On Sunday I joined my singing group Tutti, for our annual Christmas event. I have mentioned Tutti many times before in this blog, but for those that missed it the Tutti choir is a mixed-abilities choir that operates from the charmingly quirky and colourful premises of Tutti Arts, based on the MINDA campus.

I have been singing with Tutti for a few years now, and it is without question one of the best and most rewarding parts of my life. To stand alongside the able and those with physical and mental challenges, and together produce music that makes people smile, laugh and cry, is, quite simply, an endlessly amazing experience.  

For this event we sang a variety of styles, including carols, folk, jazz and gospel, and, in true Tutti style, the South African National Anthem (Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika), as a tribute to the late Nelson Mandela.  If you can believe it, we sang in Xhosa, Zulu, Sesotho, and Afrikaans. Not bad with only two days’ notice to learn it! It was a moving experience, for us and, judging by the applause, the audience as well.

President Obama said shortly after Mandela’s passing - “He achieved more than could be expected of any man.  Today he has gone home…he no longer belongs to us; he belongs to the ages." 

Whether or not you believed in his politics, or his stance on violence for change, there is no question that his courage and conviction forced change in his country. He proved that one man can make a difference. We may not all be Nelson Mandela’s, or Ghandi’s, or the countless other leaders, male and female, who defied the limitations of race, colour and creed to achieve great things, but we can all in our own ways stand up for what we believe in.   

When I visited South Africa in 2001, it was to attend a lavish wedding in ‘polite society’, far from the poverty experienced by the mass populace. When I mentioned that I planned to visit Soweto, the ‘notorious’ slum, they struggled to hide their shock. It was so far removed from their safe and cozy existence that it really did seem like another world, and my mentioning it made me a threat. But I was determined, and, as Mark will confirm, I seldom back down when committed to something. 

The next day, not only was I the only woman on the bus, I was the only person on the bus period! My driver gave me a fascinating tour of the streets and shared his favourite café. I shared lunch with an in spiring man whose father had been shot alongside Steve Biko, trained as a doctor in Cambridge in the UK and now had a practice in Soweto.

As it turned out, my visit to that dangerous place was the highlight of my trip, and forever changed my view of the country and, of course, Nelson Mandela’s fight to change it. I suppose I am a bit of a risk taker, but I also know that the risk I took that day influenced the way I think, and has in some way led me to where I am now, helping kids to achieve their best thousands of kilometres from the place I was born and brought up. 

As Helen Keller said - “Life is either a daring adventure of nothing at all.” We don’t all need to climb Everest, hike to the poles (well done though Prince Harry) or save our countries from oppression, but we can take up smaller challenges. I love working with the kids in our centres, watching as their initial nervousness and lack of confidence gives way to a new energy as they gain knowledge and realise that they can actually do it. To them, catching up and gaining new knowledge is every bit as challenging as Mandela’s struggles, and I love being a part of their triumph.

I will keep blogging through the holidays, but if I miss next week due to too much Xmas cheer, I want to take this opportunity to wish all of our kids and their families all the joy of the season and we both look forward to welcoming you back in the new year for more challenges!

When I was a young girl, way back before iPads, smartphones and laptops, thanking someone for a present, or asking Santa Claus for something special, meant writing a letter. I’ll let that sink in for a moment for those born after the dawn of the keyboard.

Have you recovered? Yes, I really did say the words ‘writing’ and ‘letter’, ancient terms that bring to mind the horse and carriage, knights in shining armour and the invention of the wheel. But that’s not all. I am going to shock you even more: I still hand write letters! And thank you cards, and post cards, and invitations.

Why do I do this in an age when messages can be sent with a few button presses or key strokes and people no longer expect whole sentences in communications? Well, partly it is precisely for that reason, because it is unexpected, outside the norm, and I do like to be a little bit different. 

It also makes me feel good using all of those words that I have stored in my brain over the years and rarely get a chance to use. There is an undeniable pleasure in grouping together just the right words, in just the right order, and creating something that is far more than simply a combination of letters and spaces. Words can evoke emotion, describe a landscape unseen, put substance to an idea and take the reader back to a shared memory.

Can we do the same in a conversation? In part, but conversation throws words away, writing saves them. Also, when we speak we are hampered by other factors; time, convention, the natural reserve of sharing too much in public, the need to be liked and take other people’s opinions into account. When we are writing we can stretch out in our own space, take as much time as we need, be selfish, get all the emotional stuff out in the open, use those big words that would make us sound la de da in public, because we can.

