HomeMy WebLinkAboutZurich Citizens News, 1974-02-07, Page 4PAGE 4
ZURICH CITIZENS NEWS.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 1974
7'
Students get benefits!
The new "floating" teachers' centre for elementary school
teachers in Huron County is bound to be an asset not only to
those devoted champions of the classroom, but to the students
as well„
Huron County Board of Education in setting up an annual
budget of about $1, 000 has taken another positive step towards
improved relations with the teaching staff. This time though,
part of the responsibility will be placed squarely on the should-
ers of the teachers who will have to make use of the teachers'
centre before it can truly serve its purpose.
Teachers' centres, it seems, are very popular in Britain.
In fact, the Ministry of Education is keenly interested in teach-
ers' centres, and their success - or failure - here and in other
school areas in the province will probably be closely watched.
Open from the time school closes in the afternoon until
9 p.m. there will be only one teachers' centre which will
travel at. one-month intervals between four schools in the
county - McCurdy School, near Centralia, Hensall Public
School, Victoria Public School in Goderich and. Wingham Public
School. That way, all the teachers in Huron will have equal
opportunity to take advantage of this moving resource centre
which is expected to contain a collection of helpful ideas and
classroom teaching aids geared to teachers of Kindergarten to
Grade 8.
According to John Cochrane, director of education for Huron
County, there will be stationery supplies available at the centre
which can be used by the teachers for on -the -spot preparation
of their own classroom aids based on the ideas found there.
While the teachers' centres are non -compulsory, they will
be continued as long as interest is shown in them. It is to be
hoped that Huron elementary school teachers will seize this
opportunity provided by the board in co-operation with the
Ministry of Education.
Students will reap the rewards.
(Goderich Signal Star)
rom my •window
It has been quite a while
since I've visited in you homes
with you. During the Christ-
mas -New Year rush, I began a
holiday which took me and
my family to sunnier climes in
Florida. It was a great holiday
and one which I hope I can
relive one day soon.
Everyone in the family went
except our oldest son. He re-
mained at home to grow up.
Of course, he didn't think of it
that way. But that is what it
turned out to be --a growing
process for him and a condit-
ioning process for me.
When we were planning the
trip, it was evident our eldest
would not go with us. In his
final year of high school he
felt he could not afford the
time away from class, and of
course, I applauded him for his
sensible attitude toward his
scholastic success,
But I must admit I was reluct-
ant to leave him. Whether it
was the pangs of motherhood
or the recollection of my own
youthful exhuberance while
mom and dad were away, I do
not really know. All I admit
is that I was hesitant about
travelling 15 00 miles away and
leaving my son to fend for him-
self.
"Let go of those apron strings,
BY SHIRLEY J. KELLER
Shirley, " my husband admon-
ished. "He's 18. According to
the law, he's an adult. He's
finishing school and leaving
home this, fall. Get used to the
idea he's growing up and going
out of the nest."
That seemed like sane and
sage advice, so throwing caut-
ion to the wind I agreed to go
to Florida without him...and
leave my boy alone.
Strangely enough, I was not
worried about him while I was
gone. I was so wrapped up in
my own pleasure, I completely
forgot my concern for my son.
It was a good thing too. I
could have made myself miser-
able while all the time, our
eldest was doing marvellously
by himself.
The day we arrived home,
unannounced, was about two
days earlies than planned. I
was ready for the worst when I
opened the door.
To my utter relief, the house
was absolutely normal --maybe
cleaner than usual. The dishes
were done. The sinks were clean
ed. the basement had been
tidied up. The records were
neatly stacked. The frig was
clean as a whip. The stove was
gleaming. And our eldest was
at school. Complete order all
round.
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Have you watched teenagers
dancing lately? If you haven't
and your old-fashioned, and
your blood pressure is high,
take my advice. Don't.
Saturday afternoon, through
sheer inertia, I found myself
before a television set showing
one of these teenage dance
programs. Fortunately, I am
neither old-fashioned nor high
blood -pressured (it says here)
But I must confess, I was wish-
ing I were 25 years younger.
Today's kids dance dolefully
but sweetly, to the slow numb-
ers, heads knuckled together,
bodies scarcely moving, intent,
serious, tender yet strangely
impersonal.
