Contact | My Fairholme | 🔎︎
Adolescents have a discerning response to the sound of their mother’s voice, and they seek it out, particularly in stressful times...
As a strong-willed and sometimes feisty teenager my daughter would say from time-to-time, “You don’t have to yell at me.” Bewildered, I would check with my husband who would shrug his shoulders in mute despair, saying, "Your voice wasn’t even remotely loud.”
Please Just Say You’re Proud Of Me I could say, justifiably so, that I was so proud of Fairholme last Tuesday, as we shared Sess’ Memorial service together, in community. Far better to say: I am proud to be part of the Fairholme community. Even better to say: I am so grateful to be part of the Fairholme community. 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). ‘Dr. Becky Doesn’t Think the Goal of Parenting Is to Make Your Kid Happy.’ The New York Times Magazine. Nov. 14, 2021. Pickhardt, C. (2015). ‘Adolescence and Making Parents Proud.’ Psychology Today.
When the news emerged that Fairholme teacher 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 Fairholme College 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 Fairholme – 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 Fairholme girls 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 Fairholme likes 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
“We are never more fully alive, more completely ourselves, or more deeply engrossed in anything than when we are playing.” - Charles Schaefer
“Nowhere is as beautiful as when it’s left. The beauty is part of the leaving.” (Joanna Walsh) The blossoming of jacarandas with their tangled purple carpets is always an omen. It signifies exams and it heralds departures. Bittersweet, it announces a time to let go, of farewells, and the ultimate dance of the in between … the capricious precipice and tightrope walk between the safety net of school and the unfurling lure of a world bigger than the imagination. It is frightening and fabulous, all at once. It is in this swinging grief cycle that parents and school-leavers vacillate, invariably out of synch with one another, both relishing the finish line and fearing it. No-one ever warned us as parents that joy and grieving could be so entwined and so sharp in their contrast. This is the moment you have worked towards, anticipated and … now it’s here. Some are bravely celebrating its arrival. Perhaps others, a little like I did more than a decade ago, find yourself unprepared for the reality. Independence – the end game for us all in the business of raising adolescents, is messy, hard-fought, and not without its complications. The post-school world presents freedoms that eliminate parental control with an abruptness that can take our breath away. It is no surprise that we thirst to feel wanted, just for a little longer. We would like to regain the equilibrium of the pre-adolescent state, even just for a moment: wouldn’t we? It’s been a long journey from big backpacks, Velcro shoes and hats able to block out every ray of sunshine, to P Plates, trips away with friends and the lure of post-school life. ‘A blink of an eye’, is the cliché that comes to mind, as we look at photographs that represent each of these phases. Finishing school is both poignant with promise and, at times, wrought with sadness. It is, after all, one of the ultimate departures. Lunch boxes, end of term drop offs and pick-ups, the scramble to construct a fancy-dress costume at a minute’s notice, late night assignments, lost bags, found bags, computer trouble and the quest for independence all collide messily. Somewhere, somehow, in the midst of the mire that is childhood and adolescence, there is growth in abundance. Yet, it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes it just feels like loss. Always, at this point in a year, as our Seniors take their leave, reflections stick deeply with all who have crossed their paths. We forgive and forget the challenging moments, landing instead, on the all-encompassing journey, making the words of Shakespeare: “nothing became [her] in this [Fairholme] life, like the leaving of it” high jump to life. Suddenly, the small moments loom large. For boarding supervisors, memories of dorm rooms filled with the detritus of school life become cute rather than frustrating. Teachers think fondly on the exuberance of some or the reticence of others. United, all see growth – big as an oak tree and collectively nod in alignment – “see how far they have come, see how far they have to go,” they muse. This is the pause. The moment in between. The suspenseful middle. Our seniors are stepping across the threshold of safety, certainty, and routine … some at a sprint, some more hesitantly, but they are all taking their leave into the tantalizing world beyond. One last exam. One last stroll through G Block corridor. One last Assembly. One last wearing of the tartan. That’s how it goes, each and every year. Parents ask, “is it sad for you too?” And it is. Every time. Like you, we are torn between letting go and holding on for one more last. Thank you for sharing your daughters with us. Thank you for your patience with us, in the tough times, the learning times, the growth times: we will miss you too. But we know that life moves on with unerring speed, and that for now, these young women will move forward with just a few glances backwards from whence they have come. It will be later, perhaps years later, that a life moment will nudge them back into this space, to connect with their Fairholme sisterhood because, in the words of, Susie Anderson, in her prophetic poem, departure, “they will always have somewhere to return,” and thus it is important that they “don’t forget to take place with [them]” as they go. “Nowhere is as beautiful as when it’s left. The beauty is part of the leaving.” (Joanna Walsh) Dr Linda Evans | Principal
