A Head Full of Everything. Gavin Oattes

‘HANG ON, YOU'RE A TEACHER, GAV? WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US THIS?!’

      Ok, so I managed to squeeze in a teaching degree along the way. I'm qualified to teach kids aged 3–12.

      Every single day as a primary school teacher young kids amazed me. There are so many moments of inspiration. Like when the queues form at the teacher's desk. You've all stood in those queues. There are loads of reasons why kids stand in them but there's 2 big ones.

      The first is to ask for help. This really is a biggie.

      I like to imagine we're all born with the unique ability to ask for help. It's such a natural thing to ask for when we're very young. But it's like we un‐learn this skill. By the time we've hit our teens asking for help can feel silly, embarrassing or even weak. There is nothing weak in asking for help, in fact, quite the opposite. Asking for help is what makes us stronger. It connects us with others, allowing us to surround ourselves with people that make us feel good and encourage all sorts of new learning and adventure. Asking for help can create optimism and hope. Be sure to do it more.

Another thing that always amazed me as a primary school teacher was those moments I was sitting doing my work as all the kids were doing theirs, and the queue formed to my right‐hand side. Now we've all stood in that queue, we know what it's like. It usually consists of a row of children with great big smiles on their faces, saying something along the lines of ‘I'm finished, what's next?’ It's like an absolute need at that age, a want and desire to learn, to progress, to prove themselves and to embrace the next challenge. We don't care what others think. We're ready, willing and more than able to take on the world, to be the best we can be, to dream and to think big.

      You see, this is what inspires me most about wee kids. They always want to know what's next. They crave information and every single day as a teacher my mind was completely and utterly blown by the energy, passion, excitement and drive that those wee kids had, simply for what's next.

      But there's a problem with being that age. And it's this …

      We stop being that age.

      That's it.

      I'll say it again.

      We stop being that age.

      There's a technical term for it: ‘growing up’.

      We leave primary school … and off we go into Teenagerland. You may also call it high school. A magical land filled with hopes and dreams. A future‐focussed paradise filled with ambition and desire. A training ground for growing up, fitting in and dealing with change.

Some people consider it a breeze; others do not. Some people consider it a portal to a better life; others do not. Some people consider it a prison full of assholes; others do not.

      Everyone thinks differently when it comes to high school. One thing I can guarantee, however, is that in Teenagerland we do our most thinking. Not necessarily our best thinking but we definitely do our most thinking.

      But it is our thinking and thinking alone that will determine the experience we have as a teenager. And as all the experts tell us, happiness doesn't come from things, it comes from experiences.

Broccoli and Eyeballs

      I believe that in growing up too many of us lose something special. Very special. Some hold on to it forever, for others it comes and goes, but for many, it just disappears entirely. I'm going to refer to it as ‘that wee piece of magic’. It's a natural thing that we're all born with. I see it in my own two kids every day.

      So what do I actually mean by ‘that wee piece of magic’? Let me try and explain… . About three months before my son's 5th birthday we woke at 4 am to the sound of him screaming ‘DAAAAD’ as loud as he possibly could. I got the fright of my life and leapt out my bed.

      In fact, I didn't even touch the bed, I just landed on two feet and ran for the door (because that's how ninjas respond). As I headed for the door Kian came running into the room still shouting, ‘DAAAAD!’ Obviously concerned, I stopped him and asked ‘What on earth is it Kian? It's 4 in the morning. What's the matter?’

      Perfectly calm, Kian smiled and simply answered, ‘I know why they're called eyeballs.’ This for me was a moment of magic. Let me explain why.

      The fact that it was 4 am is irrelevant when the star of the story is only 4. Kian had woken up and had a moment of learning, which is cool but it's not the moment of magic. The moment of magic came next. He shared it. That's it. It's that simple. He shared it. Because that's what you do when you're 4, you share stuff. Doesn't matter what you experience or what you discover, you share it. Doesn't matter how big it is or how small it is, you share it. Doesn't matter how exciting it is or how boring it is, how colourful or dull, you share it, because you're 4.

But at nearly 5, you don't just share it. You share it from here (*points to chest*), with heart and soul. With passion, energy, excitement and it's always wrapped up in a big ball of wonder. It's beautiful. It's magic.

      So why is this relevant to you – a teenager – reading this? How many times in your life have you been asked at school to share your work, share your knowledge, your inspirations, your ideas, to share who you are? And how often do you actually share, from here (*points to chest*), with heart and soul? With passion, energy and excitement all wrapped up in a big ball of wonder?

      There's how the best leaders lead. There's how we create a movement. There's how we inspire. There's how we make a difference. There's how we change the world.

      And in case you're wondering, Kian never actually told me why they're called eyeballs. To be fair, that wasn't the point.

      I'll give you one more example of this wee piece of magic I speak of.

      We were having dinner one night. There was broccoli on the plate. Now I don't like broccoli, but my kids love it. They're weird, right? I had broccoli on my plate because that's a good parenting example. My son leant over, picked up a piece of broccoli from my plate and said, ‘Dad, you should eat your greens,’ to which I replied, ‘And you should stop touching my food.’ ‘Broccoli is great fun dad.’ I had never heard this sentence before.

He continued, ‘it can beee stuff’. Now, instantly my brain showed me lots of pictures of trees. We all know broccoli looks like trees, yours probably just did the same. It turned out I was on the right lines, but as he was only 4, he was streets ahead of me. Holding up the piece of broccoli he said, ‘See this piece here Dad, I want you to imagine it's summertime, in fact no Dad’ – he bit the head off the broccoli – ‘it's autumn.’

      Genius. I sat there thinking isn't it incredible how at such a young age we can take anything we want and transform it into anything we want? Anything.

      Of course, at such a young age we find this process much more natural. Firstly, as kids we always want things to be better, to be more fun, more exciting. Secondly, we believe it to be possible. And lastly, we know it will be worth the effort.

      What do I mean by that last one?

      It's why young kids will sit and build Lego for 4 hours then knock it down and start again. It's why they'll go outside and build a den even though they've been told it's going to rain in an hour.

      This example right here, with the den and the rain. This sums up for me just what goes wrong for so many of us out there. There are simply too many people – teens included – who