Loyalty, Relationships, and a Hard-Earned Title

Over the last month, I have been busy with curriculum demands and participating in our end of year concert season.

At our school, Year 12 external examinations take up much of Term 4. As a result, the music calendar operates differently from most school activities. We effectively begin one year's performance season at the end of the previous year, with our major concerts concluding in Term 3 before students commence their final assessment programs.

As I write this, I realise I am describing music using sporting language.

Music is year-long, lifelong, and never really ends. There is no such thing as an off-season for music teachers or music students. Yet here I am referring to "concert season" and the "end of season".

For better or worse, speaking in the language of sport often makes music more accessible to the majority of students and families.

Or perhaps I am simply catering to the hegemonic masculine norms that continue to shape boys' schools.

Let’s will leave this discussion for another day.

For now, it is enough to say that this has been one of the busiest periods of the year. As rehearsals, performances and farewells are unfolding, I have found myself reflecting on relationships.

Earning a Place

One of the teachers who participated in my PhD research spoke about her experience of beginning as Head of Music in an all-boys' school:

"Those kids were awful to me. [But] six months later: 'Hi Miss!' ... I think they just respected the fact that I'm staying. It's a loyalty thing. I'm part of the furniture. But as a new music teacher, [and] as Head of Department ... I was just appalled" (Esme, pers. comm. May 13, 2020).

I have thought about that quote many times this year.

It reminds me of my own experience when I commenced at an all-boys' school in 2019. I quickly discovered that expertise and qualifications were not always enough. Some of the Year 11 boys I taught did not necessarily respect, or perhaps even believe, the knowledge and experience I brought to the role.

This was despite the fact that I had written the syllabus that was being implemented for the first time.

For several years, I found myself continually justifying my decisions and expertise. Some boys would challenge information, seek second opinions from male teachers, or bypass me entirely and move further up the chain in search of answers they preferred.

Looking back, I realise that what I was experiencing was not necessarily disrespect. Rather, I had not yet earned my place.

The teacher from my study was right.

In boys' schools, loyalty matters.

The Long Road to Dr Pearse

The boys I teach knew I was completing my doctorate.

Many knew that I spent most Sundays at the State Library working on my thesis. I would often joke that if they found me there, I would happily help them with their own music work. It turns out, however, that the University of Queensland was apparently the preferred Year 12 study destination.

As I moved through the final stages of the PhD, the boys followed every step.

When I submitted my thesis for examination, they asked me almost weekly whether I had heard from the examiners. When the reports arrived, bringing overwhelmingly positive feedback and only minor corrections, they celebrated with me.

When I submitted my final amendments, the questions increased.

"Have you been conferred yet?"

Eventually, they were asking daily.

On more than one occasion, they insisted I check my university emails during class in case the notification had arrived.

Then Term 4 ended.

Like most graduates waiting for official confirmation, I eventually stopped checking. It is funny how that happens. In fact, it was over a week before I noticed the email confirming that I had been awarded the degree.

When the 2026 school year began, the boys asked the question once again. This time I could finally answer:

"Yes. I am now Dr Pearse."

I did not realise it at the time, but that moment would become one of the most revealing lessons about relationships with adolescent boys.

Titles Matter

During my research, I observed an interesting pattern.

Female teachers in boys' schools were almost always addressed as Miss, while male teachers were addressed as Sir. One school was different. There, female teachers, including me as a visitor, were addressed as Ma'am.

At the time it felt unusual. Since then, I have come to appreciate it. The title does not distinguish between single, married, divorced, young, or old in the way Miss, Mrs, and Ms can. It simply acknowledges the person and the position.

Because I was so excited about completing my doctorate, I made a point of ensuring everyone knew that I was now Dr Pearse.

A male colleague laughed and suggested that the boys would forget and continue calling me Miss anyway.

I smiled and replied:

"No. They will address me correctly by my hard-earned title. Dr."

And do you know what?

I have never had to police it.

The boys themselves have done that for me.

Respect Looks Different Than We Think

The relationships and respect I am experiencing this year remind me why I teach boys, and why I put both myself and my family through the madness of completing a PhD.

Respect from adolescent boys does not always look the way we expect it to. It is not usually delivered through grand speeches or formal recognition. More often, it appears in small, consistent moments.

This year, those moments have included:

• New and increasingly creative ways of greeting me. One student greets me daily with a drawn-out, Looney Tunes-style, American-country-accented "Hey Doooooocccccc!"

• Boys correcting other boys who call me "Miss". This happens while I am on lunch duty, marking rolls at the beginning of class, or simply walking through the school grounds. Before I have an opportunity to respond, another student will often jump in with, "It's Dr Pearse."

• Old boys returning for our Jazz Under the Stars evening, intentionally greeting me as "Dr Pearse" before congratulating me on my achievement. During that same evening, I was introduced to the stage as "Miss Meagan Pearse", conductor of Viking Vocals 3. The number of current students who subsequently approached me, genuinely annoyed that the MC had got it wrong, was both amusing and touching.

• Students introducing me to parents, visitors and guest artists as "Dr Pearse". This was particularly noticeable during a vocal workshop with The Idea of North. While I was busy having my own fan moment, the boys I directed were ensuring that everyone else knew who I was.

• Finding recognition in unexpected places. I walked into one of the classrooms I regularly teach in and noticed a message on the whiteboard from an old boy who was back playing in the band for the musical. He had written, "Hello Miss Pearse," but it was immediately obvious that the wording had been intentional. Rather than making a mistake and correcting it, he had deliberately written Miss, crossed it out, and replaced it with Dr. It was a small gesture, but a thoughtful one. It was simply his way of acknowledging that something had changed and that the achievement mattered.

What strikes me is that this has never felt like it is about feeding my ego for their own personal gain.

The title matters because the boys have decided it matters.

They recognise that earning a doctorate requires years of work, persistence and sacrifice. More importantly, many of them understand that the research was undertaken to benefit music education, particularly for boys. The thesis explored how gender-stereotypes and the sex of the teacher may influence music teaching and learning in boys' schools. The work was about understanding students like themselves – adolescent male music students.

As I reflect on these experiences, I wonder whether what I am seeing is a form of respect that is uniquely shaped by relationships. I don’t think the boys are simply acknowledging a qualification. It feels more like they are recognising the effort it took to achieve it, and the commitment behind it.

As a female teacher in an all-boys' school, I also cannot ignore another possibility. The boys know I am different from many of the teachers around them. They know that I chose to spend years researching how boys learn, how boys engage, and how teachers might best support adolescent males. They know that by examining the difference between male and female teachers, and the impact of gender-stereotypes that my research may be perceived as controversial. Maybe their insistence on calling me Dr Pearse is, in part, an acknowledgement that this work matters.

In an era increasingly shaped by online influencers, polarised views of masculinity, and a growing "manosphere" culture, this recognition feels significant. It suggests that many young men are more thoughtful, appreciative and respectful than they are often given credit for being.

And that is another lesson my students continue to teach me. Whilst my doctorate found that female teachers in all-boys' schools often need to work harder to establish credibility and earn respect than their male counterparts, this story is not really about that. It is about what happens next. It is about the moment when acceptance turns into loyalty. Somewhere along the way, the boys who once wanted proof, become the boys who advocate for you when you are not in the room. They correct others, celebrate your successes and quietly acknowledge your achievements. In many ways, those small acts have meant more to me than the title itself. They are reminders that while respect may have to be earned, loyalty is given, and when it comes from young men, it is one of the greatest compliments a teacher can receive.