High school hijinks at John Paul II College

Back in 1987, I attended the former Edmund Ignatius Rice College in Rotorua, New Zealand, while I was living there as an exchange student with AFS.

I have a lot of fond memories of the place. This is where David Baines beat up two fourth-formers who had been giving me a hard time, and revealing just how deeply I'd been accepted into the group. It was where I learned to play rugby and where Mark Wirihana taught me how to use a taiaha. And it was where I, a Protestant, learned the Hail Mary, even thought I would say "watermelon canteloupe watermelon canteloupe" over and over during prayertime in chapel.

One memory stands out right now, for whatever reason.

My sixth-form homeroom teacher was Brother Philip, a decent enough teacher, all things considered. He was long on patience, which you had to be at an all-boys high school that was about to merge with an all-girls high school and your job was one that would face the ax when the music stopped.

Actually, you just had to be long on patience in being a teacher at an all-boys high school.

One fine afternoon, at the end of the school day, I took it upon myself to stack all the desks in Brother Philip's room on top of each other. I would pick up one, lay it flat atop another, and then pick up a third, and carefully balance its feet atop the feet of the upended desk. After that came a fourth desk, which also would be placed, upside-down, so that in short order there were four desks stacked together and nearly touching the ceiling.

Now repeat the process until every last desk in the room has been placed into these rather awkward arrangements.

Just as I began to survey my work, it suddenly hit me: School wasn't over, and it was time for maths class. So I grabbed my bookbag, exited through the door and went down the hallway into Ms. Gosnell's class, where we were about to have a test.

There was a door joining the two rooms, but it was on the far side from our book cubby, so I go that way. Probably just as well, considering what happened next.

About ten minutes into the test, Brother Philip entered the room, looking slightly aggrieved. He walked over to Ms. Goswell, spoke to her in hushed tones for a minute, and after she shook her head in dismay, he left the room as quietly as he had entered.

A day or two later it hit me that he had been trying to figure out who had left him with a room full of desks stacked four high. At the time, I was answering questions about surds or the Pythagorean theorem or some other material, so while I registered his presence in the room, I never gave myself away with an ill-timed smirk or giggle.

If they were asked, none of my classmates ratted me out. And I never told a soul that it had been me. Until now.


Copyright © 2008 by David Learn. Used with permission.


Tweet