First day of secondary school
As I mentioned in another piece: I was a shy boy. And moving from primary school to secondary school was a big step.
I had already visited the new school during an open day. But then, on September 1st or 2nd, we had to really go – by bike. We had received a note: we were enrolled and could arrive a bit later. We would be welcomed.
During the summer holiday, Raf Hens’ mother came by asking if Gust – that’s me – would take Raf with him on the first day of school. Of course, no problem.
And so Raf cycled to me on the first day, and together we rode to school. Everything went well. Maybe he cycled with me once or twice more, but then no longer.
What I especially never forgot: the feeling of having Raf with me. I felt confident. No shyness, no insecurity. Because Raf was with me and we did it together. Alone, it would have been much harder for me.
Raf might have been even shyer than I was, and suddenly I became the guide, the leader.
That changed everything. It transformed the whole situation for me. I’ve described that feeling many times, but it remains something special.
A good boy
In primary school, I already considered myself a good boy, and in secondary school, that never really changed. I paid attention and did my best.
An incident I never forgot: in the second year, we had technical drawing with Mr. Vlasselaer. I was good at it. Drawings with a ruler, neatly drawing lines. Later, you had to learn to project in another direction – something technical, but I quickly grasped it. Many struggled with it, but I didn’t.
The following year, in the third year, we had Mr. Vlasselaer again. The class was composed differently. During the introduction, he said: “I’ll pick someone later to come to the board and explain.” And he added that it would be someone who hadn’t paid attention or was disruptive.
The lesson was almost over… and he picked me.
I was dumbfounded. Of course, I could explain it – I knew the material. But because he explicitly said he would choose someone who hadn’t paid attention, and he chose me… I’ll never forget that.
Drawing with Chinese ink
In the second year, we also had plastic arts. Drawing with Chinese ink, lines, effects. I enjoyed it and did it well. I received a lot of motivation from the teacher. Sometimes we got homework: I was often the only one who had done it well and understood it.
One day, we had to draw a piece of frayed fabric with a pencil. Tried and tried at home until all my paper was used up. On the last sheet, I erased everything and started again – and it worked. That gave me a good feeling.
The following year, we had the same teacher again, but it seemed like he had forgotten the previous year. Yet the positive experience stayed with me.
Drawing on white paper
In the fifth year, technical drawing again. No more large drawing tables, just small tablets. First drawing in pencil, then making the neat version with Chinese ink, erasing the pencil. I worked quickly. My lines were too long, but that wasn’t a problem: you inked up to where they intersected.
Theo Van den Bosch, a classmate, worked much more precisely. His lines were just long enough.
Afterwards, my sheet, after much erasing, was less white than Theo’s. The teacher noticed that – not in the grades fortunately, but he saw it. I’ve never forgotten that either: how the way of working remains visible in the result.
Physics and chemistry
In the sixth year, we had lessons from Mr. Van Eijken. Physics was okay, but chemistry… never my thing.
You had substances – acid, base, and so on – and if you knew who was what, you could calculate what happened when you combined them. But for that, you had to memorize which were the strong and weak acids, and I couldn’t.
I just didn’t understand the system.
One day, the lesson started with a review: “Who still remembers what we covered last week?” He would pick someone – whoever explained it well would get a prize: a nice placemat with the periodic table.
He picked Van Springel.
And Van Springel – a smooth guy – explained it perfectly. Everyone was amazed, the teacher too. He clearly hadn’t expected to actually have to give away his nice placemat.
That moment has always stayed with me: how someone can unexpectedly come through.