… and the Award for Strictest-and-Best Teacher goes to, Mr King

My first day of Year 7 was uneventful, but I couldn’t say the same about my second day. I had Mrs Edwards for day one. Day two was my first day with Mr King. Both were deputy principals.

Soon after day two started, I passed wind. Loudly. In fact, I made a show of it. I had the class in stitches. Mr King, keen on setting an example early, told me I’d be following him to the office at Recess. There I lined up for 3-of-the-best. As he flexed his cane he bristled with anger. “Right, son, move over here!” I was adjacent his desk when he thrust that cane down toward my outstretched palm with all his might. At the very last moment, he intentionally missed and when that cane hit the desk it shattered. Then he let me have it: “Right now, boy, you better smarten up otherwise the next time it’ll be three on each hand.” Of course, I knew what that was like. I’d been caned a couple of times in primary school, first time as a 7-year-old, the year after I was kicked out of Religious Instruction.

I was no model student, and from Year 5 I’d discovered I had the penchant to be a pretty skilled class clown. This landed me in remedial class, and I was treated as a dunce. That was okay with me. But really, deep down inside, I think I did want to do better. I’d been told by several people, including a guidance officer, that I didn’t amount to much, so I think I rebelled.

As Year 7 continued, I discovered that Mr King was very consistently strict, which meant that, for me at least, he seemed also very consistently fair.

Something peculiar happened within this strictest of teacher’s interactions with me. He caused me to believe in myself. He worked me hard in the area of mathematics and somehow, he piqued within me an interest in this area. All it seemed I needed was a little belief.

The fact that I went from being a remedial student in Year 7 to being in the top class in Year 8 mathematics (a level I maintained through high school) was testament to one teacher’s belief in me.

I don’t think I’m the rare case here. There are some who will read this, and it will remind them of the teacher that most inspired them. I don’t really think about my Year 5 teacher who seemed to detest me (which meant it was a long and tough year). It’s Mr Mike King in Year 7 who leaves me feeling an enduring delight for what he inspired within me.

If you’re a teacher or a leader of children in any capacity, you’re not only sowing for the future, but you’re influencing young lives in ways you may seriously underestimate. You may think what you’re doing is of such little importance, or you may think it’s a waste of time working with smarmy upstarts. You may be buried in a workload that sees you nudging burnout. Maybe it’s the parents of students who are hard work.

One day soon, there may be a student or students (plural) who will be thanking God YOU taught them; that there was one crucial thing you said that caused them to believe in themselves. Maybe it was the way you smiled, or the fact you called them by their name, or the lunch you bought them when they didn’t have any money, or the hat you lent them when they left theirs at home.

Focus on the power of little things that certainly endure.

40 years on I still think very often about Mr King. The 12-year-old version of me needed a Mr King. All children need a Mr King kind of teacher who will inspire them to greatness.