On Being A Total Nutcase (Jeremy)

Sometime late last year, I was sitting in a small room located somewhere deep within the monolith that is the Engineering department with the lovely, helpful Ms.Stevenson-McBride (NOT like that, you filthy, dirty perverts), sorting out my enrolment and subject choices for not only year 2006 but also in terms of the rest of my University career. I had already managed to enrol for Engineering/Arts, the Arts side of things fitted in to accomodate my Chinese, which, having lived in China and learnt Chinese through school, I did not want to lose. Suddenly, I was hit by a sudden flash of inspiration.

“In terms of the other arts subjects left over after my Chinese… do you think it would be possible to fit another language into that Arts degree as well?”

“No”, said Ms.Stevenson-McBride, “there’s no room. It has to be done as a major.”

When I asked her if I could please do post-VCE French as part of a Diploma of Modern Languages as well, she turned and looked at me as though I’d grown a large breast out of my forehead. I can’t blame her; two post-VCE languages isn’t exactly an ordinary course for anybody but I just loved both of my languages and it really was a struggle to prioritise one over the other. She abruptly returned to her Professional Manner and fished out a blue A4 form from deep within the pile of papers at her side.

“This will be a six-year course if you do it.”

“Yeh. I know.”

“You won’t be finished until the end of 2011.”

“Yup. That’s cool.”

“Excuse me, I think you’ve dropped your brain.”

“What?”

She sighed, gave me the form, and turned back to her computer, typed in “Warning, student is possibly mentally unstable” (which is of course only a natural byproduct of being a Geelong supporter), and continued with the rest of my enrolment. I was happy. I’d found a way to continue both of my languages.

People do often ask me why I’m going to be spending so long at university. It’s a point worth making; I’m twenty now, having spent two years in between my first year of Uni and my last of school (and didn’t my French just rusticate in those two years), and I won’t be finished until just before my twenty-sixth birthday, way off in five-and-a-half years time. I’ll be going to Uni with people who were born (and yes, I have taken the time to work this out) in 1993 when I was in Grade One, being teased mercilessly by my fellow classmates for being a Geelong supporter (and nothing’s changed). These people will have the better part of a decade’s advantage on me. I think the point that really hammers this home is that some of my friends are actually in their graduation year this year, those who are doing three-year courses. We’ll all go for a catchup in 2011, and whilst I’m in my last year of Uni, they will be five-years graduated.

So, the question is, why stay for so long at University? The answer I always give is a very, very simple one. I have the rest of my entire life to be a normal working person with a house, wife, car, subscription to Reader’s Digest, Tatts Ticket on Saturdays, black briefcase, a car with electric windows, two point three kids and an overweight dog that never gets walked. Quite frankly, while I can stay at Uni, I will. Uni age is a fantastic age to be; young enough to know how to have fun, and old enough to know how to do it without killing yourself. That, and I enjoy the learning, too. If I’m going to be at work for roughly forty years of my own life, then, to be honest, I think I can stand six years of University too. The HECS debt is something that I just won’t think about whilst I’m at University (but my preferred payment plan at the minute involves a television crew, a villa in Majorca, and a respirator). Above all, I really enjoy the two languages and I have not regretted taking on the extra two years yet for a single minute.

One of my favourite parts of doing the two languages is, without a doubt, the language teachers. (Might I also add that my lecturers for my other two subjects are also great). I honestly do not know what they stick in the water in the Faculty of Education (though it’s probably highly illegal if you believe the stories about that place), but throughout my life I have had plenty of language teachers and with very few exceptions they have all been generous with both time and effort, altruistic and above all very human and compassionate people. I have always maintained this position about teachers in general, but, quite honestly, however much these people are paid, it isn’t enough. I am still in contact with both my French and Chinese teachers from high school (as well as my uber-cool English teacher) and whilst it sounds about as cool as front-row tickets to the nationwide Snakes and Ladders tournament I think it speaks volumes for the teachers concerned.

Luo Laoshi (Teacher Luo) is my Chinese teacher at University. He satisfies the Chinese Teacher stereotype all across Victoria in one single hit simply by being a short man with a combover haircut. I have no doubt in saying that he is one of the warmest and most compassionate men I have ever met. He teaches in a personal, encouraging and almost apologetic manner and has a slightly eccentric side to him too. I think the thing that I enjoy the most about his classes is that when Luo Laoshi is teaching Chinese 2A, he gives the impression that he would love nothing more at that point in time than to be teaching Chinese 2A. To cap it off, he has asked us if we would like to come to his house for Peking Duck sometime after exams. Believe me, if you want to bribe me into doing anything (sell off some distantly-related family members, burn rude words into the South Lawn, knock off Glynn Davis) then either chocolate or Peking Duck is certainly a decent step in the right direction.

My French Tutor, Henry Claude-Mera, is a different fish in the same basket. Like Luo Laoshi, he instantly manages to satisfy his own French Teacher stereotype (this time by owning a brown cord suit and slightly overlong curly hair that seems to be having its own party on top of his head). His sense of humour is fantastic and certainly very, very French. The man’s ability to make some sort of a human connection with his students is best summarised thus; when he told us he was getting married over the holidays, the class broke out into applause (and all the women went into emotional-romantic “Awww…” meltdown)…

Just to finish with, I’d like to relate this back to one of my own experiences that I had when I was teaching English back in China. I am currently writing a book about it (a project that has been put on hold during the University term) and I remember writing at one stage about two of my favourite teacher friends at the school where I taught. I remember writing (and I have it on my computer screen right here) about these two men; that it was so important to have them at the school, for the male students to be able to turn, look, and be able to see examples of men who they would be proud to be when they grow older. I’m not too embarassed or above myself to be able to use the humanity and generosity of these two teachers language of mine as examples to follow in my own life. To be honest, no-one, be they seven or seventy, ever should be. There’s always a little more to learn.

Best of luck with your exams everyone;

jez