Â鶹ÊÓƵ

2024 Archive

I choose to do this because it’s hard, not because it’s easy

25 November 2024

“I’m sooooo stressed.”

“This is too stressful for me to do. I am too stressed to do well.”

“I do not know how I’ll mange, there’s too much to do. I am too stressed to manage.” “How are you?”

“Stressed.”

Since 2006 I have used an adage in countless addresses and conversations: “I choose to do this because it’s hard, not because it’s easy.” It’s become cliched … almost as cliched as me underlining the importance of “finishing well.” In 2006 I was privileged to see Nikki Hudson, the former captain of the Australian Women’s Hockey team, on stage for full school assembly at her alma mater – Centenary Heights SHS. Nikki spoke about her gruelling training regime and the challenges of wintery mornings in Toowoomba. Eloquently, she described waking to an alarm in the early hours of a foggy Toowoomba morning, getting dressed ready for a few hours of hard exercise and saying: “I choose to do this because it’s difficult, not because it’s easy, because I love a challenge.” It may seem like an unremarkable mantra – perhaps, yet for Nikki, it worked very effectively. Stress and pressure can yield positive outcomes.

There was something very powerful in the words of this Olympic champion when she reminisced about a time when she was a school student listening to a guest speaker, also an Olympian, on Assembly. For a moment we could all see her as a blond Year 12 student dressed in bottle green, just like her peers. Yet the sense of ‘then and now’ provided enormous inspiration for the students who heard her personal story. It was a story of focus, determination and the will to achieve her goals no matter what the obstacles, no matter the endurance of stress and pressure.

I remember Hudson responding to a girl in the audience who had just missed out on selection in a Queensland team, she replied, “That’s tough isn’t it, but it’s really good as well. I missed out on Olympic selection once and I promised myself it would never happen again. It hasn’t.” Her messages were clear. Positive self-talk is powerful. Progress and success are regularly born of struggle, rather than ease. The greatest setback can provide the greatest motivation. When the pressure is on, work harder – it often leads to a positive outcome.

Pressure is privilege, words recently articulated by Penrith captain, Nathan Cleary. It’s an interesting paradox and yet I’ve become quite aware of its intuitive accuracy, ever since I heard him say it, on the eve of their fourth successive NRL grand final win. We don’t achieve great things unless we can endure pressure. Achieving great things is a privilege.

And yet, we don’t always view pressure that way, do we? As parents we wish for and sometimes contrive or construct for our daughter, a smooth path through her secondary schooling. We falter when she articulates her stress, her anguish at having too much to do or her inability to meet expectation – hers or ours. We probably never say – that stress you’re talking about, is actually a privilege.

It is not to say that stress is always positive. It is not to say that stress always elicits the best. But it is interesting to consider the positives that can exist in a pressure or stressful situation – the things that drive us on to achievement.

The end of the school year is nigh and with it, an opportunity to ‘de-stress’ it would seem. Certainly, there has been a lot of ‘stress talk’ floating through the Â鶹ÊÓƵairspace, not surprising given that the end of the school year coincides with end of term assessment. Stanford University neurobiologist Robert M. Sapolsky, reminds us that our goal should not be a life without stress. “The idea is to have the right amount of stress,” he tells us. He indicates that the ideal is a life with stressors that are both transitory and manageable. Exams conclude. Assignments get submitted. Reports and marking finish. All of these are transitory stressors: manageable, inevitable and, at times enjoyable enough – when they’re ‘done’.

Often they represent the end point of hard work, discipline and effort: great character traits. “I choose to do this because it is hard, not because it is easy,” springs to mind at such times.

Furthermore, when epinephrine shoots into our system and norepinephrine follows, our heart rate increases, our hands may get clammy, and our pupils dilate. Cortisol increases. This is termed: challenge stress or the fight/flight response.

Challenge stress heightens our attention to the situation and, when channelled appropriately, assists our response. Yet I often find myself having a conversation with students before a big event, exam, oral, performance or grand final, trying to debunk some myths about fear, anxiety and stress. “It’s the same physiological response that you have when you are excited,” I say. Usually, this statement is met with look of incredulity, horror and disbelief. They believe that “Dr Evans is delusional.”

I maintain that if we are to perform at our best in any high stakes situation then we need some stress, albeit transitory and manageable. We do well also, to acknowledge those feelings and rebrand them as normal responses to the situation. If we are brave enough, we might also describe the situation as exciting, rather than daunting and frightening. “Fake it and you’ll make it,” a wise psychologist once said.

Perception of the pending event, interaction or situation is of fundamental importance says psychologist Wendy Berry Mendes, of the University of California, San Francisco. Do you frame the stressor as a challenge or a threat? Do you view transitory stress as fearful and anxiety-riddled or do you acknowledge it as manageable, normal and a catalyst for full attention to the task at hand?

Sadly, as we know, (that hefty responsibility of being a responsible role model yet again), our children are watching our responses to stress consciously and unconsciously and inevitably absorbing them as their own. Stress is real and inevitable. We do want young people to rise to the challenge of the inevitable stressors of life, to differentiate clearly between those that are transitory and manageable and those that require greater assistance and expert support.

We want them to acknowledge that challenging situations can be approached with excitement rather than fear, knowing that they will pass, and often will lead to the intrinsic reward of accomplishment that follows hard work.

Choose to do things that are hard, not because they are easy – and there, in the midst of that paradox and tension lies opportunity to grow. Pressure can be privilege. Think of the Nikki Hudson metaphor: we can all do the hard things, if we practice doing so, enough. This includes the sometimes-difficult step of reaching out for support in times when stress isn’t transitory or manageable. We can do these hard things. We can.

Best wishes for the Christmas holidays. May there be the right amount of rain for our farmers and time for us all to enjoy the company of our children. God bless you and your safe travels.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

Never Grow Up (a nod to Taylor)

23 October 2024

I’m watching on, as this cohort of Year 12 parents face the ultimate challenge of letting go. There is no criticism here, I am walking a tumultuous season too – my own confronting detachment from Â鶹ÊÓƵand all that goes with that.

