The Real Lesson

I was always working hard to keep up appearances with family, friends and anyone who I thought I needed to impress. In high school, I feared being found out for not understanding what was being taught in the classroom. In no time at all, I became good at acting. I possessed all the skills necessary to give a convincing performance and I was very believable. I was a model student who displayed exemplary behaviour. Teacher instruction time was a mighty effort on my part to gain an understanding of the expected work requirement. I knew what needed to be done during the delivered lesson. But somewhere along the way, I would become lost in the fog and struggled to find my way out. It’s like sleeping with your eyes wide open or listening but not hearing. I told my thirteen-year-old-self that I had a defect in my brain. 

I was an expert in maintaining a pretense of confidence. I kept quiet, appeared to be listening, kept eye contact the entire time, and hoped to god I was not called upon to speak. I envied the other students who could and would willingly participate in class discussion. I watched their faces as they spoke and gave their opinions and viewpoints on a subject that had gained their interest. I could see their energy and clear thinking. I didn’t know it then, but I believed I recognized the moment when the teacher engaged them in high-order thinking. I recall feeling excited when such a level of learning was reached by other students. I could not experience that feeling for myself, or so I thought. 

Keeping up appearances worked well in high school. I survived and avoided feelings of embarrassment and shame until the end when my façade was revealed. It was exhausting. I began having meltdowns as a form of releasing the built-up tension in my day. I felt like a fraud. School was fast becoming the enemy. I had to keep up with the charade for as long as I was legally required. 

At seventeen, year eleven happened. For me, it was a coming of age. For the first time, I felt that I was good at something. I was understanding, not only the teacher’s instructions, but the actual course subject. The subject was Secretarial Studies. The teacher was Miss C. My fingers rested on typewriter keys and a flashback of my younger self flooded my mind. I loved my childhood typewriter, given to me by my mother. It made sense to be in that class. I began to smile at school, without pretending. It made me happy to know I was a highly-able student in this subject. Along with typewriting skills came the learning of shorthand. The new language blew my mind, expanded it to a whole new level of learning. I felt like I was given an opportunity to start over and this was my chance to get it right. I felt important knowing I mastered this “language” full of mystery and code. My brain was not a defect after all and it certainly was not faulty in learning. Miss C assured me of that with my excellent end-of-year results.

My cue to leave high school was at the end of year eleven when my overall results required me to repeat the year. In other words, I failed. Such a stab-in-the-heart word. Failed. It took me many years to shake that stigma. I knew I had shown excellent results in Secretarial Studies so, that was where my path was to be. I was not going to repeat the year because I had a plan. My mum always said, “You can’t drop out of school unless you have a plan.” I enrolled into a secretarial course in the city. That was the beginning of my lifelong, learning journey.

It was 1980. Swanston Business College accepted my enrolment application to study with them. They accepted me. It was a powerful and profound moment in my life. Why wouldn’t they accept me? I came with wonderful high school results in this area of study. I remembered Miss C’s words of encouragement. “Don’t just do what you are good at, do what you love.” I loved the way those words sounded in a sentence. It was another clue for me of how I found the structure and meaning of words interesting.

My second chance to achieve success in study arrived. I was ready to start. It was a school setting, the only difference being that there weren’t a high number of students. I matured. By that, I mean my ability to sustain focus and concentration improved. I was ecstatic, tearing up a little. But I never shared that proud moment because in my mind, it was silly. 

I finished the course with good results and attained the necessary qualifications to gain employment in the area of office and business administration. This achievement became my rite of passage into believing in myself and in my ability to reach for what I wanted. It seemed a simple thing to want at the time, but it really was a huge mind shift. And one that was going to stay with me and continue to provide me with courage when I needed it the most. 

My first “grown-up” job was as a receptionist for a small arts and crafts organisation. I was responsible for the obvious duties that I was trained to do. Although I was nervous and lacked confidence, I quickly shook that feeling and took on my role with mastery. Of course, it was my attained knowledge that saw me through. How wonderful a feeling to be in a place where I was in total control of my acquired knowledge, knowledge I continued to gain and, more importantly, maintain.

Knowledge is power. It made sense that I could be responsible for my own knowledge.

It was 2013, and I was going to have a kick-arse, chin-up, pull your socks up, soldier on, push through it kind of year.

I worked as an education support aide. It was a very rewarding job. I didn’t have the formal qualifications for this role, as it wasn’t a requirement. But it didn’t sit well with me. So, with the support of the school principal, I found myself, once again enrolling in further study, this time as a mature-age student. The doubts flooded back. Could I sustain and grasp the relevant information in a class room setting? Could I deliver and submit quality work assignments? It had been over thirty years since I last studied. I felt compelled to strive for it. It was important to further my knowledge in the field of work in which I was employed. I loved my job and felt strongly about being recognized with the credentials that went along with the work I was doing. Off to school I went again.

It took all I could muster to walk into that class room on the first day. I was so excited to be in a learning environment again but found myself needing to tap into the self-taught acting skills I had acquired in high school to boost my confidence levels. The course was wonderful in every way, the small class of women, the steady pace of information, the camaraderie, and a very supportive educational facilitator, my teacher, Mrs B.

Medical situations occurred, unexpectedly, as they do. One at the beginning of the course which led to time off for the care I needed to have and a second one six months later. I was behind in my work which meant a delay in attaining my desired qualification. If I successfully completed a course while undergoing radiation therapy and continuing to work then I can bloody well achieve whatever I want. I am relieved my old brain could recall these events, allowing me to share them. I so desperately wanted to be in the company of my other school friends. As it was, I was able to attend class, get through the missed work assignments, and provide my teacher with completed units of work. I presented parts of my electives orally and demonstrated full knowledge of the content. I will never doubt my ability to take on study again. 

Although my teacher was unaware of the medical situation I was faced with, she knew I was under extreme fatigue. Just a wink and a hug at the end of each class was all the special consideration I needed to get me over the line and to pass with flying colors. Once again, I proved to myself that education is lifelong. It didn’t matter what my circumstances were, if I wanted it I had to go and get it. I became an advocate for myself and sought assistance when difficulties in attaining information arose. This gave me such a strong sense of who I am. With courage, I used my voice to gain, not only the extra help I needed, but the help that others needed too. 

The “real” lesson for me was the realization that schooling within a traditional educational setting, or institution was not the only means to gaining the knowledge. I must have missed the subject of “Experience” during my school years. Lucky for me, I found it right outside the school grounds, beyond the gate. So, my inquiring mind and I travelled the real world.

-Fotoula Reynolds

Fotoula Reynolds is an author of poetry. She lives in the Dandenong Ranges in Victoria, Australia with her family. She began writing poetry in 2016 and has published her first book of poems titled: The sanctuary of my garden (2018). 

Her work appears internationally in: The Dan Poets Anthology Australia, The Hillscene Magazine Australia, Bonsai Journal Bangladesh, Spillwords Press USA, The Pangolin Review Mauritius, The Galway Review Ireland, Frances Poetry Anthology Australia, The Conclusion Magazine Bangladesh.