That 25th Percentile and below

Moved from my ivory tower in RGS to a school in the heartlands. The real world.

Had a warm reception with students banging on the outside of the mobile clinic. They displayed keen interests in dentistry, exploring my cabinets of equipment. Their acutely inquisitive minds worked overtime to perplex us with questions that left us stumped.

Student: Eh, doctor, wat's eli-leptic fit?
Colleague: That form is for your parents to fill.
Student: Fit? (Points to right bicep) Eh I very fit wan.


* * *

A couple of kleptomaniacs who helped themselves to my gloves was enough for me to tuck the handphone lying on the table away.

Last canteen break in RGS.

* * *

Had a chat with Dad and told him of Day 1 in the 'hood. He, a teacher at "the global leader in technical education", laughed it off.
"That's nothing. These people are only 15 years old. They're harmless. When they come over to my school their much bigger and more rebellious. Then what can you do?

" My students don't come half the time. And the school is afraid to expel them because then the school would have less funds and the staff would be accused of poor motivational abilities. There's no way to enforce discipline. And at the end of the day the students rate the teachers."

I recall last week when he had to send a student to the polyclinic to be treated for injuries after being assulted by classmates. Dad witnessed the entire incident and yet the college pugilists are still in school, instead of a more apt confinement in Changi.

The things fathers do to feed their children and send them through universities. "Hey, you're 60 next year, it's time to retire." I replied, and he laughed, like it never crossed his mind.

"Speak their language, be patient and don't get angry," he dispensed his father-to-son advice before going to bed, "after all, these people represent a quarter of Singapore."