How do you make sense of the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the incomprehensible? An hour glimpse into the life of Rosie Batty, Australian of the Year, 2015, courtesy of the Fairholme Mothers’ Long Lunch, captured the heart of a woman who has spent a decade seeking to change how the world views family and domestic violence. It’s an unpalatable topic, not one you’d imagine for your regular feel-good mothers’ long lunch speaker. Yet, I am so glad that I heard her speak, gained a glimpse into the pain of her story but, more importantly, a larger window into her resolve to make a difference. Be brave enough to begin again – Rosie Batty has been. Her story is one that we need to listen to, take heed of, and not avoid. For those who may have forgotten, ten years ago, Rosie Batty’s eleven-year-old son Luke was at Cricket practice – here, in a totally unanticipated moment, he was murdered by his own father. The world stopped in its tracks – Australia reeled. Luke’s death prompted us to recognise that family violence can happen to anyone and everyone. Wealth. Education. Background. These things do not protect us. In the aftermath of the unimaginable, Rosie Batty did the unthinkable – she spoke to the media. She found her voice, less than twelve hours after losing her only child, and spoke. Somewhere within her, she knew that speaking out was the only thing she could do to honour the life of Luke. And so, she did, and she continues to do so. So profound has been the impact of her work, that researchers refer to ‘the Rosie Batty effect’ in reporting on the change in the way we view family and domestic violence. Consider that one woman a week is murdered by her current or former partner in Australia, one in three women face family violence in their lifetime and one in four children, and that children are often the unseen victims. Their experiences play out as trauma does, throughout their life. Conversation, education, and expectation of respect are fundamental, she believes, to affecting change. In her view, jail sentences are not the cure – by that point in time, the damage has been done. It is what happens before, not after that requires our focus. Part of our Senior Thrive program tackles this topic. It’s been a project of Catrina Sharp for a number of years, to bring practitioners in this field together to speak with our students. Local lawyer, Adair Donaldson who works in this area, is a regular presenter. Further, Catrina facilitates the gathering of a panel with local specialists - our girls form questions, run the session, and collectively ponder the unthinkable. For this age group, it is about discussing coercive control, and power-based actions that can manifest in some girls’ emerging, first and subsequent relationships. Learning how to recognise behaviours of control and manipulation are conversations that need to occur. Gaslighting – the practice of leading someone to doubt themselves, is a common place term – because it happens, sometimes occurring hand in hand with flattery and gifts. That’s why we need to talk about it. Our Darling Downs’ Principals’ Association makes this topic an annual one – where we hear from those in the field as well as from those in our schools who are proactively tackling the problem. Of course – a lesson or two, or a presentation on domestic and family violence does not shift the fundamental problem of coercive control, entitlement, or the uneven imposition of power: but it’s a starting point. We also need to value bravery, independence of action and a sisterhood of support. Expecting respect needs to be a given, at all times, in all places. There are gender differences. There should not be a power difference attached. We want our girls, your daughters, to be able to stand up for themselves and others, when the moment requires it – at any time, in any circumstance they need to make another accountable. It is why the mantra – “I choose to do this because it is hard, not because it is easy” has become ‘Fairholmised’ over the past twenty years. I am grateful to all those, in my life, who have taught me to expect respect and who have modelled that for me . And we too, need to be a voice for the one in three women and one in four children who require our support. I am grateful for the Rosie Batty effect – a woman who found her voice amidst the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the incomprehensible. I am so grateful to have heard her words. Be brave enough to begin - again. Dr Linda Evans | Principal
‘If you want to model and teach your children empathy, forge a positive outlook, and strengthen their understanding of self and others.’
