One of my great passions is drama and it gave me great pleasure to be engaged with children through theatre and music. A little unusual some would say for a principal, but it enlivened my spirit when working with students and I felt so much more engaged in the life of the school.

One year we decided to challenge ourselves and perform The Pirates of Penzance. No easy feat in a primary school of 1100 with everyone playing a part, but I felt the children were up to the challenge and so too was their Principal! So away with the admin duties and on to the stage was my task.

At that time, we had a boy with severe health impairments. I had been advised that he would not have an easy or perhaps a long life and that the school should be taking precautions to keep him away from infections etc. A tall order, but the staff were very aware of his needs and all precautions were taken.

The auditions began! I was of course there to listen and work with the staff who were so diligently working through the list of children for major roles. Then came the auditions for the Modern Major General. This was an exceptional role, which at the best of times we thought may not be within the grasp of a primary school child. After all, this was a Gilbert and Sullivan production. The language and speed of singing were of a very high standard.

But there standing in front of me was Michael.

‘I am here to audition,’ he said ‘but I guess I don't qualify,’

Immediately my sense of justice in everyone having a go, no matter how disabled, rang out loud and clear. I first thought what if Michael failed, how would he cope with such a situation? He was after all he was a very sick young man. How does such a child deal with failure and disappointment? I looked at the stage. He had left. A moment of silence and then I swiftly ran to the corridor. “Michael where are you going? Aren't you here for an audition?”

He smiled the smile of someone who just knew so much about life but still came along for the ride.

“The Modern Major General,” I said “is a demanding role that requires quick speech and strong skills in language.”

‘Like this you mean,’ he quickly retorted. He began to recite the verses that were part of the verses sung and spoken by the Modern Major General.

‘I’ve been practicing’ he said ‘but I know I’m weak.’

Well, I don’t know what constituted weakness in his eyes, but his acting and dramatic presentation made me quiver with excitement and fear of whether this would do him immense harm. What was I to do? He was perfect for the role. He was a boy whose sensitivity to the environment, stress and excessive fatigue could be his ultimate demise. Was I to put my interests ahead of his health?

I spoke to his mother that night. Perhaps she was the right person to put things into perspective for him.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘he has been rehearsing all the lines for days. His passion and the smile on his face was enough for me. He tires easily but tells me it is a happy tiredness.’

There was no going back, Michael was our Modern Major General.

After several months of rehearsal, Michael performed above and beyond all expectations. His joy in being in the role was evident, and he made such a strong connection to the remaining cast who saw the true Michael and loved what they saw.

Micahel died two years later. My Modern Major General had finished his time on earth. Everyone remembered him for his passion and skill for acting. Who would have known? Who would have thought? A little boy with compromised health and short life expectancy found joy and a talent beyond everyone’s expectations.

I often think about Michael. He taught me that passion and endurance can override such pain and sorrow.