As we did every year before the opening of the school, my husband and I drove from the farm to town to place the specially baked cupcakes, decorated with clown faces, on the tables of each of my new grade one pupils.
I baked the cakes specifically for them and decorated them with much care and love to make the pupils feel extra welcome in my class.
I was immune to all the tears and separation anxieties of those little ones who were coming to the school for the first time. But I certainly was not prepared for what was awaiting me.
With brave steps the dearest little ones came up the path towards the class — clutching mom and dad’s hands. I welcomed each one at the door as I led them to their tables.
When I had greeted almost all of them, a heavily built dad, Louis Venter II, openly burst into tears and begged me to take great care of his son, Louis Venter III. This would be the first time father and son would be separated for longer than five hours.
Little Louis knew everything about the mechanics of a tractor and about farming, but he had never been in a play group — and had certainly never been in a classroom.
Pulling away
I assured the dad that all would be fine. They said their goodbyes and I took the little boy’s sweaty hand and held it tight. He was putting in a great effort to pull away from me and scuttle. It seemed like he wanted to give the class of 40 their first learning experience — one they would never forget.
The desperate “Teacher, I need the bathroom now!” caught me unawares. I instructed all the boys to line up so that I could show them where the bathroom was. Louis III was right in front.
By the time I turned the key in the lock it was too late. Louis III had fled the scene and there was scarcely enough time to shout at the teacher next door to keep an eye on the rest of the new pupils.
I lost my left shoe at the door. At the 400m mark I lost my right shoe. I was petrified as I saw the gap between the galloping Louis and me increasing. I sprinted at such a furious pace that I ran right out of the top half of my underwear.
Catching up
By the time I reached him and caught him by the scruff of his neck, I was panting and gasping for breath.
He sobbed and asked me to phone his father, because they had not completed the planting on the farm and there was nobody to help him. I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea because there were a few other weeping children waiting for me in the class.
The pleading in Louis III’s dark eyes and the dried tears on his cheeks convinced me to “do the right thing”. I promised I would phone his dad if he, too, promised he would come back the following day and bring seeds from the farm to plant in front of our classroom.
Triumph
His dad, with his grandpa, Louis I, were only a phone call away — they were waiting outside the school gate, counting the hours until little Louis would make his appearance. A most grateful and relieved dad and grandpa promised they would bring him back the following day. They kept their word and Louis III became a faithful pupil.
In front of my classroom an enormous mealie plant grew and now, more than two-and-a-half decades later, I often wonder whether Louis III ever took Louis IV to the grade one class.
Belinda Harmse teaches grade R at Woel & Werskaf Pre-Primary in Potchefstroom, North West. She was the winner in the category of excellence in grade R teaching in the 2011 National Teaching Awards.