Adolescence is its own season: unique, complex, delightful, difficult … and everything in between. Within it, parents find themselves at one end of tug-of-war disputes when adolescents are pursuing risky behaviour, or making totally unreasonable demands, at other times they may sense the need to ‘drop the rope’ when their adolescent child is legitimately seeking their independence. The trick is in knowing when to hold on and when to let go. Parenting demands both. It demands that we are attuned to the nuances of teenage or tween life, and able to respond appropriately. It demands more than is possible of us, on some days, and the demands don’t typically dissipate quickly. We are as parents, required to do our best, for some time, however that might look. For those mums fortunate enough to hear Michelle Mitchell speak at the ‘Tweens’ luncheon on the last day of term, you may well have noted some of her wisdom around parenting through your daughter’s life challenges. A few of her truisms have stayed with me, the greatest echo has been her statement around ‘dropping the rope.’ What a glorious moment that can be when you choose to stop the tussle. If we are honest, and parenting requires its own confronting brand of honesty, doesn’t it, we can find ourselves in a tug-of-war situation in the most trivial of circumstances. The trick is knowing when to hang on to the rope, and when to let go. We can hold our ground, dig our feet in and draw on the rope of insistence with formidable determination. Retrospect may, at times, pose an interesting question – Why? Why fight the unwinnable? Why fight the insignificant? At other times, we hold on with impressive resolve, because we are required to, because the tug-of-war is about your son or daughter’s need to know that you are in this relationship for the long game and you as the adult, will not concede when it matters, when it really matters. Your adolescent does want to know that you believe that they are worth fighting for, irrespective of the circumstances. In 2015, parenting blogger, Gretchen Schmelzer published a piece entitled, ‘The Letter your Teenager Can’t Write to You.’ It is worth reading – the link is in the reference section. Schmelzer writes a letter in the voice of a teenager: a feisty, fighting, difficult teenager who wants to argue about everything and nothing, but who also wants to know that their parent is playing the long game. That their parent won’t give up, won’t drop the rope. She writes: And this particular fight will end. Like any storm, it will blow over. And I will forget, and you will forget. And then it will come back. And I will need you to hang on to the rope again. I will need this over and over for years. So, when do we hold on, when do we drop the rope, when do we simply say, NO? If it were only that easy to know. I once listened to a great radio segment on the judicious use of NO. The guest speaker – an adolescent psychologist affirmed, that in his view, we only have a few big Nos in our repertoire. There are only a few times when we really need to pull out the BIG NO, the definitive no, the one that matters a great deal to our daughter’s safety, our values, and our peace of mind. Nonetheless, we must also be judicious in its use, because ‘there are only so many times you can say NO’ (McCoy) and maintain a workable relationship. David Palmiter, a clinical psychologist and professor at Marywood University in Scranton, states that parenting a teen is inherently stressful, even in the best scenarios (cited in Neighmond, 2014). The parent who tells you that their adolescent daughter is always even in temperament, accepts your every word, and happily follows every direction you set – without challenge, either is not being truthful, or their daughter has not yet begun the path to independence that will allow her to become a functioning adult in the future. Palmiter (cited in Neighmond, 2014) offers some reassurance. He says that the challenging, questioning and sometimes patronising manner of our adolescents is in fact ‘healthy’ and may well mean that you are doing things right as parents. Yes, even when it feels otherwise … At some point, your daughter will depart from the established family narrative, at which time rope -holding or rope-dropping will be called for, because she will, “pick up [her story, the one you have crafted with love and great care] and turn it over in her hands like some dispassionate reviewer composing a cold-hearted analysis of an overhyped novel,” (Cusk, 2015). You will wonder where that easy, compliant, born-to-please child has retreated to, perhaps you may come to realise that the beginning of this new season is about your daughter developing her own narrative, not simply absorbing yours – no matter how meticulous its construction has been. Hold on, let go, say ‘no’ … endure the tug-of-war moments, drop the rope when the moment demands it – be prepared to vacillate between all three, because this is the season that requires you to do so. “Know that [even when it is hard] you are doing the most important job that anyone could possibly be doing for [them] right now,” (Schmelzer, 2015). ‘For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven…’ (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Dr Linda Evans | Principal REFERENCES Cusk, R. (2015). ‘Teenagers: what’s wrong with them?’ The Australian. April 25, 2015 Neighmond, P. (2014). ‘Want More Stress In Your Life? Try Parenting A Teenager’ , July 16, 2014. Schmelzer, G. (2015). ‘The Letter Your Teenager Can’t Write to You.’
