When I was in the first year of secondary school, Sr. Mary, was the headmaster of the then all girls convent school. It was an amazing building. Ramshackle, with almost condemned pre-fab extensions. There was an actual hole in the wall between our classroom and the next. It had nuns living in the basement, a PE hall in the attic and a magnificent 4 storey staircase that was strictly out of bounds for pupils.
At the end of that first year, our version of a decrepit Hogwarts was shut down and we were moved to a sterile new education factory on the outskirts of town. The convent became a state funded secondary school and Sr. Mary was relieved of her duties. During our 2nd year we often wondered where she went, with various theories being espoused. That she had left the order and was now backpacking around Asia, being my particular favourite. By the September of our 3rd year, the mystery was over, she was back, and our English teacher.
A small, wiry woman with striking grey hair, which made her appear older than her years. She was a fierce combination of strictness and intelligence. She was the exact opposite of her dopey predecessor who needed our help to spell the word 'business' on the blackboard. Forever a try-hard goody two shoes I tried my damnedest to win her approval.
In my own nerdish rebellion I decided I would forgo the prescribed reading list and instead would base my state exam on a book of my choosing, Nick Hornby's About A Boy. Not exactly an obvious choice at the time. Sr. Mary went with me and my respect for her only grew when she read it so she could properly critique my analysis. I can't remember what the thrust of my argument was but I'm sure I wrote something profound and deep about the emptiness of materialism. The edge was taken off that profoundness when it was later adapted into a Hugh Grant box office vehicle.
That year, she asked me what I wanted to study after graduation. I told her of my plans of completing a Computer Science degree. She said it would be a waste of my English skills. I respected her enough that her advice really did make me second guess my choice. I wavered and in the end chose hidden option C, beginning a degree in Economics and Financial Maths. I would later boast I managed to graduate without writing a single essay.
From that point on, my writing has amounted to little more than buzzword laden technical reports during my management consulting career, some intermittent travel blogging and the occasional epic email.
But close to 15 years later, somewhere within me I feel a need to write. Not a novel, not even an essay but just merely to commit my thoughts to paper and publish them. In some ways Sr. Mary was right, I have wasted whatever English skills I may or may not have had. However I really wished I hadn't listened to her advice on not pursuing my dream of studying Computer Science. Although its impossible to tell how that would have worked out for me, I find myself now many years later having taught myself to code, quitting my day job in management consulting, founding a tech startup and never having used a day of my Economics degree since graduating Uni.
Here's to you Sr. Mary, I hope you are off backpacking around Asia by now!
At the end of that first year, our version of a decrepit Hogwarts was shut down and we were moved to a sterile new education factory on the outskirts of town. The convent became a state funded secondary school and Sr. Mary was relieved of her duties. During our 2nd year we often wondered where she went, with various theories being espoused. That she had left the order and was now backpacking around Asia, being my particular favourite. By the September of our 3rd year, the mystery was over, she was back, and our English teacher.
A small, wiry woman with striking grey hair, which made her appear older than her years. She was a fierce combination of strictness and intelligence. She was the exact opposite of her dopey predecessor who needed our help to spell the word 'business' on the blackboard. Forever a try-hard goody two shoes I tried my damnedest to win her approval.
In my own nerdish rebellion I decided I would forgo the prescribed reading list and instead would base my state exam on a book of my choosing, Nick Hornby's About A Boy. Not exactly an obvious choice at the time. Sr. Mary went with me and my respect for her only grew when she read it so she could properly critique my analysis. I can't remember what the thrust of my argument was but I'm sure I wrote something profound and deep about the emptiness of materialism. The edge was taken off that profoundness when it was later adapted into a Hugh Grant box office vehicle.
That year, she asked me what I wanted to study after graduation. I told her of my plans of completing a Computer Science degree. She said it would be a waste of my English skills. I respected her enough that her advice really did make me second guess my choice. I wavered and in the end chose hidden option C, beginning a degree in Economics and Financial Maths. I would later boast I managed to graduate without writing a single essay.
From that point on, my writing has amounted to little more than buzzword laden technical reports during my management consulting career, some intermittent travel blogging and the occasional epic email.
But close to 15 years later, somewhere within me I feel a need to write. Not a novel, not even an essay but just merely to commit my thoughts to paper and publish them. In some ways Sr. Mary was right, I have wasted whatever English skills I may or may not have had. However I really wished I hadn't listened to her advice on not pursuing my dream of studying Computer Science. Although its impossible to tell how that would have worked out for me, I find myself now many years later having taught myself to code, quitting my day job in management consulting, founding a tech startup and never having used a day of my Economics degree since graduating Uni.
Here's to you Sr. Mary, I hope you are off backpacking around Asia by now!
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