Paediatrician and author, Kenneth Ginsburg, in an article written more than a decade ago entitled ‘Letting Go: The Greatest Challenge of Parenting Teens’ says that ‘holding on tight feels good, but letting go expresses love’ (2011). Taylor Swift’s song ‘Never Grow Up’ speaks to the reality that, at this time of imminent change for Year 12s, we may find ourselves as parents, wishing to return to the halcyon moments of a raising a small child.

This wish is juxtaposed cruelly against the stark reality of releasing emerging adults into a future we can’t, shouldn’t or won’t be able to control.

It is the season of ‘one mores’ – wishing for one more moment that we can capture, preserve, and never detach from; after all, in many ways, it is the season of grieving. At Spring Fair, I was blessed with the opportunity to retrace some Â鶹ÊÓƵfootsteps with some of the class of 2014. For more than an hour we sat in G25, where I had taught some of these young women in Year 12 English, along with my colleague Mrs Cathy Mason.

They were bemused that I could recall where they sat each lesson, who they sat next to – this is a teacher’s privilege for a short time in the life of a student. For parents, this is a lifetime privilege … you are your child’s first, enduring and most influential teacher.

Thus, if the refrain ‘never grow up’ features in your personal narrative at this moment, it is no surprise. Your investment in your daughter’s future has been and is immeasurable.

What I heard and saw in that time with these impressive young women was the power of connection, the ability to reminisce but also the ability to step back quickly into the now. We need both skills. We can take photos of our childhood room as Taylor Swift suggests but only ‘in our mind’ because we can’t stay there, too frightened to leave.

As parents, we can’t hold on either, even if doing so, feels safe. Take heart, that a decade on, these young women are strong, independent but connected, and deliciously hopeful about their futures. I can’t tell you how precious it was to see and hear that – this is what we all want a Â鶹ÊÓƵeducation to be founded upon.

Because we do know that the world beyond the gates of Wirra Wirra Street may deliver a different picture than the one envisaged, and the script that has been so carefully penned may need some readjustments.

The choices that have been clear as a seventeen-year-old dressed in tartan may become less apparent in the throng of fellow school-leavers, all with their eyes focused on the future.

Faltering is a human response to significant change. Disappointment is probably unavoidable and freedom sometimes fraught, even briefly, with the feeling of being overwhelmed. It is also a time when we may miss out on the goal, dream, or prize we have strived for – and that is OK because new goals will emerge, sometimes yielding much greater rewards.

We learn as much from missing out at times, as we do from gaining. Quite publicly many, many years ago I said on an Assembly: ‘winning can be a terrible thing’. I meant to say ‘losing can be a terrible thing’ but I’m glad I made the error. I’ve come to appreciate that winning can be a terrible thing when we forget that its sweetness is gained through previous losses, through the near-wins we’ve endured, through determination and perseverance – all those wonderful life qualities.

How easy, at this bittersweet time filled with the paradox of readiness to go and fearfulness to let go, to forget to acknowledge and celebrate the convolutions of life that lead to the completion of Year 12. It is an achievement for families, for teachers and always, for the girls themselves.

A lot occurs between the cute kindergarten child who clings to mum or dad on their first day ‘alone’ and the confident school-leaver who departs Fairholme; ready and not so ready to embrace the world beyond. A lot. A lot of joys and a lot of disappointments. A lot of learning for us all. Parenting is actually a constant process of ‘letting go’, after all, our one job, is to ensure that our children are able to stand independent of us, particularly in the toughest of seasons.

May we continue to enjoy what has passed, the images of childhood, the complexities of adolescence but look forward to a hope-filled future – just as I saw in that group of fabulous young women from the cohort of 2014.

Never grow up? I think not, Taylor. There is too much ahead, to be always looking back, or to be held captive in the past.

Holding on tight feels good but letting go expresses love. (Ginsburg, 2011)

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

REFERENCE

Ginsburg, K. (2011). Psychology Today.

Win Some. Learn Some. Become.

31 August 2024

I enjoy watching Â鶹ÊÓƵsport, debating, dance, choir (and the list meanders on), from the sideline. There is joy in watching without responsibility. It does not, as Mr Tregaskis would attest, mean that I do not wince when I see what I believe to be, an incorrect umpire’s decision.

You have no idea how much I will miss standing on the sideline observing young people learning to be. After all, these performance arenas are just that – places of becoming. That is, when we, as adults don’t mess with ‘the becoming.’

In anticipation of losing my legitimate reason to watch Â鶹ÊÓƵplay anything, perform anything … I am concentrating on the privilege of the moment. I am soaking in the delights of fiercely contested debating finals, narrow wins and losses on the courts and fields of Toowoomba where the temperature is always colder or hotter than forecast and, the unparalleled joy of Junior School girls dancing on stage without inhibition, some perfectly attuned with the music’s beat and other’s not. I am absorbing the opportunity to witness learning at its essence.

Performance in sport or The Arts is a public event. If your artwork is hung in a gallery space it is ‘public’ – open to be appreciated or criticised. If one is singing, dancing, debating or playing an instrument on stage with an audience there is nowhere to hide if an error is made. And, on a court or field – one’s performance is open to scrutiny or praise – or everything in between. Becoming is core business at these times.

Anthony Simcoe, perhaps best known for his role as Steve in the epic Australian film, The Castle with lines like, “Dale dug a hole, Dad,” or “How much for jousting sticks?” was a gangly 15-year-old boy when I first met him at Burnside State High School in Nambour, where he was seeking to master the volleyball dig, serve and set. Who would have imagined his becoming?

Even years on, Anthony would say that he learned to become an actor through washing dishes at cafes – earning money between acting jobs – learning to observe the humanness in his customers.

He washed a lot of dishes and served a lot of tables in order to become a credible member of The Castle’s Kerrigan family. In tedious hours he learned about people and about hard, repetitive work.