There is a freedom to express in writing that is difficult to find in conversation. No matter how many times I speak by phone with my Aunt back in the UK, who I have always had a close bond with, I can somehow never get her past the discomfort of speaking on the phone with someone thousands of kilometres away. It is like talking with someone I barely know. So, in between phone calls, I write, and in those letters I can share all of the things I can’t by phone. And it works; we connect far better by writing than long distance talking.

Some time ago I began writing to my goddaughters. I have a few, seven in fact, all fast-growing girls and young ladies towards whom I feel a moral responsibility. The letter-writing with them is a little hit and miss, but I am pleased that my eldest goddaughter (17) and I now regularly write back and forth, and this has added a new level to our relationship. We share things that I am sure we would not do when speaking; writing somehow creates this lovely intimate and trusting environment, separate to the ‘real’ world.

We recently ran a contest at the centre, asking the kids to write persuasive letters to Kip McGrath, convincing him that their families were deserving of an all-costs family ticket to the Royal Adelaide Show. I was surprised by the number of entries, and more so by the obvious care taken in writing them. The winner was written by one of our younger students, who has struggled with the early stages of reading and writing, and spent three days writing his letter. He included a bribe in the form of a ‘bucket of fairy floss’ for Kip, but the main reason for his win, apart from the quality and honesty of his letter, was the use of an envelope, properly addressed to Mr Kip McGrath. I was genuinely moved by his efforts and, obviously, so was Kip.

All of which, dear reader, brings me round to you. I want you to try, writing that is. A little thank you note, or a letter to your Mum, or your children; something that forces you to stop, pick up a pen and focus on the act of writing, just for a few minutes. Then, let that letter float away from you, straight in to the nearest post box. You may be pleasantly surprised by the reaction you get, first to the use of ‘snail mail’, but then, just perhaps, to the time and care you have invested in sending them a special message.

There was a time when I knew everything, or at least I thought I did. And what I didn’t know didn’t matter, or could wait until later. I think it was roughly between 5 years old and my mid-twenties, that golden age when everything was possible. And I was going to take full advantage; watch out world!

Then a curious thing happened. I discovered these strange things call ‘challenges’, and with challenges came these equally unfamiliar things called ‘doubts’. Those little cracks in my armour worried me, and I found myself working harder and harder in the mistaken notion that I had to do it all myself. My great fear was failing others and being found wanting against my peers.

If I am honest, it took me a few years to realise that sometimes asking for help is a positive step, not a sign of weakness. The concept of ‘mentoring’ entered my life, and I have never looked back. From tentative beginnings, I have become something of a mentoring junkie! Once you start looking you soon realise that help is at hand in pretty much every facet of your life!

Far from a weakness, I now realise that seeking out the best advice possible is a practical and efficient method of improving yourself, not to mention a great way of connecting with interesting people.

Most of my mentoring is unofficial, and often casual. My husband Mark for instance, has mentored me on numerous occasions throughout our years together (10 years this week in fact). He is a natural ‘big picture’ thinker, and I value the perspective that he gives me when I am ‘nutting’ through a challenge and in danger of ‘disappearing down the rabbit hole.’ Equally, his big picture thinking sometimes ignores important details, and I am able to mentor him in return by reminding him of the importance of those pesky little bits and pieces that actually get things done.

I have many good friends who are also my mentors, and this provides me with a wider pool of resources when I am making decisions. They also act as sounding boards when I am trying out new concepts, especially for my business. I also have specific business mentors from a wide range of specialist areas, who help me to streamline my thinking, try out new ideas and concepts and catch me when I am heading off in the wrong direction.

And of course, never one to shirk responsibility or pay a debt, I have also taken up the mentoring baton, and try to provide practical support for friends, work colleagues and others. Mentoring is a natural part of who I am now.

During a recent chat with a friend, she advised me that I should be charging for my advice.  But, and here I may sound a little ‘holier than thou’, it really is not about monetary reward for me. In fact, it is quite the opposite; I gain a far greater reward from mentoring than money. It really is a chance to ‘give back’, to let others gain from my (sometimes painful) experiences.

When we tutor at the centre, it is never just about the facts and figures. There are plenty of services out there based around memorising and strict discipline, but we firmly believe that learning should be an enjoyable and positive experience and that education is a composite of concepts and knowledge, but also personal growth, communication, interpersonal skills, confidence, pride and a myriad of other factors.

Mentoring is an implicit part of how we work, and watching the maturing process of a disengaged learner in to a smiling and happy learning adventurer is an absolute pleasure and something that money cannot buy. The parents of those students know what we mean, as do the teachers who watch their progress in the classroom.

