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Back beneath the dark economic skies of 1997, some friends had to return to Ireland to live, taking with them their two children, who were born in Mount Elizabeth and who had attended an International School here for their first few years of education. Condo living, domestic help, Saturday morning tennis lessons all left behind, along with friends from many cultures. Ireland meant for them attending a rural three-room schoolhouse, which was located so far west it was nearly in the Atlantic. The children took this in their stride for the most part. Mum and Dad, not so much. Mum turned up at her first morning meeting of class parents with, much to everyone's great astonishment, a bottle of wine and some dips: "Brian", she wrote after a few months, "they've never even heard of hummus!"
But school was their biggest worry because it really couldn't have been more different - very small and intimate, Catholic ethos, combined grades in one room. Meeting her kids off the bus on the first evening, having spent the day consumed with worry, Mum asked how the day had gone:
– "Yup, pretty good", they said. "There are only fourteen kids in the class! And two Muslim women visited us. They were very nice."
– "Two Muslim women? Are you sure?"
– "Yes. They were very kind and smiley. They did a big talk."
– "Are you sure they were Muslim women? What did they talk to you about?"
– "Jesus mostly. And Confirmation. Live in a convent they said. They were very nice."
The notion of Third Culture Kids has been back on the educational blogosphere and message boards of late I notice. It is a term used to describe children who spend a significant amount of time living in a place which lies outside of their parents' culture. Typically, they assimilate many cultures but feel no ownership or belonging to any. It can be equally stimulating and depressing for them. The late David Pollock, who spoke here about ten years ago, talked about the little invisible bubbles of identity that float around a child's head as they walk around. People who know them well will identify them as the kid who played piano at assembly, who is big into karate, who won an award in Grade 4 for public speaking. When they move, all those little identifiers pop. They feel that sense being among strangers and the weariness of having to build it all up again.
Socially, it is not much different for adults; professionally it is a lot worse. One way that we can help is to have our children keep a photo diary and a portfolio of their out of school achievements. This is fairly easy to do electronically - pictures of certificates, team photos, and so forth, which they can show people when they move. Whether anyone could take in all this information about your child is largely immaterial; they have had a chance to share it and to feel that the little identifying bubbles are back bobbing around their heads again.
Of course those dark economic skies have moved from Asia and are now menacing Ireland but this weekend is St Patrick's Weekend and so the whole country will forget that for a few days. St Patrick was one of the first recorded Third Culture Kids to visit our shores, hailing as he did from Wales. It took a Welshman to teach the Irish how we should behave and, most historians agree, a fine job he did of it too. We have, of course, returned the favour since by giving the Welsh annual lessons in how to play rugby. It's the least we could do and we wish they would stop thanking us.
Have a restful weekend,
Brian
But school was their biggest worry because it really couldn't have been more different - very small and intimate, Catholic ethos, combined grades in one room. Meeting her kids off the bus on the first evening, having spent the day consumed with worry, Mum asked how the day had gone:
– "Yup, pretty good", they said. "There are only fourteen kids in the class! And two Muslim women visited us. They were very nice."
– "Two Muslim women? Are you sure?"
– "Yes. They were very kind and smiley. They did a big talk."
– "Are you sure they were Muslim women? What did they talk to you about?"
– "Jesus mostly. And Confirmation. Live in a convent they said. They were very nice."
The notion of Third Culture Kids has been back on the educational blogosphere and message boards of late I notice. It is a term used to describe children who spend a significant amount of time living in a place which lies outside of their parents' culture. Typically, they assimilate many cultures but feel no ownership or belonging to any. It can be equally stimulating and depressing for them. The late David Pollock, who spoke here about ten years ago, talked about the little invisible bubbles of identity that float around a child's head as they walk around. People who know them well will identify them as the kid who played piano at assembly, who is big into karate, who won an award in Grade 4 for public speaking. When they move, all those little identifiers pop. They feel that sense being among strangers and the weariness of having to build it all up again.
Socially, it is not much different for adults; professionally it is a lot worse. One way that we can help is to have our children keep a photo diary and a portfolio of their out of school achievements. This is fairly easy to do electronically - pictures of certificates, team photos, and so forth, which they can show people when they move. Whether anyone could take in all this information about your child is largely immaterial; they have had a chance to share it and to feel that the little identifying bubbles are back bobbing around their heads again.
Of course those dark economic skies have moved from Asia and are now menacing Ireland but this weekend is St Patrick's Weekend and so the whole country will forget that for a few days. St Patrick was one of the first recorded Third Culture Kids to visit our shores, hailing as he did from Wales. It took a Welshman to teach the Irish how we should behave and, most historians agree, a fine job he did of it too. We have, of course, returned the favour since by giving the Welsh annual lessons in how to play rugby. It's the least we could do and we wish they would stop thanking us.
Have a restful weekend,
Brian
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