Lessons from school go beyond the book

IHAVE been asked as a past pupil of my secondary school to address the student body at the school annual awards ceremony. I am touched by the invitation but I am daunted too. The address and how to word it has taken over my world.

Images come back to me. I am walking to school in my Confirmation shoes. They’re not cool but they cost my mother a fortune so she has some justification in forcing them on me. On the way I meet another newbie, another first-year. My heart sinks. She is cooler than me. Her skirt is shorter, her socks are rolled down and she is wearing ‘Rom’ runners. She is the business while I am a leftover from infancy.

We arrive, we are divided into classes and the girls who settle around me will be with me for five years. Five years isn’t a long time but back then it was an eternity. There was study and routine, mayhem and drama. There were times I didn’t want to be there and there were times I didn’t want to be anywhere else. When we cried we cried hard and when we laughed our bellies hurt. We dreaded tests, results and homework but embraced debate, competition and teamwork. We fell-in, we fell-out, we were best friends and sworn enemies but at the end of the day we were equal and we knew it.

Because in addition to maths and science, we learned about compassion and acceptance. Further to poetry and prose, we learned how to forget and forgive. Along with languages and music we learned how to communicate and connect. Being a diligent student was good but being a good human being was better.

Our year of ‘86 was a bright one and good people graduated that year. I am inordinately proud of this actually; it is as though I birthed, fed and educated them myself. Come my own Leaving Cert, I did alright and here I am 30 years later going back.

I cannot help but wonder what my secondary school self would think of me; that daydreamer in Room 8 gazing out on a world she did not know. What would she make of me? And did I do justice to her truths and convictions?

I entered school wearing Confirmation shoes but I left five years later wearing marching boots; I was educated, armoured and ready. Knowledge had nourished my mind, sport had nourished my body and I had values to feed my soul.

The marching boots still fit and I wear them every day. Yes they get loose sometimes especially in challenging times and it’s tempting to kick them off. But I don’t. Instead I tighten the laces for the passage ahead. It’s a resilience thing – something else I learned at school. So what if I met the day-dreamer from Room 8 today? What would she think? She might not like my dress sense but I have a feeling we’d still get on.