A Letter to My Teacher...

The boys chow down at Fixit's sister's engagement party this weekend.

... but first; some background.

If you're my vintage and you grew up in Canberra and you were educated in the public system, then in Years 11 and 12 you would have attended a 'college' as opposed to the 'high school' where the Years 7-10 were miserable educated. I made a good choice in my college because I insisted on going to the one that the majority of my bogan high-school mates did not. I went inner, they went outer if you know what I mean. The point (I think) of college was to prepare us for University. Students designed their own timetable based on a certain amount of core subjects and some electives, and bonus! you could schedule free periods for yourself. There was no uniform. Smoking was permitted but only outside (this was a while ago now, in the days when public servants still smoked at their desks). You addressed teachers by their Christian names. But they still sent letters home to your parents for truancy and held parent/teacher evenings and whatnot.

Anyway. At my college I had one teacher - I'll call him A - of whom I was very fond, and in fact we are still in occasional contact to this day. You know there are some inspirational teachers who make learning an exciting and positive thing, who can help you believe in your worth as a person and as a scholar? Well, A was one of them. I'm sure he won't mind me describing him as an eccentric and an original. Sadly, in the years after I graduated, the school system became more conservative. The dynamic and quirky energy he brought to his teaching was perhaps not really valued by school administrations which had budgets and quotas and goals to meet. So a brilliant and enthusiastic teacher ended his teaching days on sick leave and many students were denied his capabilities.

A taught English and History subjects. I have a shocking memory, so I've forgotten the names of his classes but there was a drama one where we studied Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and a brilliant class called Australian Identity which was Australian history made interesting (unlike the dull-as-ditchwater classes I'd suffered through with Mr. G back in high school) because it focussed on episodes that shaped the national character. And somewhere in A's eclectic and wonderful classes I was introduced to the concept of the Cargo Cult. Which brings me to my letter.

Dear A,

Many years ago, you taught me about the Cargo Cult. You explained about indigenous peoples from Pacific countries who built up religions based on cargo dropping to them from the sky. Some were obviously influenced by witnessing Western soldiers receiving military cargo drops from aeroplanes; those cults began to imitate military behaviour, carving walky-talkies out of coconuts and clearing airstrips as a way of signalling the deity their fittingness to receive the cargo. Which is of course an interesting concept in itself, but as is your wont, you drew parallels between the original Cargo Cults and our modern society. Because you discerned a growing number of people developing Cargo Cult type mentalities. "Why should we work?" they say "when for very little effort I could win tattslotto or become a famous movie star and never have to worry about money again." You taught this to me in the days before reality television! All those wannabes in the Big Brother households. Living, breathing, walking examples of that sort of Cargo Cult mentality. History can tell you the future. As you knew.

Anyway, I write to you because there is this new phenomenon called Dear Universe. I first heard about it on Michael Parkinson's show. I can't remember who the interviewee was, some Brit, an ex-television presenter who had recently made a spectacular comeback. Which in part he attributed to this movement, this Dear Universe movement. I'm sure it's huge on the interweb. All you do is write a letter. Dear Universe, you write, and then, because you are a person deserving of good things and as such all you need to do is ask for what you want, you list or request the things you would like in your life. And through cosmic forces or by attracting the requisite good luck vibes needed, the Universe will heed your prayer. Yes really. According to Parky's guest, you ask for specific things within a specific timeframe and then you offer your letter up to the Universe and either get on with your daily life or sit back and wait, and within the allotted time (he cited a year for his own modest wants of a house in the South of France, a revival of his television career and something else, probably a hotted-up car) these things will be delivered unto you.

I write to you about this A, because I am confused. I would like to write the Universe a letter. I wouldn't ask for much. Just a house, located in a certain suburb. Preferably one that we own, because it's not always easy being a renter. But my conscience is bothering me, because I am well aware that we are ridiculously well off in Australia and if I take stock, I have all the things in life that I need. Okay, we are not 'well-off' perhaps in Australian terms, but we have regular income, a roof over our heads, food, clothes, toys, music and fun. So what right do I have to ask for more? Would it be bad, and weak, and lazy and a sell-out if I wrote Dear Universe, please let me have that house? Would you think less of me? Is it any worse than the weekly tattslotto ticket we purchase in lieu of any real financial plan for our indigent old-age? Basically, is it allright for me to join this new-fangled Cargo Cult? What about if I keep doing my do-gooder activities like collecting for the Red Cross Doorknock Appeal last week or selling raffle tickets for Diabetes Victoria or volunteering my time at Cherub's creche? Does that make it more acceptable? You can see I want and try to be a good person, can't you? A good person with a house in that certain suburb.

I want. But I don't want to be greedy.

Love Stomper.

PS . You promised me a letter. In January. I don't want to nag but it's April. Maybe you could stop editing, and just print and send?

Also, thanks to Nutmeg for this. Maybe that's why I've been inspired to post some of my thoughts today instead of some of my doings. Anyway, in keeping with the rules of this exercise I need to nominate some blogs that make me think. This is hard because I love all the blogs on my bloglist and they all give me something different. But for helping me to think about things outside my norm, I nominate Shula and Aunty Cookie and Kirsty at Two Lime Leaves for crafty and or visual inspiration, Joke for culinary inspiration and House & Baby for living and loving her 'suburban dream'. And it's not like each and every one of the others doesn't deserve accolades but I'm supposed to stop at 5 and some of you have already received nominations from other sources.