I’m no huge storyteller, despite being mostly Irish but there’s a couple of little life defining stories that I like to tell often so I’m writing them here for posterity. Both school based and both key moments in my life. This blog was prompted by going through some old schoolbooks that recently resurfaced.
Primary School
The first was when I was in primary school (about 1984), probably about 4th class so about age eight or nine, I started school a bit earlier than most at age three due to my October birthday. The teacher asked the class what the capital of Australia was, presumably in the Geography part of the day. A few kids got ahead of themselves and shouted “Sydney” before relalising that he was giving us options to choose from! “Hands up who thinks it Sydney?” he asked first. Everyone’s hand shot up but I hesitated. Something in me told me that wasn’t the right answer. I was always fond of quizzes so must have come across the question before, perhaps at an extended family Christmas evening Trivial Pursuit session. The kid beside me, Declan Norton I believe his name was (wow, pulled that out of my brain!) seen me hesitate and also kept his hand down. I was flattered by his faith in me! I was incredibly shy in school. Right the way through primary, secondary and even a few years of college. Never managed to make any real friends anywhere so I really didn’t want to stand out and be the only kid who got the answer wrong. Nevertheless, I kept my hand down, or maybe the teacher just gave the next option before I could decide what to do! “Who thinks it’s Canberra” he then asked. That rang my bell but again, noticing no one else had their hand up I was VERY reluctant to raise mine but raise it (gingerly) I did and so did Declan when he seen me. We were the only ones in the class of about 30 to 40 who got the right answer and had the privilege of rising above the rest intellectually for at least a few minutes. So the lesson here was, stick to your gut feeling even when all around you go the other way.
Secondary School
The second little story happened in secondary school, first year and the very first French class I took. Our teacher was the lovely Ms Deidre Gunn who was about as French looking as a human woman could possibly look. She was very tanned, had a prominent nose and was sexier and classier than the regular Irish teacher. She was fully Irish though!? As a language teacher normally does, she went around the class of about forty boys and got us to introduce ourselves in French and tell everyone our Mother’s and Father’s name and how many brothers and sisters we each had. My heart nearly stopped because I didn’t have a father or siblings and as bad luck would have it, even though I was sitting top left of the class, my turn was one of the last. So I had to sit there and listen to practically the whole class as each and every one of them listed both parents names and at least one sibling’s. My turn came and all I could do was blurt out pathetically in English that I didn’t have a father or siblings. If I could have sunk into the ground I would have. But, without missing a beat or looking at all sympathetic, Ms Gunn’s face lit up and she said, “Ah, here we have an interesting case. Here we say Je Suis Enfant Unique!”. Well fuck me if that didn’t sound a hell of a lot classier, better and more interesting than what the rest had said! Again, because of my shyness, which at this stage, combined with early teen hood and some mounting realisations that I was a little different to other kids, at least in my home life as well as social ability, this made me feel for possibly the first time that being a bit different might actually be ok. Or even better!
These days I still live by both lessons. Trust your gut and don’t be afraid to be different..
Leon