You turn 17; you can buy a lottery ticket, smoke, get married, you're not quite mature enough to buy alcohol, but you are mature enough to be put in control of a 1/2 ton ball of steel. Everyone hears about teenager drivers being stupid, driving too fast, being reckless in order to look cool in front of their mates, but you don't hear as much about the tragic accidents that happen every day to people who are careful.
February 20th was the day one of my 14 year old students was killed walking to school. A car was slowly overtaking another that had stopped to drop someone off, she stepped off the pavement without looking and was hit. She would have been ok, but her head hit the kerb and she died. Today, right in front of me, a man lost consciousness at the wheel of his van, mounted the pavement and killed a woman walking down the high street. Both of these were tragic accidents that should never have happened. Both drivers were being careful, both were sensible, responsible, experienced drivers, but both now have to live with the fact that they have killed someone.
I've driven for 9 years, I consider myself to be an ok driver, a bit fast, but safe. I sometimes think we've become desensitised to how we drive; sometimes we forget that we are in charge of potentially lethal weapons. When we're learning, we are so aware of every bump, every drain cover, every tiny curve in the road, every pedestrian and cyclist within a 5mile radius, every second of every journey is embedded in our brains, but how many times have you been cruising along happily and can't remember the last 2minutes? Do you know the colour of the car behind you? Why is the 3rd car in front breaking? The single headlight coming towards you is actually a car with a bulb out, not a motorbike...
It is awful enough to realise you could have avoided an accident, but how awful must it be to realise there was nothing you could do? No matter how good you are, how careful you are, how safe you are. There was nothing you could do.
Remember: No text or phone call is THAT important, no meeting is THAT urgent, you are NOT ok if you have had 1 small beer, you are NOT ok if you have been up all night... Please be careful, please think, if you want to take a risk, go skydiving!
About Me
- Pixie
- How many times have you wanted to escape to the bottom of the garden and disappear inside your imagination? Well, I've wanted to every since I started school and I doubt I was the only little girl with a fully furnished 'camp' behind the garden shed. Hence how I got the nickname Pixie, and strangely, it's followed me around for the last 20 years. Of course, every now and then even Pixies must emerge into the real world, but the real one's never stop venturing back to camp. So, here's what I've discovered on my travels so far...
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Saturday, 2 April 2011
A Boy Called Mitch
Year 8 RE lesson:
Mr Archibald, “If statistics remain true, by the time you leave in year 11, you will have lost someone in your year group”.
On the last day of year 11:
Me, “We’re all here”.
Mr Archibald, “You don’t know how lucky you are”.
And I didn’t.
Over my entire school career I was lucky enough to pass my GCSE’s with everyone I started year 7 with. Something every child should be able to say, but that very few can. I’m always amazed at how resilient children are and how they just get on with whatever life throws at them, but never more so than with my year 10 class at my last school. I’m so proud of them and so thankful for everything they’ve taught me over that last year (2009).
September 16th 2009 was the first anniversary of the death of my first best friend, Michael. The month it happened I was working with a 6th form group who were directing a TIE performance about a suicide chatroom. The day before the dress rehearsal I got a phonecall to say Michael had killed himself. I went into school and continued as if nothing had happened, the most important thing being that the rehearsal went well and that the students got the best grades they could. At the moment the lead actor decided not to give up and instead burst into a slightly irrational, but release-filled routine to Cotton Eye Joe, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Michael had reached the lowest point possible and couldn’t cope with what his mind was doing to him. I have so many regrets about how I could have helped, how I could have stopped him, how I could have been there; the truth is, there is absolutely nothing anyone could have done. At 23 (and just days before his own 23rd birthday) I couldn’t get my head around the fact that he was gone.
Then came a boy called Mitch.