I would encourage anyone to mentor and be mentored; open yourselves up to the possibility of not knowing everything, but enough to help others and you will find life much richer for it.  

For many years now I have kept a journal. It is a private thing, not for sharing, and records my daily musings, rants, quirks and amusements. I don’t write in it every day, but when I do, I usually include a section for things I am grateful for, like the ‘wagging tale’ of our puppy that I have mentioned before. It is a simple process that grounds me and puts life’s priorities in their right order.

This past week I have again included two things for which I have been grateful many times in the past. The first is my involvement with Tutti, a choir of mixed abilities associated with Minda. Many of the choir members have severe physical and mental challenges, and you could be forgiven for assuming that my gratefulness is for not being in their position. But you would be wrong.

My gratefulness is for the opportunity to spend time with these amazing people. This includes the helpers, volunteers, the Tutti team and my fellow able-bodied and minded choir members, but I reserve special mention for those choir members who face challenges every day that would bring most of us to our knees.

They arrive by themselves as well as in the care and support of others, from a diverse range of backgrounds and all of them with individual tales of hardship and sadness, resilience and triumph against adversity. But they will not tell them, not here, not in this place where they join us to make the music that has raised audiences to their feet with clapping hands and tears in their eyes. Here they are performers, just like the rest of us, and they need to learn their lines and get their timing just right.

When I joined Tutti, several years ago now, I had been singing with a ‘normal’ choir in Port Adelaide for a couple of years, and it was confronting at first. At least, it was for about the first 5 minutes, and then we began to sing, and this disparate group, drawn together from all quarters, came together with one unified purpose. By the end of the evening I was hooked, and it is now a highlight of my week, complete escapism. And so I am grateful, for their company, for their inspiration and for the opportunity to be part of something that creates happiness.

My second gratitude is for my lovely Helen, who I have been delivering library books to as a volunteer for more than 6 years. In that time we have shared our loves of reading, travel and teaching, laughed and cried together as we talked through our lives, loves and experiences. Helen has been the grandmother I never knew, and I like to think that I have added something to her retirement.

Sadly, Helen passed away suddenly last week at the age of 93. I was, and am, bereft, suddenly cut off from someone who has been such an important part of my life. Mark and I had been away for the weekend, and by the time I heard the news, her room had been cleared and someone new had taken residence. Even her library books had been cleared away, and no one knows where they went.

Thankfully, within days Helen’s daughter had called me. We had a long and heartfelt chat, and she shared with me how much my visits meant to her Mother.
  
These days, surrounded by all that money can buy, we can lose sight of what is important. Singing with Tutti and volunteering with Helen are entirely selfish acts; I have gained far more from them than I could possibly give. My perspective on life, my sense of what is really valuable, my awareness of the fragility of our existence, my willingness to forgive others, all of these are directly influenced by my contact with these wonderful people.

Okay, long story short, this piece is about education, but in the broadest possible sense. It is about getting out there and doing something different that has real value. Try it, encourage your children to try it. No matter how small it may seem, the personal impact can be extraordinary. Please share your stories with us, we would love to hear from you. Enjoy your week.

A more serious tone this week I’m afraid. Don’t worry, more humour to follow, but sometimes I have to put on my ‘sensible adult’ hat. So please read on and hopefully you will find some value in my ramblings.

This week, for the first time, we were forced to cancel an evening of lessons when an accident on a main road nearby robbed us of power. The electricity company couldn’t guarantee that we would have power back that evening, and, even though we would have been able to continue lessons with paper-based activities, without lights it was simply not safe to have children moving around the centre.

So, Mark and I made the tough decision to close for the night, and immediately started contacting parents by phone, text and email, to let them know what had happened and confirm how they would like to proceed. We told them that, as we were cancelling the lessons, they would be not be charged, but offered them the option of an at-home online lesson at a reduced cost.

We were pleased and a little surprised when the vast majority of parents took up the option of an online lesson. This response confirmed to us that what we do, tutoring young minds to help them achieve their best, has value to parents and is not just a ‘tick box’ exercise. The questions they asked, about how the lessons would be designed, what support they needed to provide, when the lessons would be ‘live’ and when would be best to complete them, was clear evidence that these parents are engaged with the learning process in a way that we hope but are never entirely sure happens.

This ‘partnership’ between tutor, child and parent, is so important to the success of our tutoring system. Without it, children struggle to maintain focus and get the best out of the process. An obvious example is the homework we assign, which is an important reinforcement of the learning process, but easily lost amongst school work, sports and other activities, unless children are gently urged to complete it by parents.