Repetition is the underpinning pattern of rehearsal and practice. Some of us do it well, others not so. I hear it in action many mornings as I pass the Performing Arts building, I see it on mornings and afternoons in our gym and on our oval. Rehearsal. Practice. Becoming. It is more palpable; it would seem, than our classroom learning which inhabits a far more private space: often behind a closed door.

How special it was, a few weeks ago, to invite the parents of Year 12.1 English to join their daughter, Mrs Anderson and I for a Period Five Friday afternoon lesson of Macbeth. Seated in a huge circle in the confines of G24, students directed the lesson: spelling, quotations, thematic discussions and questions, for their parent and the other class members.

It was an impressive moment (from a teacher’s perspective anyway) – to see students demonstrate their knowledge in a semi-public forum.

It was timely for parents, no doubt, to remember the awkwardness of not knowing an answer, the joy of accuracy as well as the discomfort of feedback about an incorrect assumption – these are aspects of learning with which our students grapple, daily – as they become.

There was delight in sharing the messiness of learning, the non-linear path of knowledge and how these segue to ‘becoming.’

Although, that moment of self-actualisation we seek or reaching the mountain top does not come at the same time or in the same way for any of us. And we have to be patient from our sideline position.

We have to trust the process. We have to remember also, that losing and missing out are important components of future winning.

We have to remember in the words of Saint Ignatius Loyola, Spanish Priest, theologian and thinker, “we learn only when we are ready to learn.” St. Ignatius reminds us that education is not confined to classrooms; it can happen anywhere and at any time: if we allow it.

And thus, as adults, as we inhabit more than our fair share of sidelines real and metaphoric. During the rundown to the finish line, let us all be gracious in allowing our young people ‘to become’ ... a process that is uneven, at times uncomfortable, messy, deeply disappointing and ... often wildly exhilarating.

Let us enjoy each and every facet and be gracious in the spaces where alignment with expectation is not met in performance or outcome. It is here, in this place, which can feel unpleasant, unsatisfactory and uninvited that the greatest learning and hence the greatest opportunity to become, can occur. If we, as adults who should know better, don’t mess with ‘the becoming.’

“Another ball game lost! Good grief!” Charlie moans. “I get tired of losing. Everything I do, I lose!”

“Look at it this way, Charlie Brown,” Lucy replies. “We learn more from losing than we do from winning.”

“That makes me the smartest person in the world!” replies Charlie.

Win some. Learn some. Become.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

REFERENCE

Maxwell, J. (2013) (October 2013)

Showing Up…

01 August 2024

When my daughter was twenty-one, she began her teaching career at an Autism specialty school in Brixton, London. She would ring – often for advice, for debriefing, for re-setting – the school she was at was classified as being in Special Measures – it was being inspected most weeks by OFSTED and was close to closure.

The staff had to make big changes to practice to get the school functioning again. To do so was tough. Redirecting our habits and practices is tough. Sometimes she would ring and describe her day – a chair thrown across the room, desks thrown out of windows, students exploding with frustration. Vastly different from Fairholme. But my advice to her – as it is to all - was this:

Show up. Keep showing up.

When we show up, even when it’s hard we learn a lot about ourselves and others. The kids at her school in Brixton, London – needed teachers to show up, they needed people to notice them, they needed interest, care, attention. Basic needs for us all. They needed to know that they mattered.

Mattering is a fresh take on its noun cousin – matter and has a psychological science behind it too. Mattering is, according to Dr Flett, a York University professor and author of the text – “The Psychology of Mattering,” a core, universal human need. It runs more deeply than purpose, or connection or belonging – it runs to being “missed by people in your group if you aren’t there.”

In the bliss of Olympic watching, I have been struck over and over again, by the value of family in the success of athletes: their mattering. I watched Ariarne Titmus’ family breathe through every stroke in her 400-metre final, and delighted when Jess Fox, having blitzed the canoe slalom K1 final, paid tribute to her family.

On her helmet are the words – “Ma petite est comme l’eau, elle est comme l’eau vive,” translating to “My little girl is like the water, she’s like the white water.” These words belong to a song her Papi (grandfather) sang to her as a small child.In some ways, singing her into her future.

Those words have weight for her, they are mattering words. Jess’ father, also an Olympian said something to the effect of, “I’m proud of her achievement but most of all, I’m proud of who she is as a person.” These are ultimately the things that matter most: family, connection, purpose, belief. The things we say, do, our actions and our reactions as parents, matter.

Yet, we parent on the run, don’t we. In the midst of the pace and chaos of life we are setting the tone, the tenor and the trajectory of our children’s lives. Our responses – each and all become the frame and filter of their worldview.

We often hear that the first 1000 days of parenting are the most formative, foundational - get them wrong and we have missed the moment. Every 1000 days of our children’s lives, matter – even when they enter their thirties, as mine have.

Hopefully, we have the privilege of parenting our children long into their futures and that we continue to show up for them, because in that example, we are enabling them to do the same.

In effect, we are engaging in the process of mattering. Show me your friends, show me your family – and I will have a glimpse into

your future because I will have a sense of what matters to you.

Perhaps, a little like Jess Fox’s Papi who sang her into a love of white water, every step we take as parents, every word we speak, every action we undertake is about demonstrating mattering.

Even in those tough moments, those hard conversations and those testing times we need to show up. We need to keep showing

up. When we do, what a wonderful example we are etching in our children’s character.

Show up. Keep showing up.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

Be That Person...

05 July 2024

“Act well your part; there all the honour lies.” - Alexander Pope

I find myself at the inaugural Â鶹ÊÓƵOld Girls’ Association (FOGA) ‘Coming Holme’ dinner during the holidays. Jenny Wynter is the star attraction – a gifted comedian, actor, singer, author and presenter … and a Â鶹ÊÓƵOld Girl (1995). She is wooing us, charming us and delighting us – we laugh richly, and we reflect deeply, as we ponder her life and her Â鶹ÊÓƵstory.

