When I was at Ecolint, life was all about potential. Was I achieving my potential in class? Was I aiming for my full potential in my university applications? Was I experiencing all the potential that such a rich school environment offered?
I was only there for three years, but those three years formed some crucial building bricks of the person I have become. I learned that we are all different. Of course, I knew that in theory but it was only at Ecolint that I learned that I could be friends with someone who held radically different beliefs to mine. It is also that diverse environment that helped form my own vision of the world, and what kind of place I hoped to take in it.
I went to university in the UK, and fulfilled my ambition to become a teacher. Roll forward a few years, and I was able to stay at home to look after my son while still teaching from home. At that point, I have to admit that life stood still to an extent. It became about the present, enjoying the simple things in life. I certainly stopped looking at potential, and mostly working at fulfilling it. It never occurred to me that potential is not always what we expect.
Today, it is twenty years since I was preparing for my IB. Today my life is once again all about potential, but a different kind. As I sit and write, my son is on his way to his special residential school. He has Asperger's syndrome and its severity is such that we cannot live together. He is a child with phenomenal intelligence, unexpected insight and on paper at least, limitless potential. He is also a child with extremely limited social functioning, who has almost no understanding of authority and is emotionally terribly confused. So in reality, that potential changes. We do not know where he is headed, but despite his intelligence, our hopes will be answered if he is able to live independently as a young man.
My daughter, who is eight has seen so much of life that her potential to imagine anything that she can be is limited to a reality that few children her age have glimpsed, let alone lived. She is unbelievably caring and once more has limitless paper potential. My hope for her is that she learns to put herself first once in a while. Her academic “potential” while important, seems far less so than her potential for peace and happiness to our eyes.
And lastly in our family is my little seven year old son. He has Noonan syndrome (google it!!) and has numerous serious medical issues. One of these was (and is) leukaemia. We are extremely lucky that he is currently well, but once life is touched by cancer, it is forever changed. His potential for a long life is limited. Does that matter? No. In some ways, this limited potential gives us cause to enjoy every day with him (not so much the tantrums, we are only human!).
He also struggles at school and despite being a bright little boy is falling steadily behind his peers. So his academic potential is also limited. Do we care? No. Every success is valued all the more for the struggle required to reach it.
This little boy has more happiness and joy in life than I see in most children. He is not extraordinary. He whines with the dedication of the true professional, throws impressive tantrums and becomes sad when he cannot do what other boys his age do. But his smile is never ending, his laugh is unabashed and with no self-consciousness he dances and sings, “I'm a rock star!”.
I have three children. The “potential” with which I lived while at school was one which depended on work, effort. It was certainly one which was always in the future.
But now, I know about childhood cancer (among a few other things!). And potential is fulfilled in every smile, every wave, every song. Potential is achieved whenever a child leaves hospital, whenever blood is drawn successfully, whenever chemotherapy draws to an end.
Potential is also lost every day. By children who die, by their families who are left trying to pick up the pieces of their lives.
In the UK, ten children are diagnosed every day. In the US, the figure is 46. Thirty percent of those children will die of the disease. Because of a lack of awareness, many of those families who hear the words,
“Your child has cancer.”
had never known that children were susceptible to it.
Because of a lack of awareness, funding for childhood cancer is shockingly small.
Because of a lack of awareness, research is surprisingly thin on the ground.
Because of a lack of awareness, cures are few and far between.
Childhood cancers are not miniature versions of adult cancers. They are distinct diseases, that need distinct solutions.
My son had leukaemia, and so I know far more of these facts than I would like to. They are uncomfortable, they make us ill at ease because they remind us that cancer, like all disease does not discriminate. Tomorrow, your child, your brother or sister could be the one who receives that diagnosis. And as a doctor hands you the word cancer, so you lose the word potential.
I am writing this because I need to play my part – a little one. I need to make a gesture albeit a small one to show how strongly I feel about raising awareness of childhood cancer. So in February 2011, I will be cutting off my hair and donating it to the Little Princess Trust (www.littleprincesses.org.uk). This wonderful charity makes wigs out of human hair for children who have suffered hair loss as a result of chemotherapy. I am also using this opportunity to fundraise for ClicSargent (www.clicsargent.org.uk), the leading charity for childhood cancer in the UK.
You may be reading this in the UK, or elsewhere. Wherever you are, I urge you to visit my Just Giving pages which will allow you to donate directly to either or both of these charities. Wherever we raise awareness, children across the world will benefit. In the meantime, I will adjust to short hair!
