God complex.

Whether you are starting a new school, a new job or meeting a new group of people, that first day can be a source of anxiety to some. Many of my pupils will admit that they are quite nervous when they meet me for their first lesson. Understandable of course, although I would be slightly concerned if they were even more nervous about meeting me for their second lesson.
When I trained to become a driving instructor there were often other trainees in the sessions. As the training progressed, one of the other trainees was clearly nervous about the prospect of teaching for the first time. Bob, our trainer, tried to reassure her, "Don't worry, you know far more about driving than your pupil does, and that's what your pupil will be thinking. As far as your pupil is concerned, you are God." Well, I don't see St.Peter standing at my garden gate right now, and I certainly don't have a big, grey beard, but we got the drift of what he was saying. In fact, my power over my pupils, my divine omnipotence was clearly demonstrated yesterday:

I had picked one of my pupils up and we were driving along the A96, a 60mph single-carriageway that links Inverness with Aberdeen. He was keeping up with the flow of traffic, at 60mph, when a truck (HH Distribution Ltd, registration number SY55BKE) pulled out in front of him. It was a completely straight road, with good visibility, but the truck driver obviously thought 'A learner - I must get out before him'. Without prompting, my pupil checked his mirror and braked progressively until we reached a safe following distance. I use such incidents as learning tools and we discussed how the truck driver should have judged a safe opportunity to emerge from the junction, and the possible consequences of misjudging that gap. Then I made my own misjudgement...
"I think we should overtake the truck so that I can pass the driver one of my business cards." Jokingly trying to imply that the driver might benefit from further driving lessons. But I was caught out when I my pupil began checking his mirrors, accelerating and about to indicate right (as if to overtake). "NO. We are NOT going to overtake." I hastily ordered. I apologised and explained my lame joke. Rather than rupture his spleen in apoplectic hysterics, he simply replied "Oh. I did wonder why you were telling me to overtake. I wasn't sure I wanted to."
In my next lesson I will experiment with my power. I will take the pupil to a cliff and ask them to jump off.