Change

(Day 22 of 112)

(Warning: Long Post)

I was never a very good student. Mostly because I couldn’t be bothered to try. My mother of course developed hypertension by the time I got to class 10. I blame my teachers. They would keep telling her I could do better if only I wanted to. At 15 I didn’t want to.

Somewhere between then and now I changed. Along the way I tried because I wanted to. And my reward was success. But what has been more rewarding is the pride I see in those who knew me as a bratty teenager. Those who struggled to make me recognise my true potential when they could have given up on me. My teachers. Actually this post is about one teacher.

No, this is not going to be one of those corny teacher adulation posts that make you want to roll your eyes in disbelief. In fact the teacher being discussed and I didn’t even get along when I was in school, not least because I apparently tested his patience beyond control and because he had very little control. And also because student-teacher relationships in school never extend beyond the classroom (except when being punished and made to stand outside the classroom)!

But somewhere between then and now this teacher too changed. I don’t know what brought about this change. I wasn’t even ready to believe it when I heard of it. And then I met him again. By a curious twist of fate, I was back at school. Only this time I was a lecturer responsible for training teachers, and he was now the principal.

After an interesting first meeting (where he seemed totally shocked that I’d managed to get through college and beyond), we started the process of rediscovery. While we would always remain student-teacher, something was different now. No longer were we in the classroom and no longer could the teacher scare me by simply calling out my name.

Over the year (and even after that), both of us realised how much we’d grown up. For me it was quite literal, bringing with it maturity, knowledge, self-confidence. For my teacher it was a growing awareness of anger and rage (among other things) which were being counter-productive (or so I conjecture).

This recognition of how much we’d changed forged a new relationship I think. I was finally able to accept that this was a teacher who only ever wanted to help the students. The manner of doing it may have been different (one not palatable to an adolescent’s hormone and rebellion riddled brain). My teacher was also able to understand that it was never my life’s mission to make classroom teaching difficult. It was just who I was, and still am (inquisitive, talkative and someone who can't hide what she's feeling to save her life!). With a changed relationship and changed outlooks, both of us were finally able to appreciate and more important, understand each other.

Interestingly, these changes have made me so comfortable with my teacher now that I find myself part of serious discussions, many of them ending with me emulating a motivational speaker and being all wise etc. Even more surprising (in a happy sort of way) is that he listens to me and maybe even remembers some of it too.

Today, I value this special student-teacher relationship, albeit formed much after I left school. I may not have handed out any Favourite Teacher trophies to my teacher when I was his student. But I know now (or rather hope) that he knows that trophies tarnish. What we share now is much beyond any token of appreciation. It has its basis in respect, admiration, pride and above all, change.