From the Memory Box 

Issue No 21

Not so long ago I was chatting with some colleagues; the topic being influential people in our careers. Every one of us rattled off the names of other adults – colleagues, friends or family members; giving a short summary of how they were influential in our lives. Interestingly, we all chose people who had had an obviously positive impact. None of us named influencers in our lives whose positive impact, if any, would have been inspired by an initially negative experience with that person. 

That set me thinking – most of the people I have met in my career as a teacher and principal have, in fact, been children. I didn’t, nor did anyone else, name any students as major influencers in our lives. This despite the fact that we can all recall the names of quite a few students with whom we engaged over the course of our careers and cite memorable events experienced with them.

Not content with just ruminating over all this, I decided to put my mind to the test – children who have influenced me in some way or another.    

Let’s call them Sam, and Chrissy, not their real names obviously. I met Sam when I was a class teacher, decades ago. Sam was a particularly introverted boy, one who had witnessed domestic violence. His father, at the time was in jail for aggravated assault of his wife, Sam’s mother. He was a smart boy with a short fuse when it came to completing his work. At any given moment he could, and often did, erupt in a rage, tearing up his work amidst a torrent of expletives. Curiously, he had a chip on his shoulder insofar as women were concerned. His regard for men was not much better. I spent as much time as Sam would allow me, to engage with him in informal discussion over the course of the two years that I was his teacher before he graduated.

After our end of year final assembly, I reached out to shake his hand and wish him all the best in his secondary school education. Sam declined the invitation. Instead, he spat on the ground in front of me and told me where to go before turning away and walking off. I was hurt.

Years later when I was a principal, a young woman with the same surname as Sam, met with me regarding the enrolment of her daughter at our school, saying her uncle had recommended it. He turned out to be Sam! I was taken aback to say the least. Sam had told her that I had been a good teacher to him; that he had treated me badly and was sorry for that. He wanted me to know that he had turned his life around and was now enjoying a very productive career in the police force.

I learnt a lot from Sam – most of all patience and understanding; that many outcomes of our work do not become evident to us for many years, if at all. 

On the other hand, I didn’t have to wait decades to appreciate the value of Chrissy as an influencer on my life. It was immediate and it was, and remains, powerful. Again, it came from years ago, when I was teaching – as a metropolitan relieving teacher, working across schools in the northern suburbs of Melbourne. I was assigned to a grade 5 class for a week. The principal alerted me to the challenge that a boy, let’s call him Con, would present. Con was, to say the least, very confident. So confident, that he had no qualms at all in disrupting normal classroom activities to get a laugh at the expense of the latest hapless relief teacher assigned to teach the class. He worked well for his regular class teacher, but not for anyone else. Change at school, over which he had no control, did not suit him well. 

It did not take me long to notice Con - speaking quietly in Greek, a language with which I was not at all familiar, he had half the class guffawing with laughter within minutes. This continued intermittently throughout the day. I could never quite hear what Con was saying in Greek, but judging by the reaction of the class it was both uproarious to some and viewed with horror by others. No-one dared tell me what Con “might have been saying”. Most said they didn’t hear a thing. Needless to say, Con was having a field day at my expense. 

As I dismissed the class at 3.30pm, I was a little forlorn – four more days of this to go. That’s when Chrissy, who had hung back whilst her class mates left, came to my desk and asked me if I wanted to know what Con had really said. 

I nodded - of course I did. In a whisper she told me, wincing as she spoke. Con had been calling me malakas (tosser being the polite interpretation). Little wonder then that he drew laughter from his admiring friends, and quiet disdain from the others. 

Chrissy told me that if I could speak Greek that would help. I asked her if she could she give me crash course in Greek. Chrissy was most obliging – arming me with good girl (kaló korítsi) and good boy (kaló paidi). 

It didn’t take me long as the next morning, armed with those three Greek words to win the respect of the class, given none, including Con, had suspected I knew any Greek the day before. Chrissy had taken a risk in confiding in me with what Con had actually said and taught me valuable lessons.

We all remember certain students forever, for a variety of reasons – drifting in and out of our consciousness and conversations as the years pass. One way or another they all leave their marks on who we are, just as we do on them.