Less obvious is parent’s awareness of their children’s progress with us. Tutoring is easily accessible for parents. There is no need to wait for parent-teacher meetings, as every session is an opportunity for a quick chat with us (admittedly in the midst of changeover chaos!) and children can immediately share their results on the computer screen.

This intimate ‘hands on’ approach encourages parents to get directly involved in their children’s progress, and often helps us to understand children better. When this extends to homework activities, the result is invariably improved results. Do parents need to be able to understand senior algebra in order to help them? No, but they do need to be aware of their child’s progress, provide an environment that is conducive to learning and encourage them with positive reinforcement when they succeed.

This is why we were so pleased by parent’s response to the centre closure. It clearly demonstrated an engagement with their children’s learning that we hoped was happening but so seldom see evidence of. Was it worth the ‘investment’ of an evening’s revenue to find this out? Actually, it probably was and has added another layer of the good feeling we both have towards our little centre. So, thank you parents, you have helped to confirm again why what we do is so worthwhile.

I will be the first to admit that exercise is not my thing. In fact, I abhor anything that makes me move faster than a quiet stroll for a coffee. So imagine my shock and surprise when I found myself climbing off a treadmill with a flashing timer confirming that I had completed 30 minutes of continuous fast walking!

Had I experienced a blackout, or perhaps dramatically exceeded my daily caffeine intake? No, it was in fact all due to the new man in my life. With many apologies to my loving husband, I have to say that he is the most exciting exercise-related thing that has ever happened to me. Oh Richard, how did I reach my 40s without experiencing your talents?

Before you rush to the nearest group of water cooler gossips to share the news of my torrid affair, I should let you know that the man in question is Sir Richard Branson, and it is only his voice that has excited me, via the wonders of an audio book. In my opinion these little digital holidays are perhaps the single greatest piece of exercise equipment ever invented; I am barely aware of my fast moving legs beneath me as I roar with laughter over and over at the young Branson’s adventures. How has one man managed to pack so much in to his life?

 http://www.booktopia.com.au/losing-my-virginity-sir-richard-branson/prod9780307720740.html

This was actually the second time that Sir Branson had raised my pulse. Many years ago I had the pleasure of sharing a stage with him, singing alongside several of his ‘hosties’ as he launched a new product range. So as you can see, we have a special and enduring bond.

All of which brings me to my topic for this blog, persistence. No, I am not referring to my energetic endeavours after a life of slower motion, but instead the amazing perseverance of Mr Branson, who, despite being dyslexic, has managed to create a global brand so familiar that we all forget that its name is a little bit rude (or maybe it’s just the little Catholic school girl I once was!).

Both of a good friend’s sons are also dyslexic, and both regard Richard as a hero for his refusal to accept it as a limitation. In fact, one of her proud sons read his book as part of his Year 12 studies.

Many of the children that Mark and I and our team work with have challenges to deal with, be they physical, mental or emotional, but we refuse to let them define themselves or limit themselves because of these factors. And to their credit, most of our lovely kids excel, perhaps partly because there is no one to tell them that they can’t. I do also believe that providing an environment where they can learn individually and at their own pace does help.

Persistence is an intangible thing, but the results are so obvious it amazes me that we don’t all, as parents, teachers and tutors, spend more conscious thought on encouraging it in children. The student who tries long subtraction for the first time, and fails, and then tries again, and fails again, but finally, after several attempts, succeeds. How much better does that success feel to them because they triumphed over adversity?

James Dyson apparently built more than 7,000 failed vacuums on the way to success. Now that is persistence. And what was his reward? Yes, a sizeable estate and a house that the Queen would feel at home in, but I would be willing to bet that his most valuable possession is his sense of achievement.

So when you are parenting, teaching, or mentoring a child, think about my friends Richard and James, and encourage that child to practice persistence and make as many mistakes as it takes to reach their goal. The rewards will be so much greater. 
 

I often hear people say that they are “terrible at maths”, but very rarely do I hear them say that they are not great at reading or writing. As teachers I believe that we have a responsibility to make maths relevant to kids, so that it sits alongside reading and writing as a basic skill. Statistically, 26% of children leave primary school after failing to reach the grade expected of them in maths. Why is this significant?
Well, Kip McGrath is holding a national competition to find out what students want to be when they grow up. The results so far show that very little has changed since I was in school; the majority of kids are still unsure about what they want to do with their lives....More...