast, I have to reply to emails ..." She remained silent. "With five kids you must have a lot to do!" I suggested. She reflected that she didn't "have to" look after her children, she didn't "have to" shop for food, she didn't "have to" send emails. She didn't even "have to" learn English -- she has two PAs. She looked miserable. I asked her how she might like to fill her days -- future conditional tense. Although she struggled to think outside her current box, in the end she admitted she'd always wanted to train as a doctor, and be around more people. We discussed how she could make that happen.

 

Another time, a student asked me if donations get you into Cambridge. He looked baffled when I told him that I sincerely hoped not. Money had always bought him opportunity and freedom. He drove in Saudi Arabia without a licence, his father paid the fines; he hung out illegally with girls, his father bailed him out; he was franchising his favourite restaurant, his father was bankrolling it. The concept that some doors won't -- or shouldn't -- swing open with a few million pounds was a new one, but he got it eventually.

 

Seeing the human side of the 1% has caused me to view them less as a faceless symbol of injustice and more as people with their own, sometimes relatable, struggles. The feelings that are evident -- anxiety, disconnect, isolation -- are universal. And that's promising. Recognising the humanity in the "other" -- even the "enemy" -- does not mean I do not judge them, but it does give me a chance to transcend the inequality and start conversations about change.

 

I think the reassurance of throwing money at an Oxbridge-educated tutor is what many of these parents are after, more than anything. Their children are mostly too stressed, too over-stimulated and too distracted to engage with lessons anyway. In their homes, every need, every non-need, is outsourced. I have taught an eight-year-old who went to a boarding school 20 minutes from her home. During the holidays, she was either with me or one of the multiple nannies, although her mother did not work. When we weren't around, there were endless screens to keep her company. She told me that she felt abandoned and sad, but it was clear she needn't have. It can feel wrong to sympathise with those living in excess when people are deprived of basic needs, but if ever I've questioned "money can't buy you happiness", I won't anymore.

 

 

ARTICLE SOURCE

[funkyy]

Sorry, but I don't feel any sympathy for these so called "sad, abandoned, stressed, anxious, isolated" spoiled brats and adults. My sympathy is with the 3rd World man or woman who grows old before their time breaking their back for a pittance to try and feed their family each day..usually working for one of these super rich complainers.

This reminds me of the recent court case in the USA with the spoiled rich kid using "afluenza" as his excuse for killing 4 people while driving drunk. As if the rich don't have enough influence and advantages in life, they now want our sympathy!!! It would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic.