Electric Fences, pigs and the shocks in life

I had walked along the seafront in Rhodes on my way to tutor a student who lived a good fifty minutes from where I lived.  Not only that, but the last 30 mins were up a very steep hill that made the heart speed up.  To add insult to injury just halfway into my walk I tripped over an uneven paving stone and twisted my ankle.   Lying in a crumpled heap a passing good-natured group of young tourists lifted me up and carried me to a nearby bench.  Their support was really appreciated but after they left I realised that I would have to continue on my way to work.  Strangely after 15 minutes of walking gingerly, the severe pain in my ankle had subsided to only an ache and I could even manage the final steep climb.  

My student lived in a wealthy area on a ridge above the town.  As you get higher up the hill the houses grow in size and opulence.  Swimming pools grow large and the villas spread out over more land and gardens.  My student’s house even has a security gate at the front and gaining access involved endless buzzers and video doorbells on both the outer garden wall entrance and front door.  My lesson took place in a huge living room that held four complete sets of armchairs and sofas in different positions scattered across the thick piled carpet.  Their housekeeper asks us if we want coffee/tea and a snack.  My student is a sulky teenager and he demands a toasted sandwich with an expresso coffee. I say “nothing, thanks”.  Having never had servants I resent this middle-aged Asian woman having to take orders from this bad-tempered teen.  It makes me want to smack him.

Totally unfair I know but, on a day, when I have had to walk with a sore ankle up steep hills to work for obscenely rich people in their penthouse villa with a massive pool my mental irritation seems to trump my physical discomfort.  His younger brother is watching a video, on a massive screen the size of a wall, of killer whales attacking a seal on an ice flow.  

It shocks me that so often rich people’s kids are often so unhappy and resentful.  It shouldn’t, so many things are given to them that the excess seems to have leeched all happiness out of their veins.  It is as if having so much feeds a growing desire to have much more and they perversely feel deprived constantly.  I have observed it in many cultures and this teenager’s constant whining and complaining was not a surprise to me.  Neither was his parent’s constant guilt towards him.  This too I had come across often.  His mother treated her sixteen-year-old with exaggerated care and concern handling him like an unexploded ordinance.   It was of immense satisfaction for me to give these spoilt teenagers a different sort of treatment from what they usually expected.  

In my experience, a parent's guilt acts as rocket fuel for self-pity in teenagers.  I apply the foam extinguisher of ‘not giving a rat’s ass’ and follow it up with the electric fence of high expectations.  During our hour together, I make him work his socks off, and however hard he applies himself I radiate disappointment that he is far below the standard I expect of him.  Such students are so unused to this treatment they try all kinds of distraction/coping strategies.  Whatever they come up with it is vital to keep one’s own composure and to quickly rip off whatever protection they try and apply.  In my experience the faster you react the less chance they have to feel secure about the whole interaction. In fact, keeping such students off balance is exactly what keeps the lesson on track.  

I’m sure there are more knowledgeable ways to make this situation work but my method has the advantage that I quite enjoy their discomfort and lack of control.  It helps that I had only brothers growing up and have three sons of my own and each and every one of them had brains to burn as they say.  Such exposure makes you learn to be pragmatic and to focus only on what is effective in such interactions.  

As a father of a friend of mine said during a speech at his son’s wedding, “You all know Christopher!  He met Yolanda at primary school and decided within a week that she was the one he would marry.  We made him wait until he finished secondary school but you all know Christopher, trying to get him to change his direction is like trying to turn a pig at a gate!”  The farming audience howled in laughter, most having faced many a stubborn pig in their days.  My grandfather reared pigs and I knew all about them having been chased down lanes by his monsters many times.  Trying to get a pig not to go through an open gate was impossible.  My grandfather’s solution was to use electric fences and these usually did the job. However, he had one very bad-tempered boar that just got furious at the shocks from the electric fence and demolished both it and the gate behind it.  

My childhood was full of electric shocks.  When I was a child my grandfather would ask me to take a metal bucket from him in the field and have his hand, behind his back, on the live electric fence.  I would instantly feel the painful shock of electricity blast through me.  He was clever to use other methods to distract me and I remember having to learn to outthink him to avoid getting such shocks.  Years later I remember visiting the farm to find my elderly grandfather in an armchair, no longer so mobile. I introduced my eldest 3-year-old son to him.  My grandfather greeted him warmly and then hauled out his false teeth and set them dramatically on the small table in front of him.  My son ran howling in fear from the room and refused to even enter the room again.  I found myself amused, Granda hadn’t changed and we all just learned to accept the funny unique style of this guy.  My sons would have to learn that lesson too.  They all grew to love him as much as we did. Life takes all of us by surprise at times but it sure helps to learn a bit of robustness early on.  It makes everything else that follows a little easier.

I found when I left the villa my ankle was in agony, being seated had allowed time for the thing to swell.  I limped down the steep hill in front of plush gardens and huge cars to the nearest bus stop.  By the time I got there, I wanted to cry with the pain but sat on the seats in front of the bus stop relieved to be sitting at least.  There were two benches and on the other bench further up the street sat a young school girl with her school bag on the ground in front of her. 

A group of youths appeared pushing and shoving each other and shouting at the bus stop.  They had drinks and became louder and more noticeable.  When would this darn bus come, I thought? One of the youths approached the schoolgirl and started laughing putting his face down close to hers.  She backed away into the seat and he immediately picked up her school bag and tossed it to one of his friends.  Her distress was clear but they were having a great time tossing it between them and laughing.  She didn’t try and get her bag back, she just sat very still.  

Another boy sauntered over and sat down beside her and put his arm along the back of the bench behind her shoulder.  She moved along the bench away from him and there was a chorus of laughter from his mates who were holding out her bag asking her to come and get it.  I was tired and I was in pain but I had had enough.  I limped over to the other bench and sat in the space between the boy and the young girl.  Then, I took my shoe and sock off to inspect the damage I’d done to my ankle. It was hugely swollen and a very odd colour indeed.  I told the boy to move and put my ankle on the bench where he had been sitting.  Just having it elevated brought huge relief.  Now, I just had to worry about getting the sock and shoe back on if the bus came.  

My presence had ruined the gang’s fun and there was an embarrassing moment where they looked at the girl and then at my ankle and then at each other.  One brought her schoolbag reluctantly and dropped it at her feet before drifting back to his mates.  The schoolgirl lifted her bag and hugged it to herself in relief. Nothing was said, nothing needed to be.  Sometimes actions speak louder than words.  In my mind, I remembered my grandfather’s electric fences, his stubborn pigs, and the effectiveness of a bit of a shock in changing perspectives.  

Dad - A Real Teacher

Was talking on Skype to my uncle in New Zealand and the topic of my dad came up.  It has been over nine years since he died but he is alive in memories and conversations with loved ones.  My uncle reminded me of a holiday in Cranfield when he was just a boy and my father took him with others to examine a bag of cigarettes washed up on the shore.  My father told them all that there was a chance that people were on the look out with guns for this smuggled hoard so their race to the beach was filled with danger.  My uncle remembers the excitement and thrill of the escapade and how Dad turned the whole affair into a huge adventure for them all.  

My brother remembers how one night when he went round to my Dad’s school in Dungiven and in the darkness opened the front door and went down a long corridor.  Empty school corridors at night are spooky, you almost hear the voices of non-existent pupils echoing from classrooms over the squeak of your shoes on the shiny tiles.  Suddenly, at the end of the corridor in the darkest part someone opened fire with a gun and my brother ran for his life while the flashes of gunfire lit up the corridor.  It was of course my dad who had let fire with a sports starting pistol to see what my brother would do.  

It was never boring with my dad around.  He could make every event into an adventure and fun.  Even a walk in the fields turned into a geological field trip, or a visit to a castle, a lesson on history.  Always informing and educating he could not stop probing your intellect pushing you to find out and want more.

In Dungiven in the 1970s there was a divide between Catholics and Protestants and yet he was a voice of reason even then.  It was not popular and I was struck by how ahead of his time, in so many ways, he was.  In the tiny secondary school in the Sperrins he taught children about Geography so well that all could identify every country on a world map.  The only test was who was the fastest as they raced to the board and labelled the world map drawn there. He loved world maps and bought the biggest and best he could.  I get flashbacks every time I talk on skype with my son and see over his shoulder a huge world map on his wall.  This desire for maps must be genetic!  He also taught the children high in the Sperrins isolated from even NI about all the world religions Buddhist, Hindu, Islam, Baha'i, Christianity, Judaism etc Even now forty years later our religious education has not caught up with his wide ranging insights on world religions.

My son found a newspaper article (from over thirty years ago) in which my Dad speaks of his educational philosophy and it resonates still, even fifty years after he practised it in Canada, Australia and Northern Ireland.  It gives me a fragrance of this lovely man who chose the path less travelled.  Here are two excerpts in his own words.

“A relatively small number of teachers of the right calibre could create a school society in which pupils could progress to greater awareness of the world about them, their cultural heritage and a knowledge of their real selves.  Unfortunately, the false values of contemporary society have been allowed to dictate priorities in education.”

“For me the ideal person is the man from Nazareth who lived in a society very much like our own and Who in the midst of all that hatred could say: ‘Love your enemies and do good to those that hate you.’  One thing for sure is He did not learn that from the teacher in the synagogue school.”

Gems of inestimable value

Teachers do their best, they really do!  It’s also true sometimes that best shot is far off the mark.  Parents also are far from perfect.  So the whole business of education, from conception to grave, is not an industrial production line and indeed never should be.

Teaching occasionally allows you to see the real gems that have been produced.  You marvel at the beauty of the stone, the cut faces positioned to catch and reflect the light.  Each one gloriously unique.  Then despite efforts, or due to lack of attention there are the flawed stones.  They can have defects deep within, an odd crack destroys the pristine surface.  You sense all is not well in how they relate to others.  Even their ability to reflect virtues has been reduced.  Whoever cut these stones was not adept but careless.  Huge sections have been hacked out by random blows.  A part of you longs to see this gem unspoiled before the cuts of life have seared them.  But this is an idle wish and the focus must be on the task in hand.  Hidden away within this flawed stone there is strength, a tone of colour rarely seen.  Finding these “gems of inestimable value” in ourselves and others is all that matters.  Often, they are found in dark places and for good practical reasons. 

After all, diamonds are formed 2000 miles below the earth’s surface at that boundary between the core and the earth’s mantle.  Plumes of heat from this part, at 4000 degrees Celsius, rise upwards towards heating the stones above.  Certain types of rock (called kimberlites) are volatile when heated and explode violently spewing diamonds up towards the surface with their eruptions.

Finding gems in the darkness below the earth, where light cannot reach requires effort.  You need to identify among all the dead stone the priceless and in its natural state the uncut diamond does not hint at its glory within.  You need to become experienced at identifying the potential, its capacity.  This is the first task.  Note, how uncut natural diamonds look.  Disappointing, isn't it?

Then the gemstone must be taken to the light.  Only when exposed to the edification of learning, growing, discovering and being tested can it begin to shape itself.  The next stages are fourfold and it is good to understand them all.  Finding the gemstone is only the beginning of a delicate and precise art.

Planning

The size, clarity and crystal direction is examined when deciding where to mark the diamond.  Here, the eye has to see the end in the beginning.  Perhaps, there are three parts each of which will produce lovely gems.  Despite the loss in size, the expert can see the end result will be more perfect stones.  This part involves marking where the slices will be made.  Decisions are taken as to where you will cleave, at what angle and on what plane.  Without awareness it is possible to shatter the stone and end up with something worthless.  We need to plan

Cleaving or sawing

To cut the hardest stone you need to use diamonds.  Only they are hard and pure enough to make the cleave correctly.  With cleaving, the new pristine surfaces are revealed.  These surfaces have never been exposed to air or light and their purity is startling.  This is not a small challenge.  Every stone is unique, its planes at different angles with unexpected shades of colour millimetres beneath.  With good planning your cleave begins to release the beauty within.  But incredible force is necessary and pain is a necessary part of this process.  

Bruting

This is where the diamond is literally grated against another diamond to create a basic shape.  During bruting you try and not lose unnecessary stone but you have to prepare the stone so that facets can be created. This is also known as girdling or rounding. The girdle is the band which is formed around the thickest part of the stone.  The stone is rounded off by such close contact.  The process requires others we cannot do this alone.  It is in service to our community with others we find our basic shape. – Brutal shaping from others!

Polishing

Polishing is the final stage of the cutting process, giving the diamond its finished proportions.  Often 17 or 18 facets are made creating a single cut.  It is this final stage that will determine how much brilliance and fire a diamond can display. Minor inconsistencies in symmetry and proportions can make the difference between a luminous diamond and a dull, lifeless stone.  You must work on what you find within not some blueprint you might have in your head.  The stone must come alive to its potential and you must let go of your expectations.  Fundamentally, it is the gem’s ability to reflect the light at angles and colours of their own creation that you long for.  If a production like mentality is adopted you damage the priceless for the mundane. 

Letting go!

As an educator or as one who has been educated, or ideally both the final stage is letting go.  You must throw away these priceless gems.  No keeping them in crowns or cabinets to gloat over.  It is in scattering far and wide these glistening reflectors of light this world is made a brighter place.  You need to be detached because you have no ownership here.  The product is sometimes better and brighter than anything you have ever experienced and it tempting to hang on to such jewels, even for a while.  But don’t, let go and be grateful you did not spoil these treasures.  Our fear should not be of loss but of never finding within ourselves or others the treasures that certainly lie within all of us.

“lay bare those gems that lie hidden within the mine of their true and inmost selves”

            (Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 287)