Shed

When I first started working for Aspire, my over-qualified middle-class background caused suspicion in a couple of my colleagues who'd learnt what they knew of life the very hard way. Like many of our clients, they'd been treated badly by the education system, and wanted nothing to do with yet another teachery person coming in and imposing irrelevant 'learning'. 

I've done a lot of work with people the education system has spat out so I was expecting wariness and resentment and I knew I'd have to prove myself over time.

Jamie, whose memorial I went to this evening, was the first to trust me, about two months in, and we developed a strong bond based on deep respect for each others' approaches and experiences. Jamie's good friend, M, tried hard to annoy me for another six months and sometimes succeeded. After one nasty confrontation we talked honestly, and he told me of things I did that reminded him of teachers. We both changed our behaviour and things were better, at least on the surface, but we remained wary. M left the organisation before I did and I wasn't sorry to see the back of him. Our paths have crossed a few times since then and we've been civil but not much more.

This evening, both of us mourning Jamie, we were glad to hug each other. He apologised for how he'd behaved when I joined the organisation and said he'd learnt a lot since then. I thanked him but told him that people with my privilege should expect resentment. We had a laugh. We hugged again. We swapped phone numbers.

I know that Jamie is in the cold, dark earth, but if he'd had the chance he'd have bubbled with laughter, flung his arms round the pair of us and kissed us both on the cheek.

Cheers, Jamie. I don't half miss you.