Each Â鶹ÊÓƵstory is unique – the lived memories of school take different form for each person. But underpinning the gathering was a groundswell of spirit, lingering close to the surface, waiting to pounce. It would not have taken much, for the Jump’n’Jive to be performed or for the previous war cry: Copcha Copcha to be chanted with enthusiasm from the Jenny Sutton/Heather Harrison table.

One thing I remember as a Â鶹ÊÓƵgirl is enthusiasm. The get up and go, the jump’n’jive and throwing ourselves into everything we did … that enthusiasm for life and giving all of it a go is something I have held close since leaving Palm Drive. It’s been a lasting gift from my days at Fairholme. (Jenny Wynter, ‘Coming Holme’ 2024)

It was interesting to be – in research terms – an ‘insider/outsider’ at that event. You can be the College principal for a decade and a half – but you can never really be a Â鶹ÊÓƵOld Girl. A shared adolescent journey is special on its own terms – you have to be there, to know it and you have to live it, to share it. That shared common time of troughs and peaks cements friendships and consolidates a sense of who we are. Old girl, and long-time Brisbane FOGA President, Daphne Stewart (1952) used to say that she loved returning to Fairholme. Here, she was, in her words, “Entirely Daphne.” She wasn’t a mother, wife or grandmother and she luxuriated in stepping back to a time of simply being Daphne. You could see and feel those moments at the FOGA dinner.

When Jenny recounted a dramatic presentation that took place in the College pool – resplendent with a full-sized boat, appalling acoustics and a Spring Fair audience – she said, “It could only happen at Fairholme.” Most probably so. She said that her acting career was born at Â鶹ÊÓƵ– where her Holme Group teacher, and Geography teaching legend, Mrs Patricia (Pat) Sulewski allowed her to perform skits for the group – there were boundaries for what could or couldn’t be shared, and when Jenny crossed the content line, Mrs Sulewski would bring her back, gently. Here, in this safe place of learning, she was cultivating and growing Jenny’s confidence and courage. It’s been almost three decades since Jenny left Fairholme, yet her Sunday mission before returning home to Brisbane was to catch up with Mrs Sulewski. I’m not sure if she managed – but the drive was there, as was the deep need to say thank you to the teacher who had nurtured her self-belief, perhaps unwittingly but with the intuitive understanding some people hold. Be that person.

There is nothing easy about a career in the Arts – underfunded, seasonal, fickle – there are no guarantees. There is nothing easy about being Head Girl and Dux of your year and pursuing the road less travelled, the road least expected and the road without a linear means of reaching one’s destination. Because we are all consciously and unconsciously writing scripts and manufacturing endings for our children and our students. We are imagining their futures, sometimes without consultation; sometimes without listening for the whisperings and nuances of their passions. It takes courage to depart from the script, improvisation is its own skill. Jenny has this abundantly: metaphorically and literally. It is a talent founded on wit and intelligence and daring. As an audience we were enriched through this, every minute of her performance: the gift of theatre, “theatre [that] was created to tell people the truth about life and the social situation” (Stella Adler).

When your father tells you to become an engineer and your mother is batting for you to pursue something medical – and you like neither, where do you turn? When the script has been written with such precision, love and good intent, can you resist the words and the stage directions that have almost become who you are, or at least who you will become? I don’t know the answer, although I do know, if I am honest, that I have penned a fair few scripts for my own children, written in indelible ink. They haven’t been closely observed, or at times, even recognised as in existence and I have been forced to confront new and unfamiliar texts, ones that I haven’t authored: not easy. I have had to come back to truisms like – “You cannot live someone else’s life for them” or “You cannot build a bridge with borrowed bricks.” 

Reunions are interesting phenomenon. At times we embrace them, at other times we avoid them – not wanting to remember who we were, wanting to place distance and time between our adolescent and adult selves. But there are few things as uplifting as seeing past students sitting at tables together lost in the deeps of reminiscing, revelling in one another’s company and the power of remembrance. Jenny observed the next day, “This has been so special, it’s warmed my heart. I will hold on to this.”

And I will hold on to her reference to Mrs Sulewski too – so much more than a Geography teacher. She was a person who grew self-belief. Sometimes, such a person is all we need to launch our lives – one person who believes in us unconditionally, one person who refuses to write a rigid script, a person who knows, intuitively, that you cannot live someone else’s life for them. Wherever you can, whenever you can and in whatever way you can: be that person.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

What’s Next? Because The Next Matters…

14 June 2024

When Melinda Tankard-Reist spoke to parents from Fairholme, Glennie and Toowoomba Grammar, at Â鶹ÊÓƵa few weeks ago, she posed the question, “Are you finding parenting easy?” There was laughter, in the immediate. It would seem that, being a parent in an age of on-line activity is more challenging than ever before. We live in an arena of vigilance in all aspects of life – except, it would seem, in the on-line world where children have greater knowledge than parents. Thus, when your child follows a path on-line that you would never have permitted, when the consequences seem catastrophic, then ask – what next, rather than why. The ‘whys’ take us down a rabbit hole of ‘we should haves’ but the considerations around the ‘what nexts,’ can drive us to do things differently. As adults we have the greater capacity to change, than do young people. Our example always matters.

Melinda and her colleague, Daniel Principe work in the field of raising on-line awareness. They speak to, are immersed in, and deeply knowledgeable about the way in which social media connects lives, disconnects lives and its capacity for harm as well as for good – particularly amongst adolescents. And whilst many in who attended the session, were educators, wide readers and researchers in this area, we were reminded that gifting your child with a mobile phone, or smart watch, or other personal electronic computer device, at any age, carries deep responsibilities that cannot be outsourced in their entirety to schools. We are collectively in the business of raising tech-healthy humans, and the enormity of that task is both daunting and necessary, given that “a growing body of research has found that adolescents who spend more than three hours per day on social media face double the risk of experiencing poor mental health outcomes, including symptoms of depression and anxiety” (Henebery, 2024).

