Day 6: Mrs Minchinton and the pancake

15 years ago, I was year 6 at Ilam School and my teacher was Mrs Minchinton. (I don’t know if that is the correct spelling, but this is what the name sounded like). Maybe some of you who were in my class remember her. I remember her being active and enthusiastic yet firm when required. She was all about cultural sensitivity now that I think about it. I remember her saying ‘Hi’ in Korean to me sometimes. And to my mum when she came for a parent-teacher interview.

So the reason I’m writing about her is because I think about what she once did for me (she was probably just doing her job really), more often than you think one would of something that happened 15 years ago in your childhood. I find myself thinking about this more and more often as of lately.

I came to New Zealand in year 5, so this was my second year at school in New Zealand. I didn’t speak English very well so I had ESOL classes where I snuck out for a couple of hours each day to learn English specifically. This naturally meant that I missed out on some class activities during the day. One day, the class was going to make pancakes off a tin and some candles. Then, before it was time for pancakes, I had to go to ESOL. I was disappointed I couldn’t make pancakes and eat them too. I came back from ESOL, kind of forgot about the whole thing because I liked ESOL, maybe because there was less students and I felt like I got plenty of attention. I got back, and it looked like the class had just finished packing up and is about to move on to some other activity. I think it was like writing time because everyone was shuffling along to sit down at their desk. So I thought something like ‘Oh, yeah the pancake, it’s over’. Then just as I was about to take my seat, Mrs. Minchinton called me over and said it’s time to make pancakes and she took me outside. I imagine she probably got the class to do some handwriting in the mean while, I can’t quite remember.

I walked out of the classroom, and in front there were some grassy area, where I saw the tin, with a small square opening where a candle was placed. She got me to light up the match and lit the candle. Then she instructed me to smear a stick of butter onto the now hot tin surface. Then I poured the pancake. She told me that how you know when the pancake is ready to flip is if there are all these holes that pop up. ‘Not quite yet then..’. I had never made or eaten a pancake at that stage. Not the western style anyway. I was kind of intrigued that the holes actually did start appearing like she said. So many of them. Then I flipped it, gave it a few more minutes and Mrs. Minchinton said I can eat it too so I did. And I still remember how yummy it was. And boy do I know how to flip a pancake now. I can make mean as pancakes. The ones from the supermarket, the powdered one where you have to put water in. I know exactly when to flip them because Mrs. Minchinton taught me.

I don’t know if I’m fictionalising this or how accurate my memory is but I like to think she waited for me. Maybe to her it didn’t mean much but to me, it was a formative experience. Not in some philosophical way but that it means enough for me to still I think about it and every time I eat a pancake, especially the supermarket ones, I’m reminded of her. Would she know what she did that day? Would she know that I still think about it? I guess neither of us knew that I would be thinking about it after so many years let alone write about it. But I do. I think she was a good teacher. Maybe she knew that the things that are trivial for adults can become a life long memory for kids.

Wow I’m getting kind of emotional writing about my time as a primary school kid, new to New Zealand, being an immigrant, language barriers, different culture, away from ‘home’. Even though I was too little to know what it really meant, I remember missing home and being sad at times. Anyways, I saw Mrs. Minchinton in Christchurch when I was in year 13, at an intersection. I was jogging and she was in her car. She recognised me, and so I waved at her. I was stoked. She was still energetic.

I hope she is well. I really appreciate now what she did that day. At the time I didn’t think much of it other than that I was just a kid and she could have just gotten on with it and moved on to the next item on the day’s schedule. And this gets me thinking what kind of impact I am having on other people. Have I done things that they will think about after many many years? I hope so. I hope it’s not because of how horrible I was. I hope people remember me for being warm to them, for listening to them, for caring about them.

Mrs. Minchinton and the pancake! I love pancakes. And it’s all because of Mrs. Minchinton. ( and I’m really good at flipping them!! – proof: the photo!)