My dad has just started blogging. And oh golly is he good at it! Every day I look forward to his posts on
The Blue Room, Riverside Drive, knowing he'll make me laugh, ponder the world differently, or just marvel at the wonders of nature in his lovely photographs.
Some days, his posts make me cry.
Today was one of them. A novel he was reading led, as it often does for my dad, to a reminiscence about his long and marvellous life in teaching. He spoke about a young Downs Syndrome lad, named Daniel.
"Daniel was, for the years he was in my world, the school
mascot if you like. One of my reasons for staying on for so long at my rural
tenure was the fact that students could remain with us right through from
kinder to Grade 10, and Daniel was, by the time he left, one of these few
special ones. He was special in so many other ways too. He was a ‘character’,
you knew he was about. We worked a curriculum around his needs; the fact it was
a farm school was always useful, and Daniel had some responsibilities in that
regard. I was part of his daily routine. As soon as he was off the bus he would
be in to me, sitting at my computer in the school’s library. He was most
interested to find out what I had repasted on over the last twenty-four hours
and to gather my thoughts on how my beloved Hawks would go at the weekend, or
debrief about their last match. I would receive pats on the back if they lost,
high fives if they were victorious."
The other school children doted on Daniel. He was a valued member of the community. Later, he was to return to the school as an assistant to the groundsman. That's the way schools like the one my dad worked at operated.
The blog made me sob, with joy that people like Daniel exist, and that people like my dad exist to nurture them.
"The Toms/Daniels of this world, like the rest of us, all
have their foibles," my dad says. "They, though, do wear their emotions on their sleeves,
reward kindnesses given with so much love in return, and their openness brings
out the best in humanity."
These words brought on the tears. They also provoked a sense of regret, that I hadn't valued enough something I experienced a couple of days ago.
I was trying to settle a sleepless Poss after her hospital stay and was walking towards The Tram Place. About a quarter of the way to my "turning around point", I felt a presence at my side. There was a very small, very squat person trailing me.
"You got a baby there?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied. "She's sleeping."
"Sleeping baby right. Sleeping baby. Windy today, isn't it? Isn't it windy?"
"Yes. Very windy today."
"Very windy. How's your baby?"
"She's sleeping. She's been a bit sick."
"Oh, that's no good. That's no good. Windy, isn't it?"
And so it went the entire way up the Very Long Road and almost back home again. She nattered away and I made quiet replies, all the time trying to settle Tiger. At the time it was frustrating as all I wanted was a sleeping baby. I did not want to converse with a small person about the wind for forty five minutes.
Dad's blog has made me look at this journey differently. It made me see it for the strange but lovely experience it was.
I hope I encounter the small person again, on my way to The Tram Place.
I'll talk to her about the wind again, or Tiger, and this time I won't be frustrated. I'll marvel at her openness and try and give the same to her. It might make her day. I'll let it make mine.
Because this time I'll realise how lovely it is.
~ Love, Miss Cackle
