Voices Classroom Journal

My heart skipped a beat when Andrew asked for an itinerary of the school’s Darwin trip. Could he be thinking of coming again this year? Worse still, was he concocting some juvenile plan to shadow the 2007 group as it set out on its journey north, into the heart of this sacred land? Put euphemistically, Andrew had been one of the more outgoing, energetic members of last year’s trip. His presence may, as it did last year, somewhat disrupt the smooth running of the learning experience.

I was put at ease when he assured me that he needed it for his own personalised adventure. Coming to the end of year twelve, his plan was to revisit Uluru, King’s Canyon, Alice Springs, Katherine Gorge, Kakadu, Darwin and Leitchfield National Park with his mates, but this time “without the teachers and the ten o’clock curfew.”

There can be no smoking. We need to stick together as a group. Swim only when supervised. Please don’t climb the rock. No running or jumping into water. I’d prefer you didn’t. NO! Time to get up. Time to go to bed. No, we’re not there yet! Another twenty minutes! SHUT UP!

As this information took root, the teacher in me was torn between two competing emotions. Personally, I admired his audacity. What a great idea! Hadn’t I always dreamt myself of returning to the North, without the encumbrance of students? Being free to stop for a drink at the many ‘man-made’ watering holes we passed, to stay for as long as I wanted and to head for bed not burdened by ‘legal liability’ and the next day’s wake-up call. Unrestricted by routine, rules and itinerary. Yet despite the relief I felt in knowing that Andrew would not again be the feared, disruptive influence he had been, I was taken aback by the honesty of his

admission that we as teachers had somehow held him back. He wanted to return, but this time without us. “You’re a nice bloke,” he reassured me. “Just it wasn’t much fun! At least, not when the teachers were around.”

I remembered the time and effort that went into planning and executing his trip. I remembered endless hours counting and banking money. I remembered financial deadlines not being met. I remembered parent’s evenings providing vital information that few took in. I remembered liaising between staff and bus crew, and disenfranchised students. I remembered getting up early and going to bed late. I remembered dealing with this one’s illness, that one’s emotional problem, and another’s dietary needs. I remembered concern for reckless boys’ physical wellbeing and naïve – yet on the verge of womanhood – girls’ safety. I remembered the complaints from intolerant campers and concerned park managers. I remembered taking phone calls from worried and angry parents. Most of all, I remembered coming home, in the end just happy to get back with the same number, without anyone ending up, as one wag once said, “in hospital, in jail, or in the morgue.”

Every time I take a group of students outside the gates of the school, my attitude changes from ‘education’ to ‘adventure’. Childhood images come to mind of Enid Blyton’s Enchanted Forest and Magic Far Away Tree, or the discoveries by Bilbo and Frodo in Tolkien’s tales of the little people and their encounter with the world beyond. And it’s me – always me – leading the expedition in the role of Gandalf, Aragon, Faramir. The wise sage introducing these empty, receptive vessels to the epic adventure, guiding it to its safe conclusion at great personal expense, to be loved and admired by those who have grown from the experience.






	Dreams Defined Excursions, and teacher stress By Paul Reed Relicious Education Co-Ordinator at Catholic Regional College My heart skipped a beat when Andrew asked for an itinerary of the school’s Darwin trip. Could he be thinking of coming again this year? Worse still, was he concocting some juvenile plan to shadow the 2007 group as it set out on its journey north, into the heart of this sacred land? Put euphemistically, Andrew had been one of the more outgoing, energetic members of last year’s trip. His presence may, as it did last year, somewhat disrupt the smooth running of the learning experience. I was put at ease when he assured me that he needed it for his own personalised adventure. Coming to the end of year twelve, his plan was to revisit Uluru, King’s Canyon, Alice Springs, Katherine Gorge, Kakadu, Darwin and Leitchfield National Park with his mates, but this time “without the teachers and the ten o’clock curfew.” There can be no smoking. We need to stick together as a group. Swim only when supervised. Please don’t climb the rock. No running or jumping into water. I’d prefer you didn’t. NO! Time to get up. Time to go to bed. No, we’re not there yet! Another twenty minutes! SHUT UP! As this information took root, the teacher in me was torn between two competing emotions. Personally, I admired his audacity. What a great idea! Hadn’t I always dreamt myself of returning to the North, without the encumbrance of students? Being free to stop for a drink at the many ‘man-made’ watering holes we passed, to stay for as long as I wanted and to head for bed not burdened by ‘legal liability’ and the next day’s wake-up call. Unrestricted by routine, rules and itinerary. Yet despite the relief I felt in knowing that Andrew would not again be the feared, disruptive influence he had been, I was taken aback by the honesty of his admission that we as teachers had somehow held him back. He wanted to return, but this time without us. “You’re a nice bloke,” he reassured me. “Just it wasn’t much fun! At least, not when the teachers were around.” I remembered the time and effort that went into planning and executing his trip. I remembered endless hours counting and banking money. I remembered financial deadlines not being met. I remembered parent’s evenings providing vital information that few took in. I remembered liaising between staff and bus crew, and disenfranchised students. I remembered getting up early and going to bed late. I remembered dealing with this one’s illness, that one’s emotional problem, and another’s dietary needs. I remembered concern for reckless boys’ physical wellbeing and naïve – yet on the verge of womanhood – girls’ safety. I remembered the complaints from intolerant campers and concerned park managers. I remembered taking phone calls from worried and angry parents. Most of all, I remembered coming home, in the end just happy to get back with the same number, without anyone ending up, as one wag once said, “in hospital, in jail, or in the morgue.” Every time I take a group of students outside the gates of the school, my attitude changes from ‘education’ to ‘adventure’. Childhood images come to mind of Enid Blyton’s Enchanted Forest and Magic Far Away Tree, or the discoveries by Bilbo and Frodo in Tolkien’s tales of the little people and their encounter with the world beyond. And it’s me – always me – leading the expedition in the role of Gandalf, Aragon, Faramir. The wise sage introducing these empty, receptive vessels to the epic adventure, guiding it to its safe conclusion at great personal expense, to be loved and admired by those who have grown from the experience.	Spirit of Generation Y: Young People’s Spirituality in a Changing Australia ISBN : 9781920721466 Author(s): Mason, Singleton & Webber The Spirit of Generation Y describes young people’s spirituality, values, worldviews and community engagement. Drawing on data from a large scale national study of youth values, spirituality and citizenship, it describes the patterns and ‘types’ of spirituality in Generation Y, and discusses the possible influences shaping these forms of spirituality. It further considers the consequences of these forms of spirituality for the way in which members of this generation participate in society.

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