A School For Gifted Youngsters

Have you seen X Men: First Class yet?

If not, do yourself a favor and go see it. Kitty Gilfeather and I treated ourselves to a late night showing this Friday and, although the only seats we could book were neck-straining close to the screen, it was two and a bit hours of fantastic.

I’ve adored the X-Men series, eagerly awaiting the release of each installment, and spent a large part of Saturday re-watching them as a necessary self indulgence (it was cold and blustery in the Capital, and I’d already went for an early morning walk and yoga session –indulgence justified). I was also a fan of the animated TV series as a child, and passed many an hour concentrating super hard in order to achieve Jean Grey levels of telepathy.

More than Jean or any of the other mutants, though, it was Professor X who fascinated me. Along with Misses Honey and Clavel, Professors Lupin and Dumbledore, and many inspiring real life ladies and gentlemen, Professor X and his School for Gifted Youngsters has shaped my attitudes towards education.

Indeed, sometimes I cast myself as the Professor X of my own imaginary School for Gifted Youngsters. And, in light of a couple of thousand words on teaching I am supposed to be writing (and am procrastinating against by writing this blog), I’ve been wondering what my own School for Gifted Youngsters would be like.

For starters, it would be open to all who wanted to learn, regardless of capability, because even the most capable student in the world won’t achieve anything if they don’t want to. There’s nothing worse or more soul destroying than a class of students who don’t want to be there.

Having said that, though, my school would be staffed by men and women with superpowers – not like Storm and Jean and Cyclops, but men and women with superpowers to make people want to learn. Powers of compassion, of understanding, and of love. And also by men and women who would work together as a team – to defeat Magnito, sure, but to also pick up the slack when things and people go pear shaped.

A very hairy and very shirtless Hugh Jackman would prowl the school grounds (I’m serious about this one).

And speaking of grounds, my School for Gifted Youngsters would, like Professor X’s, be housed in a building that inspires, surrounded by clean air and trees, to remind my Gifted Youngsters that there are things bigger and more permanent than themselves and their problems.

But also, my school would teach that their problems, hopes and fears, just like the mutations of Professor X’s students, could be used to make things better, for themselves and for everybody else. And that they alone were responsible for making this choice.

I’d also insist on ties for the boys, and neat blouses and skirts for the girls. But perhaps that’s an overindulgence of some megalomaniac tendencies???