That's what learning is, after all; not whether we lose the game, but how we lose and how we've changed because of it and what we take away from it that we never had before, to apply to other games. Losing, in a curious way, is winning." - Richard Bach If there were a Science subject around grand finals, I would select it. Having watched about a dozen Fairholme teams in different Grand final matches over the past week or so, I have been reminded, yet again, of the precious lessons learned. Whether it is on a Netball court on a crisp Saturday at Nellie Robinson courts, on the Touch fields of Kearney’s Spring or Volleyballers seeking out one final win for their captain, Year 12, Katie Brock – there are lessons. For our Senior Vicki Wilson team who played hard Netball until the final whistle blew in favour of a strong Downlands team or for our younger Vicki Wilson players who persevered in extra time to win their final match – there are lessons in achievement and accomplishment. Sport is a great teacher. In the pressure cooker of a finals match what I love is the palpable expression of effort: the perseverance and determination of those players who accept nothing less than their own best. That is character. That is not about having a higher skill level than someone else – that is about the capacity to play to the end, to finish well: what a gift. It is the player who makes an error and goes about rectifying it at next opportunity. It is the player who receives a questionable umpiring decision (bless referees and umpires everywhere – we cannot play without you, and we have far too much to say from the sideline – self included) and plays on without a flinch. It is the player who watches on from the sideline and genuinely supports their teammates. I saw all this, over the past week. In a Grand Final match or its life equivalent we take to the court with anticipation. Depending on our preparation, our team’s skill, past experiences, and the way the game unfolds … we find ourselves in a polarized position at full time – as winners or losers. And as players, and as spectators and coaches, we accept that outcome, variously. It’s always our choice how we respond to the situation, how graciously we accept a win or a defeat. We choose how the car conversation on the way home unfolds – the deconstruction of the match, the reflection on self or others. We choose. Our response is in our own hands. We can choose accomplishment over achievement – the distinction is an important one. It's like the joy of the internally motivated over the externally driven - those that can appreciate the journey as much as the outcome, those that can find accomplishment in a grand final loss or win. Certainly, it is a worthy aspiration because life itself is filled up with grand final moments. Art Historian, Sarah Lewis speaks of the value of ‘the near win’ in her 2014 TED Talk, of gaining mastery “in the reaching, not in the arriving.” Whilst success is motivating, Lewis says that near misses in the things near and dear to our heart can compel us onwards. I once made a faux pas on a College Assembly and said, ‘winning is a terrible thing’. Before I could give context, the hall had erupted into laughter, and I had lost the opportunity to explain my thinking. When we win, the pressure mounts exponentially because expectation rises from both within the player and beyond. When we are winning, we are managing expectation whilst simultaneously concentrating on playing the game. When we are losing, our concentration is often singularly focused – on improvement, on finding the next opportunity – there will be one if we seek it out. Fairy tale finishes and grand final wins don’t occur just because we wish them to, or believe that we are more deserving of the story line than others. There are no promises in sport, and in life itself, and sometimes, our efforts place us a long way from, or alternatively, very close, to success – but not on the target itself. It happens to us all, to everyone. Embrace the near win. We learn through practice, through taking risks, through making mistakes and eventually we will find ourselves in the right place at the right moment. Canadian author and motivational speaker, Robin Sharma reminds us that, “Our wounds ultimately give us wisdom. Our stumbling blocks inevitably become our stepping stones. And our setbacks lead to our strengths.” To all who have taken to the field, the court, the leadership space in a grand final finish – I hope you have played hard, given it your all and learned through the experience of accomplishment over achievement, and of seeking opportunity. Embrace the win. Embrace the near win: ‘losing, in a curious way, is winning’. Dr Linda Evans | Principal REFERENCE Lewis, (2014). TED Talk. ‘Embrace the Near Win’.