For those parents concerned with maximising their child’s academic outcomes, there is no surprise in a recent Sydney Morning Herald article that states, “teenagers who spend more that an hour each day on social media and browsing the internet are likely to achieve lower test scores than those who have limits on their usage” (Carroll and Grace, 2024). All hail the pen and exercise book, the hour’s music lesson or the game of Netball – all tech-free activities that promote learning: learning to be and learning to think. It would seem that activities away from technology have greater value than ever before, certainly in reducing an addiction that we have fuelled. As authorities in Australia grapple with how to restrict social media for children under the age of 16 that familiar feeling of ‘playing catch up’ looms.

The pervasiveness and lure of social media knows no limits it would seem. Hooked with sharp teeth into an adolescent’s ever-elusive self-esteem it preys indiscriminately on the vulnerable and the seemingly confident: the Kardashian effect. Whilst we do not have the capability to stop world-wide social media (it is a bigger force than us), we all have the capability to heighten our awareness of its pervasiveness and to be active in understanding our own children’s interactions with it: to talk about it, to find distractions away from it, as well as examples of the ways in which it can be used for good: and it can. It is not enough, or is it helpful to say, ‘my child would never do that.’ Because they might. Because social media is a force of incomprehensible power. Good kids make dumb choices – historical fact - perhaps it is important that we dig into our own histories, as a salient reminder of the adolescence we experienced: lest we forget. Far better to say, “What will we do next in this space, to make this less likely to occur?” Because ‘the next’ always matters, when our children stray from our expectations, as well as their own expectations. What’s next is more important always, than immobilising ourselves fearfully within the infinitum of ‘whys’.

“We can’t say,” Amanda Lenhart, Head of Research at Common Sense Media reminds us, “Don’t do X, Y is fine, stay away from Z, [because], unlike TV or movies, it’s impossible to know what children will see on social media ahead of time. Sometimes it’s hair dye or dance videos, but sometimes it’s white supremacy or eating disorder content” (Miller, 2023). Yet, we can be active in our conversations, our own modelling of on-line behaviour (ever important) and the way in which we spend time with our children – whether we drive them to mobile phone dependence or whether we lure them away. Whichever, to close our eyes and give unlimited, unfiltered access is negligent or naïve or both. Privacy does not exist on-line, it relies on the veracity of relationships with friends which are often fickle, fleeting or transitory.

Kudos to the parents who attended the Melinda Tankard-Reist/Daniel Principe session or who have accessed the on-line recording. You have already stepped from the ‘why’ zone into the ‘what next’ zone and, in doing so, are taking steps to empower your children to reduce their social media activity, or to heighten their respectful interactions on social media, or most importantly, to demonstrate, that as parents they matter to you. Never underestimate your validation of them, nor your willingness to parent, rather than ‘to friend’, to address the tricky conversation, to say no, to listen deeply.

What’s next? What’s your next conversation, action, reflection? Because the next matters … always.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

REFERENCES

Carroll, L. and Grace, R. (2024). ‘ The Sydney Morning Herald. June 2, 2024 – 5.00am.

Henebery, B. The Educator Online. 24 May 2024.

Miller, C. (2023). The New York Times. June 17, 2023.

At what age can we set our children down to walk alone?

17 May 2024

Every time we rescue, hover, or otherwise save our children from a challenge, we send a very clear message: that we believe they are incompetent, incapable, and unworthy of our trust. Further, we teach them to be dependent on us and thereby deny them the very education in competence we are put here on this earth to hand down. (Lahey, 2015)

Imagine this: your daughter (albeit 26 years old and old enough to know better) lets you know that she will be spending her birthday money riding the Death Road in Bolivia.

You immediately regret your generous well-meaning deposit of birthday dollars into her bank account and would like to put an immediate block on all bank transitions. You find yourself looking up fares to Bolivia and wondering if a quick flight across the Pacific might put a halt on your daughter’s impulsivity.

Distressed, you start googling Bolivia + Death Road + bike rides and come across information such as: ‘It [Death Road] begins at 15,400 feet and for an estimated 300 people a year ends in the loss of their life.’ Or … ‘Dubbed ‘El Camino de la Muerte’ (The Death Road) by locals, for obvious reasons, and considered by many the most dangerous stretch of road in the world, the 40-mile journey from its summit entices in excess of 25,000 mountain bike riders annually.’

You chastise yourself (yet again) for poor parenting and raising a daughter who is confident enough to travel solo in South America. You wonder, what you have done wrong. You long for a quiet, complacent, compliant daughter – like the one everyone else seems to have. So, you send a text:

‘Feeling a bit ill about your bike ride.’

She sends one back.

‘It will be fine. I promise. It is something that just about every backpacker does in La Paz.’

There is no comfort in that, and you cringe inwardly at the phrase, you have heard all too often, ‘just about everyone does it’ and you ponder about the enduring influence of peer pressure. But you take a deep breath and remind yourself that she is an adult, it is her decision, not yours and you pray – a lot.

You also have a sleepless night – although your husband doesn’t – he simply mumbles as he drifts off to a deep, uninterrupted slumber: ‘She’s really good on a bike.’ That’s no comfort, because you can see those headlines and statistics that you have over-googled, and images of sheer cliffs and narrow descents roll with clarity and frequency through your overwrought brain.

You receive the long anticipated and overdue message to say she has survived but instead it says: ‘I’m so annoyed! It’s cancelled because of civil unrest. It cost $200 and we can’t get a refund but I also don’t think it is worth waiting around for whenever the roads open so I will head towards Peru tomorrow. Such is life.’

You can barely hold back your excitement and it takes great presence of mind and some graciousness to say: ‘Thank God. Sorry for you Nat but relieved for me.’ The relief is enormous but, in a perfect piece of parent positioning there is a twist in the storyline.

The next evening, a Facebook message (notice different technology mediums used for each parent) to her father appears:

Hey dad

How are you?

I did death road today! We were able to change our tour

It was one of the greatest things I’ve ever done in my life

No injuries or death

Perhaps the intention was always to ride the road – but she knew what was best to tell her mother and what to tell her father.

