Janus

                               

Come the New Year, we often take time to reflect on that which was as well as to look forward to that which might be. (As you know I am a master at stating the bleeding obvious!) The Roman god, Janus, was a two-faced character, the one side of him looking back to the past and the other staring into the future. Thus did he give us January.

So Davidson ,stuffed full of turkey and the occasional glass of red wine (‘occasional’ being a euphemism for ‘frequent’ and ‘glass’ being a casual dismissive remark of something which was much, much more), sat replete one evening and reflected more about what was, Dear Friends, than what might be.  Professionally, 43 years stumbling about the classroom, pretending he had goals, thinking every day that he must make a plan and finally coming to the conclusion that if he didn’t make an absolute total hash of things, then the children would be alright, Davidson thought about instances in his teaching career that warmed the cockles of his heart and often tickled the edges of his fancy.

I remember the nine-year old on his first day in my class in Grade IV, opening up his lunch bucket and finding a sandwich there. The crusts were cut off and it was shaped carefully as a heart. Between the neatly sliced apple and water bottle was a note from his mum. It recognised that he was nervous about not only entering the grade but also about having his first male teacher.  She told him how exciting and stimulating the experience was going to be, obviously therefore having a charming naivety ‘cos she had no idea about what her child’s teacher was like. She concluded that she loved her son and was proud of him.  I could have been the cynic who thought that this was over-the-top behaviour; that this mum was in danger of infantilising her child. But, friends, it only happened the once. The lunches were always well prepared and healthy.  And, I was informed, that as he advanced into the academic year, he was accompanying his mum to the supermarket and picking out the ingredients for his weekly lunches. Towards the years end he was also making his own. So there was never the late message that he had to go to the front desk to pick up a Subway sandwich, nor was there ever, and I kid you not, the forgotten fork that was rushed to school in a taxi cab.  (It really happened albeit not in my class!)  Nor was there the hasty phone call to his mother to bring in the lunch that she had forgotten. It also really happened  that a child asked to phone his mum for his lunch. She was at work so she phoned the nanny to deliver it. But, Dear Reader, this mum was at work in distant Germany!

I look  back with a smile at the tearful mum who, worried and fraught, arrived back at the school an hour after her child had been dismissed.  This little boy had somehow escaped the end of the day dismissal and walked home on his own. My fault and not an experience I wanted to repeat but I somehow managed a calm demeanour and exclaimed. “So, Mrs. @#^%, Tom Sawyer is alive and well and living in West Vancouver.” She smiled ruefully as she realised that her most precious possession was safe and my remark likely kept me out of trouble. Then there was this group of three mums who suddenly appeared before me with the joyous demeanour of a lynch mob. There was a pathetic, cowardly attempt by me to escape but, too late, they were marching towards me checking the knot on the noose. Apparently their children had been upset and tearful as they were picked up on the previous day because I was reading “Shiloh”, the story of a badly treated dog. It had reached the nadir of the poor beast’s existence with no time left to read a cheerier part.  I was told in no uncertain terms not to read them any more sad stories. I did, however, assure them that the ending would be happy. They walked away almost satisfied and I puffed my cheeks in relief. In my last few years there was the Chinese parent who came in and asked if I could give her some of my class time to celebrate Chinese New Year.  She politely asked how much time she could have and we settled on 20 minutes although I had said that she could have as long as she wanted.  Early on the morning of the day, there was a polite knock on the door. I went to answer . Dear Reader, there were at least 20 parents out there all dressed in bright, colourful costumes, bearing fortune cookies and gifts. I sat at my desk and immersed myself in the cultural extravaganza, at intervals I was asked if they could have a bit longer and, of course, I consented. I hasten to add that I was in no way being altruistic. Apart from being genuinely interested I was the lazy teacher who suddenly found himself, joy of joys, not having to teach!

It seems, Dear Reader, that I always only dealt with mothers which is, by and large, true. Collingwood School seemed to have a plethora of mothers who did not work outside the household. But, I did, deal with fathers too. One appeared as a very flamboyant Santa Claus in our classroom and very fine he was too although I did sense a bit of a liquid lunch aboard his florid demeanour, which made him overly effusive with his flamboyance. He required a closer supervision, let us say. His son sat at the front of my classroom one morning and informed me that his Dad did not agree with my methods of teaching mathematics.  I was quick enough to retort that I was not being paid to teach Math to his dad.

 I guess that in my long winded way I am saying that I don’t know whether it is possible to move forward into a new year without looking back and thinking how we may improve on the old one. In all of our histories there are some rocks under which we may not wish to peer.  There are elephants in all of our rooms, and some of us have herds of them which leave little space for anything else.  I think I understand that. But most people with whom I exchange pleasantries  on my many walks do so with a smile and a friendly word. I know little of their hinterlands but we all know, Dear Reader, that there are triumphs and disasters enough in all of their lives. We don’t always succeed in setting aside all of our troubles, it is sometimes very difficult to put on that brave face.  But I do believe in that old saying.

“Smile and the world smiles with you, weep and you weep alone.”

That does not mean walking away when somebody is troubled, but it is, I think, a true recognition that a smiled greeting invites us into a cheerful place whereas a frown is a dismal, gloomy corner.

Bob Dole, one time American Presidential candidate died recently. I knew very little about him but learned from one of his eulogisers that he wanted to help at least one person every day of his life. It seems to me that if the god, Janus, is looking forward into 2022 then the way to gladden that stony face of his would be to start with Mr. Dole’s dictum.

Happy New Year one and all.

And another thing!  I am sorry to do this but I need further to encroach on your time.  If you were to ask me to identify the best day’s weather of any year, for 68 years I would not have been able to do so. But on December 30^th 2021, I awoke at 5.30 a.m. to find the bedroom full of ambient light. I knew before I drew back the blinds that there had been a further dump of snow. It had snowed heavily again . As daylight came when I was walking back from the café, I realised that the blue sky and bright sun had made this a very special day.  At about 10 a.m. I went out for a longer walk, part of the way with Irene. After she had left me to return home I thought back through the year’s weather experiences and I concluded, Dear Reader, that I would always remember this day and date as being the most spectacular day of 2021.