Mitch taught me what happens when you don’t give up. He was the kindest, most lovable little lad I’ve met in a long long time and he was fighting the most horrible illness that he didn’t deserve (he was bloody good at drama too!). Mitch was one of my year 10’s and despite missing a lot of school due to treatment, he came in and carried on the best he could. I remember him coming in after Christmas and he was really cold and so sat by the radiator going over the resource pack I’d made him for his coursework. I gave him my ski jacket to keep him warm, but told him not to nick off with my car keys in the pocket! He joked he was warmer in bed and that next lesson he would just bring his duvet in and sit in the corner, “you’ll say don’t worry, it’s just Mitch!” On Wednesday 20th May I taught year 10 lesson 4 as usual, as if nothing had happened; I sent them off to a special year assembly, as if nothing had happened. Staff were told that morning that Mitch had not recovered from his bone marrow transplant and we had lost him. My year 10’s returned for lesson 5 knowing they would never see him again. That lesson is a blur; a room of children crying, laughing, punching lockers, sitting silently, talking, walking and trying to get their heads around the fact that he was gone. The whole time I tried to forget the look Mitch’s best friend had given me when he found out; did he know I already knew? did he know I’d sent him into the trenches knowing the outcome? did he understand why I couldn’t tell him sooner?
Over the weeks and finally months, my 10’s showed me what it means to never give up. Mitch never gave up. They have shown me what it is to live every day and appreciate the people who come into our lives; some are there to help us, some are there to trip us up, but all are there to teach us something. They also taught me the true meaning of “shut up and get on with it!” I will never forget them and never give up.
One day I woke up and Michael and Mitch weren’t the first things I thought of.
One day I’ll wake up and stop hating myself for it.
Mr Archibald, “If statistics remain true, by the time you leave in year 11, you will have lost someone in your year group”.
On the last day of year 11:
Me, “We’re all here”.
Mr Archibald, “You don’t know how lucky you are”.
And I didn’t.
Over my entire school career I was lucky enough to pass my GCSE’s with everyone I started year 7 with. Something every child should be able to say, but that very few can. I’m always amazed at how resilient children are and how they just get on with whatever life throws at them, but never more so than with my year 10 class at my last school. I’m so proud of them and so thankful for everything they’ve taught me over that last year (2009).
September 16th 2009 was the first anniversary of the death of my first best friend, Michael. The month it happened I was working with a 6th form group who were directing a TIE performance about a suicide chatroom. The day before the dress rehearsal I got a phonecall to say Michael had killed himself. I went into school and continued as if nothing had happened, the most important thing being that the rehearsal went well and that the students got the best grades they could. At the moment the lead actor decided not to give up and instead burst into a slightly irrational, but release-filled routine to Cotton Eye Joe, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Michael had reached the lowest point possible and couldn’t cope with what his mind was doing to him. I have so many regrets about how I could have helped, how I could have stopped him, how I could have been there; the truth is, there is absolutely nothing anyone could have done. At 23 (and just days before his own 23rd birthday) I couldn’t get my head around the fact that he was gone.
Then came a boy called Mitch.
Mitch taught me what happens when you don’t give up. He was the kindest, most lovable little lad I’ve met in a long long time and he was fighting the most horrible illness that he didn’t deserve (he was bloody good at drama too!). Mitch was one of my year 10’s and despite missing a lot of school due to treatment, he came in and carried on the best he could. I remember him coming in after Christmas and he was really cold and so sat by the radiator going over the resource pack I’d made him for his coursework. I gave him my ski jacket to keep him warm, but told him not to nick off with my car keys in the pocket! He joked he was warmer in bed and that next lesson he would just bring his duvet in and sit in the corner, “you’ll say don’t worry, it’s just Mitch!” On Wednesday 20th May I taught year 10 lesson 4 as usual, as if nothing had happened; I sent them off to a special year assembly, as if nothing had happened. Staff were told that morning that Mitch had not recovered from his bone marrow transplant and we had lost him. My year 10’s returned for lesson 5 knowing they would never see him again. That lesson is a blur; a room of children crying, laughing, punching lockers, sitting silently, talking, walking and trying to get their heads around the fact that he was gone. The whole time I tried to forget the look Mitch’s best friend had given me when he found out; did he know I already knew? did he know I’d sent him into the trenches knowing the outcome? did he understand why I couldn’t tell him sooner?
Over the weeks and finally months, my 10’s showed me what it means to never give up. Mitch never gave up. They have shown me what it is to live every day and appreciate the people who come into our lives; some are there to help us, some are there to trip us up, but all are there to teach us something. They also taught me the true meaning of “shut up and get on with it!” I will never forget them and never give up.
One day I woke up and Michael and Mitch weren’t the first things I thought of.
One day I’ll wake up and stop hating myself for it.
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