Water Under the, Whatever.

It’s all Ancient History.

Or rather, my present and recent past have been all about Ancient History. My immediate and not-so-immediate future(s)(?) will most likely be all about ancient history too. As if this weren’t complicated enough as it is.

I suppose it’s easiest to begin at the beginning, if not somewhere around the middle-to-end.

In grade eleven I began an irrevocably passionate love affair with ancient history. I’m that person who willingly spends every possible minute on holiday in a museum (Berlin’s 170 museums/ galleries all but blew my mind), who can determine the historical significance (to say nothing of cause and effect) of a single rock, who stares reverently at “old stuff” in general... And so what if I have been known, from time to time, to shed a tear or two at particularly moving or influential historical sites? Temple Church, Canterbury Cathedral, Stonehenge… big things have happened in these places. Monumental things. THINGS that FOREVER changed the course of history!!!!

Let’s put it this way: if you ever lose me, chances are pretty good that I can be found in the History section at Chapters. If I’m not there it’s because I’m buying a one-way ticket to the poorhouse, courtesy of nationalgeographic.com

Fortunately I have several amazing friends who not only support my inner (ok, who are we kidding here… general all-over) historical fanatic, but who actually embrace and nurture it.

At the very least they’re willing to roll their eyes, pat my hand and inform me that they’ll be at the nearest gelateria when I emerge from my historically-induced coma and decide to rejoin the land of the living. After all, that Marks and Spencer picnic in Hyde Park won’t have itself.

The point being: I love history.

And this year I’ve been given the opportunity to teach it.

CHW3MI is the Holy Grail of courses for historically-minded individuals who find themselves working in our province’s secondary schools. This semester, it’s mine to cherish.

In language classes I tend to get confused looks and threats of visits from “the nice men in white coats” from my students whenever my eyes gloss over with reverence and passion whilst discussing a grammatical point (verb tenses get me EVERY TIME). But in CHW3MI, when I look out over those 31 smiling faces in my class and the fervour hits me, I realize that half of them are right there with me.

The other half are at least smiling pleasantly, dreaming of gelatto no doubt.

I feel like I could do this for the rest of my life and be completely happy.

(once the insane prep that is the… joy… that every teacher experiences their first time through a course subsides anyway.)

Except that it’s coming to an end.

It has been my experience that perfection tends to be short-lived and, being the Holy Grail, another teacher, one labelled as a “History teacher” (which, despite my qualifications, I am not) will soon be returning from maternity leave and reclaiming what is “rightfully” (technically?) hers.

Although it has lasted but a mere term, this short period and, more importantly, the students I have had the privilege of working with since September, have reminded me why I got into education in the first place. In many ways it’s been a breath of fresh air, revitalizing and re-energizing me, providing the positive reinforcement I needed to help get me to the next leg of my “professional journey”, so to speak. When I step into my classroom on the other side of the world next summer, as far from these students as I could possibly be, I’ll know that I owe the experience, at least in part, to them.

In the interim I suppose I’ll have to rely on that historically-induced coma. After all, it’s not a bad way to pass the time.