My Favourite Day

Welcome to all who are new to our Wellington College whānau. We are excited that you have joined us and we look forward to walking this journey together. If I had to pick a favourite day of the school year, I would have to say it's the day we welcome our new Year 9 students and parents. It's incredibly special. I love to be at the school gate, shaking hands and getting to know the boys and their whānau, as we welcome them in. It's a toss-up between who is more nervous and excited, the boys, their parents, or me. We had a wonderful pōhiri for them and a mihi whakatau for our Year 10 boys who were robbed of the chance to receive a proper welcome in Year 9 because of Covid-19.

I always feel the weight of responsibility as our new boys start. We want the boys to achieve wonderful things in whatever they do with us and to have had a terrific time over their five years. We have to get it right for them. Their energy and enthusiasm are infectious and lift our entire College. We remember our three T’s: To be Tidy, on Time and we are a Telling school. Great times and outstanding achievements lie ahead and hard work will ensue. The hard work will reap huge benefits, I promise you. My Mum would say to us as kids (we would be doing our chores and complaining), "You may not love the hard work but you will love the outcome."

New staff
We have been blessed to welcome an outstanding group of new staff. I think our reputation always brings a large number of applicants for positions. Our new staff has bought new ideas and energy to give our boys the best education in New Zealand. Welcome to our whānau.

Tom
When I was little my Dad, who was heavily involved in the trade unions, introduced us to his friend, Tom. Tom was a union leader and a giant of a man, and he worked at the local freezing works. He was over two meters tall and it seemed like two meters wide. He reminded me (forgive my age, whānau) of a wrestler called Giant Haystacks. I was about 7 years old and Tom picked me up, with one hand and gave me a huge hug. He was from Glasgow and had a very broad Scottish accent.

I was mesmerised by Tom’s hands. He had the words ‘hate’ tattooed on his right-hand knuckles and ‘love’ tattooed on his left-hand knuckles. I looked at his hands and thought the ‘love hand’ must be for shaking hands with people and the ‘hate hand’ must be for hitting people with. What happened if he got his hands mixed up? I thought if he only had ‘love’ tattooed on both hands, no one would be afraid of him. In reality, everyone did love Tom and he gave that love right back. My family all loved him and he became part of our whānau.

Years later, I asked him why he didn't get the ‘hate’ tattoo removed. He held out his hands, palm down to me. He said, "When I was young I used to be a brawler, a fighter, that's all I knew. When I came to New Zealand, I was asked to take on this work. Leading people, taking care of people, and helping people." He rolled up both sleeves and turned his palms over. On the underside of his right wrist, he had the word ‘under’ tattooed and on the underside of his left wrist, he had the word 'standing' tattooed. Holding his wrists together, he said, "It's only in understanding others that we can truly help people, care for people, and love people." (He rotated his hands, palm up and then palm down, turning them over and over and over.) He said, "Hate drives you under and love is the best place to be standing." He gave me a huge hug, put his massive hands on my shoulders, and said, "Son, always lead from the heart, and with love, find the good because love will always win."

The next time I saw Tom was five years later at his funeral. I was upset with myself that I hadn't seen Tom face-to-face before he died. I was incredibly honoured to be a pallbearer. There were eight of us and I didn't know any of the others. We came from all walks of life: a painter, a police officer, an MP, a doctor, a cleaner, a bus driver, a university lecturer, and me, a teacher. Tom had no family of his own.

We all said our goodbyes and the doctor said a beautiful karakia before we closed the coffin. We each had a screw to screw into the lid. A thistle was engraved on the head of the screws. The undertaker said, "You all have specific positions that you have been assigned by Tom." I was ushered to the back left-hand corner. The undertaker then said, "There is a different engraved personal message to each of you on the handle of the casket that you will carry. Tom said you'll know what your message means." I looked down at the handle and I started to cry. My message said, "Son, find the good because love will always win. Love you, Tom."

Earnest Hemingway once said, "Every man has two deaths, when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name." Tom was buried 35 years ago this week. I say his name to keep him living and to share the selfless aroha and passion for life and people that he bought. His willingness to serve all those that he met.

You were right, Tom. Find the good because love will always win.