My childhood was a song!

And it’s a recurring melody.  I have just hummed my way through Que Sera Sera, Little Sir Echo, Mockingbird Hill, Look to the Rainbow, Somewhere and Wooden Heart. (Once again, thank you YouTube - I am young again).   It’s amazing how the lyrics come back almost word perfect.  And it’s also amazing how new lyrics suggest themselves too.  Here’s a sample (I’ve called it A Teacher’s Song!):

Sit down, be quiet;

Oh, please don’t be so rude!

Sit down, be quiet;

Be nice as li’l girls should!

Sit down, be quiet;

You must obey the rule.
Though life is no party

School could be so cool!

Children are lovely,

That’s what I was told.

Children are playful,

So happy to behold.

Little girls are sugar

And everything that’s nice.

Ribbons and pretty frocks

And life that’s full of spice.

On the day I came to school

This is what I found:

Lots and lots of little girls

Running all around.

“Miss, she took my bottle”

“Miss, she pulled my hair”

Little voices shouting loud

Here and there, and there!

Little girls as good as gold

Is truly quite a myth.

They can throw real tantrums

And make me have a fit.

And though I sometimes roll my eyes,

And shout as loud can be

I wouldn’t really change a thing -

School’s pretty fine to me!

Repeat: Sit down, be quiet....

Do you think they might listen?

Serendipity….

The gift of a book coupon found me searching for Kitab Khana.  A helpful assistant at the end of a phone line directed me to Davar’s College and a brisk walk later found me on unfamiliar familiar ground.  The area had been a haunt in earlier times, but the years in-between had wrought changes.

I expected to find the usual tired entrance lined with dusty shelves and well thumbed books – a memory from past visits to other stores.  Instead, I was greeted by a frontage straight out of a movie (or a dream?).  Bemused, I entered upon a most delightful scene: books on shelves, books on display, books arranged here, there and everywhere. Crisp, newly minted, fresh off the press books.  Hardbound, paperback, spiral bound books.  Colourful, sober, titillating, serious books.  Books of every kind. The silence was welcoming as were the comfy sofas, some already occupied by browsers with noses deep in – yes - books.  And, the fragrant aroma of printed paper intermingled with that of freshly brewing coffee from the coffee bar at the end of this huge Aladdin’s cave. Or, heaven.

Like a child in cookie paradise, I skipped from display to display lifting covers and sampling snippets.  I was certainly going to use that gift coupon: what I wanted was that one special book - one that would count as both a discovery and a memory.  I came across old friends among the titles and encountered many new ones and then, almost at the end of the ‘cavern’, I found it. The illustration on the cover and the intriguing title brought on that old familiar feeling – love at first sight! 

Among my treasured experiences are the verses of Ogden Nash and Hillaire Belloc and the quirky humour of James Thurber: the ultimate gateway to imagination, the involuntary chuckle and the Walter Mitty experience (if you haven’t had that, you’ve really missed something).  And now, I have added Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends. A turn of the pages takes you to a magical, whimsical place where the author says what he means and means what he says with childlike honesty and adult wisdom. Who could resist this invitation?

            “If you are a dreamer, come in

            If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar

            A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer…

            If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire

            For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.

            Come in!

            Come in!”

           

Have you ever sat on the seashore at sunset and imagined an enchanted place beyond the horizon? No? Then, be tempted.  Do it.

Hello….

…my friends won’t you sing with me?  Yes! I’m in a cheerful mood.  Music does that to me and I’m finding a lot of it on the Net, together with an overflowing bucket of nostalgia.

So what am I listening to? Old forgotten childhood songs, all reprised on YouTube.  One remembrance leads to another and from ‘Where have you been Billy Boy?” to “Oh dear what can the matter be?’ to ‘The bear went over the mountain’ to ‘Down by the bay’ – and beyond – I’ve been humming along.  And the lyrics have been coming back (like a song!) too. Silly songs, lively tunes make for a cache of treasures.  As the memories flood in, I am amazed at the amount we learned and sang as little ones.  And if YouTube has it, the songs will be carried forward at least for another generation.  Clap if you like that.

