Mrs. R. Michael was the Principal of Anita Methodist School from around 1987 to 2001. I passed out of Class X in 2000, which means she was my Principal for most of my school life. She passed away a few days ago.
The first word that comes to mind when I think of you, Mrs. Michael, is not love. I don't want to hide that, I'm sorry!
It's been 26 years since I was your student. A lot of the fear and trepidation that a Principal naturally commands has faded with time, but it never quite converted into warmth. That said, in the 9 years I've now worked at the same school, I've heard from a few staff who knew you better than I did, that you led with love. Sometimes too much of it, some would say. Perhaps not as firm as certain teachers or parents would have wanted you to be. But that's their story to tell, not mine.
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The first word that comes to mind when I think of you, Mrs. Michael, is not love. I don't want to hide that, I'm sorry!
It's been 26 years since I was your student. A lot of the fear and trepidation that a Principal naturally commands has faded with time, but it never quite converted into warmth. That said, in the 9 years I've now worked at the same school, I've heard from a few staff who knew you better than I did, that you led with love. Sometimes too much of it, some would say. Perhaps not as firm as certain teachers or parents would have wanted you to be. But that's their story to tell, not mine.
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My most enduring memory of you, Mrs. Michael, has nothing to do with discipline or being called to your office.
It was a Children's Day programme. This would have been around 1995-1997. The programme was held in what was then the music room, which I believe is now the school library. A few classes at a time were brought in, and groups of teachers were doing skits, dances, little performances for us. (Might have been an early rudimentary version of Adzap?!)
Mrs. Michael, you weren't sitting in the audience watching. You were in one of the skits.
And at some point in the skit, you announced: "From tomorrow, the uniform for Anita Methodist is jeans." (Ah yes, my fickle memory says that y'all were trying to 'market' some jeans, so it must have been some version of Adzap)
I remember one of my classmates turning to me with full earnestness and asking, "So from tomorrow we don't have to wear uniform?"
Mrs. Michael, you weren't sitting in the audience watching. You were in one of the skits.
And at some point in the skit, you announced: "From tomorrow, the uniform for Anita Methodist is jeans." (Ah yes, my fickle memory says that y'all were trying to 'market' some jeans, so it must have been some version of Adzap)
I remember one of my classmates turning to me with full earnestness and asking, "So from tomorrow we don't have to wear uniform?"
I told him you were joking. But in the last ~30 years, I've often wondered: she cracked a joke. On stage. In front of the school. Having fun.
I don't know why this memory has stayed with me all these years. Maybe because a Principal occupies such a particular place in a student's world - we revere them, we're a little afraid of them, we certainly don't expect them to be... fun. And yet, there you were. Having fun. Laughing. Being human.
I don't know why this memory has stayed with me all these years. Maybe because a Principal occupies such a particular place in a student's world - we revere them, we're a little afraid of them, we certainly don't expect them to be... fun. And yet, there you were. Having fun. Laughing. Being human.
These days, I find it beautiful how many of us raised in traditional Christian homes encounter The Chosen TV series, and suddenly have this realisation: Jesus laughed. Jesus was enjoyable company. Jesus was someone you'd want to be around. Mrs. Michael, up on that little stage in the music room, you were embodying something of that spirit, all those years before I even knew what it was that you were doing.
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I have other memories of you, Mrs Michael, and not necessarily warm.
Being called into your office as a witness for a complaint about a senior who treated my dear friend badly. My father asking, without my knowledge, that I be shifted from Thamizh to French in Class VI. A stern reprimand when a group of us were making farewell plans in Class X that you decided we couldn't do, even though we had permission from our parents. Or even you asking, in front of the whole school assembly, why I did not score a prize in some computer competition held somewhere and was instead receiving only a participation prize (Oh Mrs Michael - if only you could see what I do with computers now!) when I had a computer at home (her logic was, in 1999, since I had a computer at home, I should be acing computer theory).
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I have other memories of you, Mrs Michael, and not necessarily warm.
Being called into your office as a witness for a complaint about a senior who treated my dear friend badly. My father asking, without my knowledge, that I be shifted from Thamizh to French in Class VI. A stern reprimand when a group of us were making farewell plans in Class X that you decided we couldn't do, even though we had permission from our parents. Or even you asking, in front of the whole school assembly, why I did not score a prize in some computer competition held somewhere and was instead receiving only a participation prize (Oh Mrs Michael - if only you could see what I do with computers now!) when I had a computer at home (her logic was, in 1999, since I had a computer at home, I should be acing computer theory).
None of those memories leave a good feeling in the alleyways of nostalgia inside my head.
But...
But...
Having spent 9 years working in a school now, I think I understand something I couldn't have understood as a child. A Principal is managing 2,000 variables at once. She has to hold a position. She has to maintain a standard. Of esteem. Of respect. Of dignity.
The things that felt unjust or heavy-handed to a 13-year-old me were probably decisions made with a weight I had no capacity then to appreciate.
Were you a good person? I honestly don't know you well enough to say.
Were you a good Principal? I think so, yes. For all of us who studied under you, I think we'd all agree that you were.
Thank you, Mrs Michael, for leading with every bit of goodness that you had, and for holding together the school that shaped me and all the ones who studied with me. May you rest in peace.
My thoughts are you family at this time - may God bless them, and give them the comfort and peace and contentment that only a life lived for Jesus can bring.