Partial truth and positioning skills were cleverly in play. It’s an interesting paradox isn’t it – how hard should we or can we hold on to our children, at what age can we and do we set them down to walk alone? Who is better at it [the letting go] in your family? After all, the mother may well have robbed her daughter of ‘one of the greatest things in her life’, by overzealous holding on …

I admire my daughter’s fierce independence, though it scares me at times. I admire her fearlessness and her courage, though I pray for common sense and yes, safety. She is an adult, and I must let her be. And when at times I default to wanting to advise too much, hold on too tightly or offer too many words of ‘wisdom’ I know the problem lies with me. Any struggle to let go is mine, not hers. I am grateful that she is a strong, capable individual, woman, and human being.

It’s the same wish that I have for our Â鶹ÊÓƵgirls – that they too might become independent, courageous young women of the world: a world that is wider, more interconnected, and more accessible than ever before. So, forgive us on the occasions when we as teachers stand back a little, or when we resist the instinct to rescue, or when we fight the urge to hover or metaphorically pick your child up … remembering that we too want your daughter to know that she is capable, competent, and worthy of our trust. We too would like your daughters to have the freedom to travel solo - both literally and metaphorically, and hence enjoy the sometimes taken for granted opportunities their brothers often access without such limitations.

My son took his scantily-filled backpack and headed solo to India as a 19-year-old … for nine months. I admit, however, to hovering at the top of the stairs outside his bedroom, the morning of his departure. There was an overwhelming sense of loss, in that moment. Perhaps I knew that this really was the drawing of the line in the sand – where adulthood, independence, and definition of self as separate from his parents had occurred.

I could not hold on, and he was ready – ready to explore, problem-solve and find aspects of himself that simply were not discoverable in the safety of the family home. These are confronting aspects of parenting – the letting go, resisting the temptation to swoop in and rescue our child from any danger or to pick them ‘up’ when they need to have their feet on the ground. Admittedly, my husband and I have somewhat inadvertently raised children with a finely tuned travel instinct and an unerring attraction to the road less travelled. It still stops my heart at times. But it gladdens me, as well.

Occasionally, I wonder if we didn’t hold on tightly enough, but I am also deeply aware of the impact of doing so. What if we had prevented them, throughout their adolescence, from anything difficult? What if we had fed their fears, with our own? What if we had enabled them to avoid anything that caused discomfort. US psychologist Lisa Damour’s reminds us that ‘avoidance feeds anxiety’ (2023).

She adds:

‘When we avoid the things we fear, the immediate effect is that we feel tremendous relief, which can actually reinforce the wish to continue the avoidance. By not going to school or not going to the party, our fears become crystallized in amber because they are not tested against reality.’

Having just returned from Sakura season in Japan, along with students, staff, and parents, I’m reminded, yet again, why travel entices me. I admit that I choose very deliberately to forget the discomfort of economy class with its seats that I try to rationalise as being ‘armchairs of the sky’ and ‘the passage to new lands’ (but realistically always far too close together); the obligatory nasal assault of an eggy breakfast before dawn; and the long wending queues filled with fatigued travellers that miraculously appear upon arrival in a new city – as if it is a surprise to airport staff that three flights, including two A380s arrived as scheduled and were filled with passengers.

Yes, travel is not glamorous for the economy traveller, and, at times, it’s simply hard work. No-one ever says – was it hard? The assumption is that travel is like a glorious event where all runs smoothly, to time, and without any moments of angst. Fortunately, not. Travel is a problem-solving activity; it is often an act of compromise – particularly when travelling with others, and invariably a time of heart-wrenching highs and unexpected lows. Therein lies its richness, a time and place to grow through the juxtaposition of challenge and delight. It is so much like parenting itself. It’s a pity that it often takes significant time or significant kilometres to gain a sense of distance travelled.

We see our journey best, after it is over … when there is time to reflect and time to see ourselves in our own homes, and find that we actually see the world, differently. In the act of exploring the world, we discover something far more precious: ourselves. Yet, if we don’t step out, literally or metaphorically into the unknown, the uncomfortable or the unexplored, then we miss the opportunity for growth: real growth. Similarly, if we pick our children up when it is time to set them down, even with the best of intentions, we deny them the lessons of life competence.

Although … one may well ask, whether riding Death Road, in Bolivia is simply a bridge – [far] too far.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

REFERENCES

Caron, C. (2023).

The New York Times. August 28. 2023 .

Lahey, J. (2015). ‘The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed.’ Harper Collins.

Going to the well…

28 March 2024

The finish line has been crossed, finally. It is the time for replenishment – time to go to ‘the well’ whatever that means for us, and to drink deeply. Given the approach of Easter, for many, it is our time to redirect our attention to our relationship with God, and the gift of new life.

We have worked our way through a term that will forever be punctuated by the sudden passing of Sess. In reflection, I am drawn unerringly to the overwhelming response of all connected to Â鶹ÊÓƵupon the news of his passing, to his Memorial Service and the courage of our students who formed the guard of honour, and especially to the gentle kindness students and staff afforded one another.

I am struck by the word ‘community’ because it was palpable in the midst of our collective grief.

We haven’t forgotten Sess. We can’t forget. We won’t forget. I could say that our community has demonstrated impressive resilience – we have.

In a recent article on that topic, Helen Street (2024) writes, “[research tells us] that we become resilient when we are under threat, as a way of addressing and surviving tough times. This research also tells us that we don’t build resiliency in advance of threat when all is well in our world.”

Street actually writes of the ill effect of having to demonstrate resilience too often and proposes that we need to place our focus on living well, building our wellbeing rather than trying to do the impossible: the stockpiling of resilience.

What we saw in our community was a broad, diverse, and far-reaching group of people who are connected and deeply so because of the actions Sess undertook on a daily basis, for decades. One of his many gifts given is the legacy of connection.

What next? Holidays allow for pause, regrouping, and the recalibration of self – all skills at the base of living well. They are legitimate and important actions that need our focus, always. Perhaps, in the wake of a tumultuous term for many, these moments matter more that usual.