Aiming to enlarge the repertoire, I did a recce on the Net (now, that’s one voyage of discovery that can keep one engaged for a lifetime) and came up with a whole host of new and even more delightful songs by people who are happy to share. I made a connection, too.  And thereby hangs a tale.  I searched by keywords using ‘children’s songs’, ‘songs for children on themes’ and so on.  One of the sites threw up a lovely little number – catchy lyrics, catchier tune – about one of the many ‘cycles’ in nature.  But there was no sheet music, so I took a chance and emailed the author.  Bonus upon bonus, he not only sent me the sheet music by return, but was most chuffed that his music had reached the opposite side of the globe.   Now, he wants a clip of the children singing his song.  I think that means I have a goal! So do the children. The name of the song? ‘Can you make the connection?’ It’s about a fruit bat, a tree and you!!

At present count, I have more than eighty songs playing over and over again in my mind; enough to keep me singing for a long, long, time.

In the words of that universal children’s favourite, I’m happy and I know it, so I’m shouting ‘Hello’, ‘Buon Giorno’, ‘Ola’, ‘Namaste’, ‘Guten Tag’ ‘Kalimera’, ‘Bon Jour’ ..…!!!!!

A Tangled Thread…

TANGLED!

My blogs these days seem much of a piece – all about school.  But that is where my head is and where I am urging my heart to follow.

Each day brings something new, a high, a low and an in-between.  A child who will smile, a child who will frown, a child who will be more stubborn than a mule.  The mule I would ignore. The child stays with me even after the school day is done.  What could I / should I have done differently? Why was that one child so determined to challenge authority?  And why do I have to keep laying down the law?  A neat, tidy, orderly and silent classroom seems so at odds with lively, squirming children!!  But how lovely is the noiseless room, with minds engaged and thoughts abloom (even if they are all about getting even with the teacher!).

Singing class seems to be more about letting off steam than learning the tonic solfa and oh how they love their action songs. Even the ‘big’ girls!! When they’re happy, they really show it from the clapping, to the stomping and the screaming.  Next week, I’m planning on teaching them homemade percussion: if noise appeals then why not go the whole way? (A variation on ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’!)  I remember the fun we had, as children, tapping teaspoons, shaking little boxes filled with rice or hard grain and blowing through combs covered with tissue paper.  If you can think up any more impromptu ‘instruments’, do let me know.  (We also tapped teaspoons on the rims of glasses of water filled to different levels – when you got it right, you created the sweetest sound.  But we are too many, and glass and water can be so accident prone.)

And then there’s the crochet which is more ‘is not’ than ‘is’.  Teaching 60 plus students to simultaneously put hook to wool and turn out identical perfect stitches is the stuff of movies and dreams.  The variations on a stitch that I encounter are more the stuff of nightmares.  Perseverance is a virtue that both teacher and student need and I’m resolute, persistent, unrelenting, firm about reaching the goal!!

But there are the diversions.  One student managed to get a factory wound perfect ball of wool into an even more perfect tangle.  ‘Miss,’ she wailed, ‘HELP!’  I brought the yarn home and spent the best part of an hour following one end till it met the other and I had, once more, a well wound ball of yarn.  It was a happy shade of yellow and while hands were busy, my mind dwelt on the weeks gone by. Sitting and untangling the thread was somehow peaceful and yes, amusing!  And the student’s joyful whoop, ‘THANK YOU” was more than enough reward. 

Though I am still bemused by where I find myself, I have stopped wondering about the path, no matter how tangled. Like Theseus, I hold one end of the thread in my hands, but I know that the other end is firmly in God’s clasp.  And when the ends meet, I will be a perfectly wound ‘yarn’.  (Pun intended!) 