Www.justgiving.com/BeeinmyBonnet
www.justgiving.com/Benedicte
Benedicte Symcox (Monnet)
Ecolint route de chene 1987 - 1990
I was only there for three years, but those three years formed some crucial building bricks of the person I have become. I learned that we are all different. Of course, I knew that in theory but it was only at Ecolint that I learned that I could be friends with someone who held radically different beliefs to mine. It is also that diverse environment that helped form my own vision of the world, and what kind of place I hoped to take in it.
I went to university in the UK, and fulfilled my ambition to become a teacher. Roll forward a few years, and I was able to stay at home to look after my son while still teaching from home. At that point, I have to admit that life stood still to an extent. It became about the present, enjoying the simple things in life. I certainly stopped looking at potential, and mostly working at fulfilling it. It never occurred to me that potential is not always what we expect.
Today, it is twenty years since I was preparing for my IB. Today my life is once again all about potential, but a different kind. As I sit and write, my son is on his way to his special residential school. He has Asperger's syndrome and its severity is such that we cannot live together. He is a child with phenomenal intelligence, unexpected insight and on paper at least, limitless potential. He is also a child with extremely limited social functioning, who has almost no understanding of authority and is emotionally terribly confused. So in reality, that potential changes. We do not know where he is headed, but despite his intelligence, our hopes will be answered if he is able to live independently as a young man.
My daughter, who is eight has seen so much of life that her potential to imagine anything that she can be is limited to a reality that few children her age have glimpsed, let alone lived. She is unbelievably caring and once more has limitless paper potential. My hope for her is that she learns to put herself first once in a while. Her academic “potential” while important, seems far less so than her potential for peace and happiness to our eyes.
And lastly in our family is my little seven year old son. He has Noonan syndrome (google it!!) and has numerous serious medical issues. One of these was (and is) leukaemia. We are extremely lucky that he is currently well, but once life is touched by cancer, it is forever changed. His potential for a long life is limited. Does that matter? No. In some ways, this limited potential gives us cause to enjoy every day with him (not so much the tantrums, we are only human!).
He also struggles at school and despite being a bright little boy is falling steadily behind his peers. So his academic potential is also limited. Do we care? No. Every success is valued all the more for the struggle required to reach it.
This little boy has more happiness and joy in life than I see in most children. He is not extraordinary. He whines with the dedication of the true professional, throws impressive tantrums and becomes sad when he cannot do what other boys his age do. But his smile is never ending, his laugh is unabashed and with no self-consciousness he dances and sings, “I'm a rock star!”.
I have three children. The “potential” with which I lived while at school was one which depended on work, effort. It was certainly one which was always in the future.
But now, I know about childhood cancer (among a few other things!). And potential is fulfilled in every smile, every wave, every song. Potential is achieved whenever a child leaves hospital, whenever blood is drawn successfully, whenever chemotherapy draws to an end.
Potential is also lost every day. By children who die, by their families who are left trying to pick up the pieces of their lives.
In the UK, ten children are diagnosed every day. In the US, the figure is 46. Thirty percent of those children will die of the disease. Because of a lack of awareness, many of those families who hear the words,
“Your child has cancer.”
had never known that children were susceptible to it.
Because of a lack of awareness, funding for childhood cancer is shockingly small.
Because of a lack of awareness, research is surprisingly thin on the ground.
Because of a lack of awareness, cures are few and far between.
Childhood cancers are not miniature versions of adult cancers. They are distinct diseases, that need distinct solutions.
My son had leukaemia, and so I know far more of these facts than I would like to. They are uncomfortable, they make us ill at ease because they remind us that cancer, like all disease does not discriminate. Tomorrow, your child, your brother or sister could be the one who receives that diagnosis. And as a doctor hands you the word cancer, so you lose the word potential.
I am writing this because I need to play my part – a little one. I need to make a gesture albeit a small one to show how strongly I feel about raising awareness of childhood cancer. So in February 2011, I will be cutting off my hair and donating it to the Little Princess Trust (www.littleprincesses.org.uk). This wonderful charity makes wigs out of human hair for children who have suffered hair loss as a result of chemotherapy. I am also using this opportunity to fundraise for ClicSargent (www.clicsargent.org.uk), the leading charity for childhood cancer in the UK.
You may be reading this in the UK, or elsewhere. Wherever you are, I urge you to visit my Just Giving pages which will allow you to donate directly to either or both of these charities. Wherever we raise awareness, children across the world will benefit. In the meantime, I will adjust to short hair!
Www.justgiving.com/BeeinmyBonnet
www.justgiving.com/Benedicte
Benedicte Symcox (Monnet)
Ecolint route de chene 1987 - 1990
RSS Feed