Jeremiah Obadiah Jackanory Jones.

“What are you doing?”
“Pretending to light a match.”
“Stop.”
“I just thought…”
“Stop. Someone else can do it.”

We’re in a make-shift classroom. One of the portable annex-huts on the outskirts of the school grounds. That doubled as a sauna in summer. Cold storage as the freeze set in.

Almost November. I’ve been chosen to be Guy Fawkes! Not my acting debut but the lead role in my History class play. London, 1988.

I was elated. I couldn’t believe I was chosen. By Mr. Dunphy. I wasn’t ever sure he liked me. He taught my older sister. And he’d call me by her name. They all did back then. It still happens today.

Attempting my best method acting - of a 35-year-old catholic rebel, I found myself crouching low through parliamentary tunnels with one task. To light the gunpowder.

I enthusiastically improvised striking an imaginary match.

When.

In front of the entire class, he stopped me.

Asking disapprovingly what I was doing. I stumbled on my words. A tall man, towering over me on the ground, I shrunk even smaller. Trying again to explain, he stopped me once more. Told me I was no longer Guy Fawkes.

And. Then.

Gave the role, my role. To someone else. Whilst everyone moved on.

But. I couldn’t.

Literally.

I stayed on the floor with my head turned away so no one could see the tears I was trying so hard to hide. Agonised, watching one of my friends handed what I thought was mine.

It might not sound like a big deal. But. It broke me. I was crushed. Along with my courage, confidence.

And creativity.

It didn’t teach me about history, better acting. Or resilience. It taught me to avoid disapproval, seek more perfection. Use less imagination and curiousity.

And.

When ‘they’ think you got it wrong. It’s ‘you’ that isn’t quite right.

3 years earlier was my acting debut. Led by my favourite teacher Mrs. Whiting, I was chosen by my class to play the lead role in another play - Jeremiah Obadiah Jackanory Jones – a brave adventurous boy who with the help of magical creatures solved the mystery of his grandma's stolen jam tarts.

I had to remember a lengthy script with multiple scenes. It took weeks of practice, focus and imagination. I threw everything I had into it.

Nailed it.

In front of the entire school.

It taught me so much more. About how a teacher being kind, encouraging and supportive made me a better actor, stronger student. And less approval-seeking, perfectionistic. Fearful, not of getting it wrong.

Knowing. I’m alright.

Research shows teachers who publicly correct students reduce creative risk-taking by 65%. Those who support, boost problem-solving by 40%. In workplaces, leaders who shame publicly see 50% drops in innovation. And motivation.

So ask yourself, what kind of teacher do you want to be?

Because.

Mr. Dunphy probably doesn't remember that November day.

But. I've never forgotten.

That's the thing about teaching. You never know which lessons will burn. And which will light the way.

But you do know.

Some teachers spark revolutions. Whilst others leave scars.

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