P.S. I finally managed to ‘draw’ using Paint.  My work of art? TANGLED!!

Dear Diary VI

When I ‘meet’ a new author and that author appeals to me, I tend to go on a spree.  I liked Fr. James Martin’s ‘My Life with the Saints’ so much that when I came across the title of his other work, ‘Between Heaven and Mirth’ I pounced on it with alacrity.  Fr. Martin has a lovely chatty style, laced with humour and he keeps the brain engaged: my kind of author, my kind of reading.  I thought the second title would be a laugh a minute.  It’s not.  It is a pretty deep lesson on the link between humour and spirituality.  A slightly different take on the maxim: rejoice in the Lord.  And it made me reflect, remember and relive the gladness in my life.

Can you think back to those times when you enjoyed a belly laugh at good clean humour that did not offend?  Something that cleared the air, refreshed the spirit and left you feeling re-energised? 

I can recall one incident so very clearly.  Hubby and I were in a gift shop that sold odds and ends including posters and signs.  I suddenly spotted one that called forth a spontaneous guffaw much to his embarrassment - everyone turned to look at me and then at the sign.  Suddenly the whole shop was filled with chuckles.  The sign? ‘A minute could be very short or very long depending on which side of the bathroom door you are.’  A statement I can truly appreciate and that goes for everyone who has known limited loos and long queues. Yes, it felt good to see the funny side and I mentally applauded the creator.

Fr. Martin also tackles the question of whether God (the Saints) and humour can be mentioned in the same breath (my paraphrase).  I wonder that anyone could possibly doubt that.  In nature one finds the awesome (the truly awesome and not the casual adjective that is scattered around today), the beautiful, the lovable, the joyful and yes, the comical.  God created the platypus. Surely he must have been in a playful mood?  I can feel the happy chuckle all the way from the beginning of creation!  

Have you never been subjected to the cheekiness of monkeys (yes, they can be annoying too)? Or watched a puppy chase its tail? Or caught dolphins leaping for sheer joy? Or spied a line of ducks waddle past? It’s a long list – no room here. I am sure that our Creator intended that element of delight for all of us to savour. The trouble is that we are usually too busy to notice. We also expect power to be cantankerous, and we tend to view the Divine with human eyes. We must certainly amuse God even when we exasperate and sadden.

Here’s one for the road: one of the resorts, at which hubby and I vacationed, boasted a tame pet monkey by the name of Canute.  I treated him to a handful of nuts to coax him into friendship.  He took the nuts, checked that he had collected all that was on offer, gave my hair a hard tug for good measure and scarpered. Then hubby went for a stroll.  On the return leg, he paused at one of the garden seats.  Canute happily scrambled onto his knee and sat there for all the world as if they had been best friends forever (or brothers in a different time frame?).  I could not help but laugh at the picture they made – both with identical quizzical expressions! (Hubby had a way with animals, but that will need a separate blog.)

Yes, laughter is definitely a gift from God.  One that deserves a heartfelt ‘thank-you’.

Dear Diary V….

 …or T G I F: a phrase that is in every working person’s lexicon - those that do not work on Saturdays and Sundays, at least.

Once when a harried friend shot the acronym at me, I cheekily replied that it didn’t apply – every day was a holiday since I had taken premature retirement.  I did not have to wait to exhale or anticipate eagerly the ‘whew’ moment when I could shed bags, clothes and other odds and ends, knock off those pinching shoes and fling myself into a comfortable chair, and stay up all night watching what was on offer on the Movie Channel.  I had leisure in good measure and I used it wisely, or so I thought.  

The problem with retirement is that everyone assumes that you are ‘free’ and the requests for your time flow in thick and furious, and when you say ‘yes’ to one, you end up saying ‘yes’ to another, and before you know it, you are busier than before.  Some engagements are fulfilling – you enjoy them, you learn from them and you are left happy for the experience. Others leave you wondering whether you have suffered permanent brain damage.  I have known both and I am still sane and sober – I have survived. 