Going to ‘the well’, will mean different things for all of us. I am conscious nonetheless that stopping, gives time for thinking and reflection about things we might not want to ponder, or have avoided pondering.

As such, Cath Butler our Head of Faith and Wellbeing has put together resources for your consideration.

I am so proud to be part of a community that cares, a community that has been able to honour a man who gave more, then more and then some more – every single day.

We have required resilience to respond to such a profound loss, it is a loss that continues to loom as a large footprint in our collective consciousness, appearing, receding, reappearing.

It would be naïve to imagine that many of us do not need replenishment. How timely to be able to do so at Easter, a time for reflection and contemplation.

Thank you to those who have carried weight this term, at different times, for different reasons. Â鶹ÊÓƵhas been an exceptional community of which to be a part.

There is a lot to be grateful for, there is a lot to look forward to – in looking forward, let us seek out the well that nourishes us, and drink deeply.

Please Just Say You’re Proud Of Me

27 February 2024

I could say, justifiably so, that I was so proud of Â鶹ÊÓƵlast Tuesday, as we shared Sess’ Memorial service together, in community. Far better to say: I am proud to be part of the Â鶹ÊÓƵcommunity. Even better to say: I am so grateful to be part of the Â鶹ÊÓƵcommunity.

I was struck by both a depth of grief and a depth of gratitude that sat dichotomously together, strangely in alignment. It is possible to feel both emotions at once, I discovered. That I was sad, that we were collectively sad, comes as no surprise to anyone who crossed paths with this man who grew self-belief in so many, inspired hope in so many and cared for so many. That is a given. What surprised me more, was the groundswell of gratitude I felt for those who shared that moment, and particularly the courage of our students who took to the stage or formed the guard of honour or performed one last Jump’n’Jive for the teacher/mentor/coach they revered. In sharing grief, there is bravery. How could one not feel grateful to be a part of such a community?

Yet, just on Friday, I attended a conference focused on Parent Engagement, one of the presenters referred to a text ‘Please Just Say You’re Proud of Me: Perspectives of Young People on Parent Engagement and Doing Well at School’ produced by the Australian Research Alliance for Children and Youth in 2019. It was the phrase ‘please just say you’re proud of me’ that I couldn’t shake throughout the day. It is that almost plaintive voice that sits within us all, as we seek our parents’ approval, at almost any stage or age of life: the need to please our parents. Whilst this can be a motivator, a signifier of our love for mum and dad, it can also cause “high degrees of stress and anxiety” (Roy, Barker, and Stafford, 2019). It is unsurprising that students find parental vested interest in them, their schooling, their successes - a source of additional pressure. How easy it is, to interchange the words proud and grateful without being awareness of the difference in meaning. And there is.

Seeking affirmation can have its downside, particularly as children enter adolescence (deemed to be around the age of 9 to 13) and start to “detach from childhood,” (Pickhardt, 2015) seeking out independence, and a sense of self not entwined with their parents. It is at this time that hearing those words, “We are proud of you,” or “I am proud of you,” can be the metaphoric double-edged sword compliment. There is a sweetness in pleasing our parents, but this can easily wend its way to the anxiety-inducing thoughts – “I have to please my parents at all costs.” “I can’t bear to let my parents down.” At worst, it can also be a time where parents absorb “personal credit” (Pickhardt, 2015) for their child’s achievements, where a parent’s own self esteem rests precariously upon the successes or perceived failures of their child. Of course, as parents, we cannot disentangle ourselves from our children, that is simply an impossibility. However, we can, as suggested by Pickhardt, think carefully before we use the words ‘pride’ or ‘proud’. We might be better placed to consider words to the effect: “Good for you.” “We are happy for you.” “You look really pleased with your effort.” Or, if we can’t detach from the ‘p’ word, it might be better to venture to “I’m so proud to be your Mum/Dad.” The subtle turn in language shifts the feeling. It stops us from owning their achievement, or them. 

Being grateful rather than proud allows us to congratulate adolescents without entering the dangerous space of congratulating ourselves or living vicariously through them. Allowing our children to exist with agency and independence allows for their personal growth, with all its peaks and troughs, difficult as that can be. The key to emotional security, is for our children to know that “we have their back” that we are “in their corner” and that they are safe with us and that their achievements belong to them, not to us. Love is not contingent upon them achieving “success” – an arbitrary term often drawn from conventional definitions. Let us err always on the side of gratitude that we have for our children and rephrase our need to be proud when the thought enters into our consciousness. Parenting is, after all, the hardest job in the world, one in which we develop skills as we go – for each of our unique and precious children of whom we are not proud, rather, of whom we are so grateful, even in the toughest of circumstances.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

REFERENCES

Royy, Barker & Stafford (2019). ‘Perspectives of Young People on Parent Engagement and Doing Well at School.’ Canberra: Australian Research Alliance for Children and Youth (ARACY).

Marchese, D. (2021). The New York Times Magazine. Nov. 14, 2021.

Pickhardt, C. (2015). Psychology Today.

[We] Can hardly imagine the place without him

6 February 2024

When the news emerged that Â鶹ÊÓƵteacher and renowned sports coach John Sessarago (Sess) had passed away suddenly on 28 January, the shock and ensuing grief were palpable and wide-reaching. The ripple effect of a man who served his community humbly, selflessly, and expansively is hard to fathom or measure.

Social media posts have captured the voices of thousands of students, friends, colleagues, and families whose lives have been touched in the most profound and enduring ways by this man. Universally, they are grateful to this teacher who taught them first and foremost about self-belief and valued them for who they were, wherever they were at.

Born in Roma to Brian and Elizabeth and brother to Gaby and Chrissy, he was also the proudest father of Jaimee and Georgie, and even prouder husband to Kristen. Whilst his early years were spent betwixt Surat and Roma, he spent most of his growing up in Toowoomba and completed his secondary schooling at St. Mary’s College and then at Downlands College where he dabbled in Cadets, Debating, Athletics and Rugby. One of his cohort described him simply as, “One of the good ones, always noted for his booming voice.”