But when the music begins
to clang and thump, they come
into their own. They laugh;
they bob and bounce; they
wiggle and jiggle and giggle.
Their faces light up. Their feet
weave and shift and trace pec-
uliar patterns. They are very
young and very much alive,
and completely caught up in
that most ancient means of
communication - rhythm.
Watching them, I was sad.
It's a pretty bitter thing,after
all, to have been too young
for the Charleston, too old for
the twist.
But I couldn't stay sad. Let-
ting my mind drift back over
the years, I actually began to
When our son did arrive
home, he assured us he was
glad to see us, that he was
tired of the responsibility and
the routine which accompanies
the management of a home.
He did say, however, he had
enjoyed his experience, that he
understood our problems in
maintaining a household and
working at the same time,
that he respected our views
now on several matters which
he previously did not under-
stand and that he had learned a
great deal about life and living.
"The prices!" he raved.
"The prices are terrible. I don't
know how you and dad do it.
I thought you'd left me plenty
of money, that I wouldn't need
nearly all of it. Do you know
that I'm almost our of money
and that in another few days
I wouldn't have had any?"
I commented on the cleanlin-
ess of the house. I asked if the
cleaning lady had been in reg-
ularly.
My son told me he'd cancel-
led her services until I returned.
"I figured that with just me
here I could keep the place
clean, " he beamed proudly.
"I think I did a pretty good job.
I had a routine. If you would
have come home tomorrow, I'd
have had the dusting done.
Tonight's my night to dust."
Was he hungry, I wanted to
know.
"No, " he shrugged. "Remind
me to give you my recipe for
chili. It is really great. I
make a mean bowl of chili. I
even gave a dinner party while
you were gone. Everybody ate
and ate so it must have been
good."
So there you have it, friends,
After years of ranting and rav-
ing, lecturing and loving, talk-
ing and teaching, the boy has
given way to a man. What a
glorious feeling. What a lesson
learned --for both of us.
feel sorry for the youngsters.
"These kids, " I thought dist-
ainfully. "How many of them
have mustard a step as I did?
Sure, they can do the Cha -Cha
and the Twist and the Bossa
Nova. But is there a single one
of them who can base a whole
era of dancing on one step --
the fox trot --as I did?
There are ample -bosomed
middle-aged ladies across the
land who will testify that Smil-
ey was a corker, if not a terror,
when he tripped the light fant-
astically.
There are grandmothers in
Canada, England, France and
Belgium whose eyes still light
up when they remembered the
way we whirled about the dance
halls, a symphony of smooth-
ness, a fantasy of fox-trotting.
"How many of these kids, " I
wondered, "have ever danced
with a Brazilian beauty who
couldn't speak a word of English
and was doing a dreamy tango
while you were doing a brisk
tox-trot?
"How many of them, " I
queried, "Have ever been to a
real old country square-dance,
where the sign that the dance
was over was not the band play-
ing the "Queen, " but the stove-
pipes coming down when the
fight started?"
"How many, " I thought, "
have ever tried to fox-trot with
a brawny Land Army girl who
was bound she was doing a waltz,
and could lift you right off the
floor in the process?
"How many of then, " I con-
sidered, "have walked up to a
flashing -eyed young French
matron in Brussels, at a night-
club, bowed to her, bowed to
her husband, asked for a dance
in impeccable Grade 11 French
and received a slap in the face
from her, and a kick in the
groin from her husband?"
No. Let them have their fun.
I have my memories. Long
before these kids were running
around with their diapers dangl-
ing, I was cheek -to cheel<ing
it on enchanted summer even-
ings, and breathing heavily into
the ears of their Aunt Mabels.
Business and Professional directory
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SEAFORTH MEDICAL CENTRE
527.1240
Tt{esday, Taursday, Friday, Sat-
urday a:m., Thursday evening
CLINTON OFFICE
10 Issec Street 482.7010
Monday and Wednesday
Call either office for
appointment.
Norman Martin
OPTOMETRIST
Office Hours:
9.12 A,M, -- 1:30.8 P.M,
Closed all day Saturday
Phone 230433 Exeter
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