One warm summer January afternoon,
a feisty redhead bounced into my Year 10 English class.
She had absolutely no filter between her brain and her mouth.
She was the clever mistress of a quick comeback,
a popular and irreverent student, always ready with a cheeky quip.
Her classmates always knew exactly where they stood.
Despite her sassy impertinence, I liked her.
I admired her honesty, her devil-may-care attitude,
her spontaneity, her lack of concern about the future.
~~~
One warm summer Saturday evening,
she was laughing and chatting with some friends
as they danced along the grassy edge of a quiet country road.
They were on their way to a party at a friend’s place.
They kept to the grass verge as they walked,
away from the bitumen, safe from danger.
The driver of the car was speeding.
He was weaving all over the road.
He was also driving without headlights.
She never saw the car.
When it struck her body at eighty kilometres an hour,
she flew into the air like a discarded rag doll.
Her head shattered the car’s windscreen like an eggshell.
~~~
No-one believed that she would survive.
She hovered between life and death for weeks.
Her family prepared for the worst.
~~~
A year later, the whole school assembled for a centenary photograph.
As hundreds of students and staff were shepherded into position,
I looked up – and stared.
Hobbling in calipers, accompanied by her mother,
she staggered determinedly across the school oval.
I grasped her pale, clammy hand and choked back tears.
She had undergone numerous painful operations,
learned how to walk and talk all over again,
persisted in the face of enormous odds.
She was slurring very badly, but she was talking to me.
She told me about the endless hours of physiotherapy
and she told me that she would return to school.
~~~
One warm summer January afternoon twelve months later,
this feisty redhead walked carefully into my Year 11 English class –
still a little shaky, but speaking clearly and determined to learn.
I watched the other students in the room, all younger than her.
I watched the way they smiled and included her in their discussions.
I watched the way they applauded her after her class presentations.
I watched the way they carried her books and her laptop computer.
I watched the way they interacted quietly and genuinely with her.
I watched their respect, admiration and friendship in action.
I have rarely felt so proud of the next generation.
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