Later, as he studied at UniSQ (formerly Darling Downs Institute of Education), he became a Downlands College Boarding master. But he remained a country boy at heart, and he frequented his friend Jim’s property in Texas – where branding or fencing work was a pleasure. He was also a keen fisherman and spent many holidays with Paul and others, in Cairns.

Whilst Sess is known broadly across the Darling Downs and beyond as a formidable Rugby player, an exceptional coach, mentor, and teacher of Physical Education, he actually commenced his teaching career at Â鶹ÊÓƵCollege in 1988 as a Junior School teacher. But during the thirty-six years ahead, he reinvented himself as a practitioner, giving exceptional service to the school that he loved, the students who revered him and staff who adored him.

He was, sometimes simultaneously, Primary School teacher, Debating Coach, College Photographer, Videographer, Secondary Physical Education Teacher, Marketing and Promotions team member, Australian World Youth Athletics Coach, Rugby Coach, Touch Coach, Athletics ‘tragic’ … he was a man who loved a good cap, and he wore many: metaphorically and literally.

Sess was the man behind the camera at every event and every opportunity – keen always to be an observer, in the background, unobtrusive. It would be impossible to quantify how many shots he took over his 36 years at Â鶹ÊÓƵ– incorporated in his tally, are the countless weddings, formals, and family events he chronicled for staff, past students, and families. He found it impossible to say no and any photo he took seemed to end up in A3 or A4 size and framed – generously gifted and shared. Appropriately, and for posterity, in homes and homesteads across Australia, are myriad Sessarago shots.

Camera work suited this deeply private and humble man. Ironically, his voice was a booming one, and for thousands of Â鶹ÊÓƵgirls the instruction, “Just one more shot,” followed always by, “Oh, I’ll just take another” will be his trademark, along with some perilous ladder-climbing in order to secure the perfect picture angle.

‘Above and beyond’ were his hallmarks. They led him to being a perpetual presence at school, or school events, deeply interested in what was unfolding, keen to chronicle moments on camera and always holding students to high account in terms of contribution, attitude, and effort. He led with high expectations, tempered by a strong sense of fun and the most exceptional generosity. Generosity might have been evident in the cheesecakes, mud cakes and ice creams that seemed to find their way into classrooms, team gatherings and Pastoral Care group meetings via Sess, but it extended to the way he viewed people and the world: this is his legacy. He had no favourites, but everyone felt they were his favourite, such was his gift for including all and listening, really listening.

Whilst Â鶹ÊÓƵlikes to claim Sess as their own, it was his wife Kristen and daughters Jaimee and Georgie who stole his heart – he referred always to them in the collective, as “my beautiful girls”. The John Sessarago effect is broad and wide and deep and so many are grateful to him and for him and will continue to be, long into the future.

“[We] can hardly imagine the place without him.”

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

Let Them… Play

17 January 2024

“We are never more fully alive, more completely ourselves, or more deeply engrossed in anything than when we are playing.” - Charles Schaefer

I remember a conversation with a new and young boarder, many years ago. She was walking, it would seem, reluctantly back to the Boarding House one afternoon during her first week of term, I enquired about her day. She shrugged her shoulders, a little diffidently, dropped her head and mumbled, “It was OK – I guess.” I caught a wistful edge to her tone and presumed that the lure of home was calling her. Tell me what was good, I asked – trying to wend things towards a more positive frame. “I liked PE,” she offered, “and everything else was OK, but I’m wondering when I get to play.”

It was the phrase “I’m wondering when I get to play,” that caught me hard. In fact, it’s never left me. If I close my eyes, I can still see that student and where we both stood in conversation. I couldn’t answer her well, she wasn’t looking for an organised activity … she was looking for the opposite, she was seeking out the joy of the unstructured - play.

For those familiar with the tiered area between the Assembly Hall and the Performing Arts Building – you may be surprised. In that underutilised, awkward space is a transformed area – for sitting, relaxing and for … playing. Whilst we mindfully meet the play needs of younger students, we are sometimes less likely to consider the notion that play is important for us all, irrespective of age.

If you’ve travelled around the suburbs of Brisbane recently, you may have noted the rise of the playground for ‘older kids’ … a nod to the importance of play. Bradbury Park in Kedron first took my eye, but research has led me to lots of interesting spaces, including Calamvale District Park and Buxton Park in Yarrabilla.

Whilst the new addition to our College landscape, is less large scale, it is significant, nonetheless. Its significance lies in our recognition that our young people require spaces that facilitate pause, play and connection. I think, it links aptly with the legislated ‘phones and wearable technology-free’ mandate for Queensland schools which is about a positive persuasion to encourage young people to use time, differently.

Interestingly, Article 31 of the United Nations Convention of the Rights of the Child says that play is a fundamental right, optimal to child development. What’s more, such spaces allow for self-restoration. Psychologist, Lisa Damour (2020) shares that “when it comes to self-restoration, we all have options — with connection, distraction and reflection being chief among them.”

Play can distract, it can connect, and it can give metaphoric and actual space to reflect. We are hoping that this reimagined space will allow for that. Marantz Henig in 2018 reminded us that play is much more than “a way for restless kids to work off steam or to burn off calories”, it is also more than “a frivolous luxury.” It is central to neurological growth and the extensive work conducted by the Berry Street Schools leads to play as one learning tool in classrooms, also – one that provides a platform for building trust.

So, here’s to more play in 2024. Here’s to the joy of the unstructured and an opportunity for self-restoration in this reconfigured space. After a generally joyful Brisbane childhood of sliding headfirst down blisteringly hot metal slippery slides, clambering across monkey bars or making myself giddy on the playground merry-go-round, I’m keen to see this space embraced with enthusiasm.

Finally, girls like that young boarder, so many years ago – have another place to play – a space that’s a little bit free from the encumbrances of adults.

Let them … play (without technology).

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

REFERENCES

Damour, L. (2020). The New

York Times.

Marantz Henig, R. (2008). The New York Times.