It’s funny but the ‘not so happy’ experiences are experiences too: they add to that vast repertoire of knowledge that the brain will store away and hopefully dredge up when needed.  I know that my bad experiences have taught me to appreciate the good ones, to know what to avoid, and how to deal with people and situations. For instance, a stubborn and willfully disobedient child may not require punishment but understanding.  When dealing with a classroom of 60-strong, very lively eight year olds, patience is usually thin or quite worn out and the first reaction is to ensure discipline that the whole class will not forget.  But later reflection brings on the questions.  Never having taught in school, I am troubled by the one child that will not conform.  Could I have dealt with things differently? How?  Putting my head together with other teachers and parents and even children, provides perspectives that may help me in future.  I am on a learning curve.

And then there are the happy children, the ones that will smile and laugh and say ‘thank you teacher for the new song’ or they will come up to you and touch your feet or shake your hand and wave out to you on their way back to class.  And your heart is warmed by their attitude even if the volume of their collective voices makes you wish for earplugs!

And then, of course, my weekends are once again appreciated as has not been done for a very long time.  Now leisure is a treasure and I thank God for Fridays from the bottom of my heart.

I Teach therefore I Speak

Some years ago, a friend of mine who is not so conversant with the finer nuances of the English tongue and who was a working mother at the time, told me that she had placed her toddler daughter in a ‘crush’ (sic)!!  I gently advised her that crèche was the appropriate word and pronunciation.  When I visited the premises with her to pick up the child at the end of the day, I realised that she had inadvertently bestowed the more appropriate title – a crush it was.  There were so many children crammed into the room that all you could see were an entanglement of little hands and feet and bobbing faces accompanied by an uproar of little voices.

Today’s classrooms are a spillover of this scene.  Not quite Dante’s inferno, but nearly there! What have we done?

The idea of education is practically as old as time.  Sharing of knowledge, and the ‘how’s and ‘why’s of the way things were done, ensured continuity and survival.  As people evolved and curiosity grew, the scope of knowledge expanded proportionately and each generation added its own layers.  The only difference between earlier generations and ours is that knowledge was the prerogative of the elite and was shared only with the privileged few.  The remainder were left in the dark, exploited as menials and deprived of rights since they ‘did not know any better’.

I like to think that it was the Catholic Missionaries who wrought a change; who realised that education and knowledge meant empowerment and in an ideal world, where all are meant to be equal, an equal access to education would make a sound beginning. Revolutionary? Yes!!  Catholic education has made its mark worldwide and ‘convent educated’ was, at one time, an unofficial ‘magna cum laude’.  Why the past tense?

A peek into today’s classroom shows us a Catholic education system that is a shadow of its former self.  No longer are we the innovators and propagators.  Instead, we meekly allow ourselves to be dictated to by an authority that has no business to be in authority. True learning and all-round development are slowly being stifled by a prescribed syllabus that has nothing to do with education.  The number of children per classroom is ridiculously out of proportion with the need for teacher-student interaction, and the powers that be need to be reminded that bricks and mortar are rigid by nature and therefore the number of desks and benches can only go thus far and no further. The well ventilated, airy classrooms so conducive to learning have been replaced by ‘crushes’ stuffed beyond the limit.

Add to this the underpaid and jaded teachers, an exam system that rewards a ‘learn by rote’ attitude, and an unrealistic pass percentage that aspires to 95% and over: it’s not surprising that we are churning out mediocre geniuses, by the schoolful.

On the other hand, among the institutes in the city, there are a minuscule few that happily and resolutely insist on breaking this mould.  Why are the Catholic schools – convent and parish – not among this number?

It’s time that we stood tall and reclaimed our heritage. After all, we were taught by the best teacher ever.  So, don’t tell us how to educate, we’ll tell you.