Carol’s Column

Treasure the teachers - most of them are gems

If there's one wish I have for 1998, it is that a job is provided for every teacher in the country. Every teacher must be in-spanned, employed and utilised. If there isn't enough money, we, as a nation, must make a plan.

I remember the day I took my oldest son to primary school. His face so shiny, it shone like a sun, his little uniform pressed into cardboard rigidness, his tie stiff, his hair brushed.

We had to walk our sons and daughters to the entrance of the school and hand them over to a waiting teacher.

There was a thick-trunked tree near the entrance. I slid behind it, with seven other parents, and watched as my boy trotted inside.

His eyes were wide. There was apprehension, but mainly, he was excited about this great new adventure. I was the one who cried that day. Actually, most of us behind the tree were tearful.

I was there early to fetch him, probably the only time that I ever came early or even on time in 20-odd years of child-from-school fetching.

With a group of other little people, he shot from the school doors into my arms.

He'd loved his first day at school, and as he got older, school got better.

His brothers and sister were equally enthusiastic. And now, when I think back, I remember lift schemes, projects, the kilometres of brown paper and plastic to cover the kilometres of books. The years spent sitting at the edge of a sports field, freezing in the rain or frying in the sun, watching rugby, soccer, netball, tennis and athletics.

The endless sandwiches which more often than not returned home curled and cold.

Most of all, I remember the teachers. There were the few indifferent ones and, sometimes, the stupid ones. Such as the woman who made her Grade Ones wear a nappy and stand in a corner with a dunce's cap for minor misdemeanours. Fortunately, outraged parents stormed the principal and her antiquated teaching methods were instantly revised.

But for the greater part, I remember the squad of dedicated young, and sometimes not-so-young, teachers who led my youngsters through their lives, instilling in them an unquenchable joy of learning.

“Don't always accept what you see,” Lynne Wise would say. “Observe, then question.”

To all the Lazars, and the other thousands of children who sat in her primary school classroom, Lynne Wise gave the priceless gift of education.

Besides her routine classes, she taught about nature and character, wildlife and history. She taught them to always inquire.

And, at a time when it was distinctly untrendy, she taught this group of advantaged white children that there was a greater South Africa with children a lot less advantaged than themselves. She taught with love and the children bloomed.

At high school, there were the few nonentities, but most of the teaching staff were gems. Especially when I think of the low salaries they earned and the lengthy hours they put in.

My children were fortunate. Their history teacher was a young man named Patrick MacMahon, who taught his subject with passion and brilliance.

Contemporary and courageous at a time when the history syllabus was steeped in apartheid rigidity, Patrick MacMahon introduced his students to democracy and encouraged them to think independently.

Today, my kids are well-rounded people, each with a sense of history and place.

Every child in this country deserves what my children had. A good education and good teachers. This is not a privilege, it is a child's right.

Our teachers deserve to be treasured.

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