Tag: life

Special Delivery: a letter to my children this Fathers Day.

Posted on June 19, 2011 by Doug Belshaw

Wreck This Journal-Doodling Back of Envelope

Dear Ben and Grace,

At four years and five months old, respectively, you’re both too young to be able to read this by yourselves. But I hope one day when you’re a bit older and have a little more understanding of the world that you’ll stumble upon this and reflect upon it.

First of all, I wanted to say how proud I am of you both. Whilst it’s hard to be proud of the actions of a five month-old you, Grace, manage to give me big, beaming smiles just at the right time to help me forget your impressively-piercing crying ability and tendency every now and again to fool us into thinking that you know how to sleep through. I’m also mightily impressed at the way that you’ve managed to surpass even Ben in the putting-on-weight front. Above the 99.6th percentile? Impressive.

With you, Ben, it’s easy to quantify and express the ways in which I’m proud of you. As I keep saying, I’m proud of you because you try so hard. Never stop that. You’re going to come up against challenges in life which are completely unfair and which, in the main, will seem to be the result of ‘the system’ rather than the individuals comprising it. Don’t let that put you off. You can change that system. Your Daddy spent his first thirty years on this earth believing the half-truths people told him about qualifications and job titles mattering. They don’t. Carry on doing what you do now: focus on relationships, focus on happiness (your own and other people’s), and try your best to be as good as you can be at the things you enjoy doing. Everything important flows from these things.

I can’t predict the future, but what I can predict is my enduring love for you both and for your Mummy. I don’t know where we’ll be living next year never mind by the time you come to read this, but I do know that how we live is a lot more important than where we live. So I’m sorry for the times when I’ve neglected you both due to work, a selfish mood or an undue fascination with technology. You’re both so important to me in ways I only realise when you’re not there.

Much as sometimes I feel I’d like to, I can’t be around to protect you all of the time: not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually too. Both of you are going to come across narrow-minded and shallow people. You’re going to struggle to understand people who trade authenticity for material possessions and their hopes and dreams for status. Don’t be tempted by that road. Strive instead to follow the path less travelled, the path where your first response to “What do you do?” isn’t simply repeating your job title. Although it will scare Mummy (especially)and Daddy to death, I implore you to go travelling at as young an age as you can. It really does broaden your outlook on life. And although this isn’t a “avoid what I regret” letter, never stop being creative: draw, paint, play musical instruments, speak foreign languages. Cultivate as many different ways of understanding the world as you can.

Most of all, my message to you this Fathers Day is that life can be whatever you want it to be: take risks! Ben, I’m trying to do that as much as possible with you now, which means you get into some scrapes; Grace, I know that I’m going to find this so much more difficult with you. Forgive me. Parenting really is the hardest job in the world sometimes (but I wouldn’t have it any other way).

Love,

Your Daddy, xx

Image CC BY-NC Deborah Leigh (Migraine Chick)

A life in my technological day.

Posted on July 6, 2010 by Doug Belshaw

Introduction

This post is prompted by 3 things:

Re-discovering Stammy’s Why I’m more productive on a Mac post from 2006.
Reading Cory Doctorow’s post What I Do where he outlines the hardware and software he uses (and why).
A discussion at EdTechRoundUp on Sunday night where I was asked to explain why the iPhone 4 is ‘better’ than the Dell Streak.

Continue reading “A life in my technological day.”

A (temporary) farewell to a hero.

Posted on August 16, 2009 by Doug Belshaw

Doug Belshaw and Keith Belshaw

We didn’t take the footpath to the terminal; he’s always taken the path less travelled. He didn’t turn around as he strode purposefully to the gate. I didn’t cry. We all knew it was inevitable.

A month away from retirement he announced he was off down to London.

“What for?”

“An interview.”

“What, for a job in London? I thought you were retiring!

“No, a consultant job in Abu Dhabi.”

I laughed, thinking he was joking. He looked up from the laptop upon which he was booking his train tickets. It was at that point I knew that not only was he not joking, but that he would indeed be spending some time in the Middle East. He’s never done things by halves.

He didn’t get the consultancy role. He’s a teacher. Having tried his hand at Senior Management for a good fifteen years he’d returned to the classroom for the last ten of his career. It’s where he belongs. He’ll be team-teaching, working alongside native teachers in the United Arab Emirates on behalf of the Specialist Schools and Academies Trust (SSAT). I’m not sure you can teach enthusiasm and passion, although he’ll do his best to try!

It’s hard to measure the impact this man has had on my life. But it’s a lot easier to write down your feelings rather than say them. He was my junior football manager, the Deputy Headmaster of my school, and when I was younger a superhero. Without always needing to say anything he’s guided me through lived example. He’s certainly not perfect, although upon reflection I’ve realised that the times I find him inappropriate can usually be put down to his exuberance and zest for life.

His M.Ed. spurred me on to do my MA and now my Ed.D. Until a few years ago I assumed that accumulating degrees and job titles would be enough; enough to command respect and guarantee a safe and easy passage through life. It’s not. The number of letters after your name and/or job title is irrelevant. It’s what you do with your life that counts. He’s ‘walked the walk.’

It’s common to trot out the platitudes and trite phrases when a teacher nears the end of their career about the ‘number of lives they’ve touched’ and ‘lives they’ve influenced.’ I wish no-one had ever said these things before so I could apply them for the first time here. It’s never been more true.

So here’s to you, Dad. This is for all the times I should have said ‘I love you’ but haven’t. This is for the times I’ve got annoyed and snapped at you. And this is to let you know that even when you weren’t talking, I was learning from you.

God speed. 🙂