‘We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.’ - Jawaharial Nehru I am an avid traveller, as is my husband, and our children. Collectively, we prefer the less travelled path – Natalie and Mitchell venturing to places without paths, at times – the sort of places that cause mothers nightmares. Upon return, people say – “A treehouse in San Mateo, Mexico: amazing!” “Wow! I’ve never even heard of Plovdiv.” “Where on earth is Lake Bohinj? 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. In travel, are a cumulation of moments that often can only be digested and appreciated in their entirety – after the event. In 2013 my husband and I spent a month in Istanbul, living amongst locals in an apartment perched nearly 100 stairs above the narrow cobble stoned road below. We ate borek and drank Turkish tea each morning at a tiny café where no-one spoke English – staff or customers. We bought meat from a butcher with whom we had no shared language and purchased fresh bread, the reddest tomatoes, and sweetest cherries daily, from a ramshackle stall at the end of the road. Yet, the value of this opportunity, appeared subsequently, and upon reflection. During the latter part of our stay, we were caught in the midst of civil turmoil. Our street was cordoned off by police. A nearby unit block was operating as a makeshift hospital. Tear gas became a cloud hovering above us. On the first day of the unrest, we had found ourselves locked in the train station with other bewildered commuters – cannons of tear gas had been fired. We panicked, fearful, frightened. Eventually, a door was pried open from outside and we crawled, on our stomachs, onto a street of chaos. In the days that followed, the locals made sure we could access food, explained in broken English what the basis of the conflict was and kept us safe. Meanwhile, Smartraveller listed Turkey as a red zone and my family was urging us home. It wasn’t that easy to go – in fact, there was no access to our street at either end, unless on foot. We were probably unaware of the depth of danger around us. Travel is not always easy, but I wouldn’t wish those weeks in Istanbul away, either. I wouldn’t wish away the kindness of strangers, the challenges, nor the entrée into Turkish politics that remains a fascination. Like travel, the journey of finishing school is a problem-solving activity, it involves compromise, and it is often a time of heart-wrenching highs and unexpected lows – for Year 12s and their parents. Hopefully, Smarttraveller would not list it as a red zone – though, no doubt, those moments occur at times. In their senior year, these young people are ‘becoming’ – becoming adults, and as they strive for and thrive on the prospect of independence they sometimes can ‘bite the hand that feeds them.’ Their post-school horizon often appears like a glorious event where all runs smoothly and anything holding them back from this utopian world where there will be no rules, and where decisions will be there’s entirely – is deemed cruel, archaic, dictatorial. Perhaps this is an exaggerated scenario but if you are raising an adolescent there will be moments like these – lest they are too comfortable or too entwined to leave the nest of home. To leave home, one must, in some way – muddy the nest. Each will see their Fairholme time differently, at this juncture. For some, without the next destination in clear sight, they want to hold on – just a little longer. For others, the beckoning of a new, shiny, bright destination is all encompassing. Whichever, time is on its march forward and the finish line will be crossed on Friday 17 November. March pasts, eisteddfodau, grand finals and debates will entwine with memories of common room lunches, teachers passionate about their subject, singing out of the Boarding House (again), falling in and out of friendships, too many assignments and Sess, with his camera – taking just one more shot. The mundane and delightful will both take their place; they will be the things they will take away into their next journey, the things that will have their greatest meaning, later. Ride out the whirlwind. Place yourself in circumstances where you can enjoy these strong young women, at their best. Avoid the temptation to pander to every whim, in order to keep things steady – always, always, your thoughtful, wise, measured, adult voice, matters. Like travel, finishing school is often best observed ‘after the event’, away from the intensity of the time and when perspective clambers its way into line of sight. For now, as we start to grieve their leaving, take time to appreciate your own travel journey – look how far you too, have come. There is a richness inherent in the metaphoric distance travelled, from treehouses in San Mateo, Mexico to Palm Drive, Fairholme. If there is to be real growth, it’s not meant to be easy. Dr Linda Evans | Principal
See also the ‘In Principal’ archive:
ABN 16 917 099 053
CRICOS Provider Code: 03726D
Fairholme College is proudly a college of the
Presbyterian Church of Queensland