Over 40 Years of Lessons Beyond the Curriculum

Most of my teaching career involved me moving from one school/system/country relatively frequently. About 7 years was the longest I ever stayed in one place … until I landed a position in a private Catholic girls’ school as a Science/Biology teacher. Traditionally, the Head Girls presented an end-of-year speech to parents and staff. After my first year at the school, I always looked forward to this with a little trepidation.

Every year, without fail, the Head Girl mentioned me in her speech. Sometimes it was, “I remember what Mr Pack told me in Year 9…” Other times, “I’ll never forget what my biology teacher said about …” I never quite knew what was going to be divulged in front of the parents and staff.

At first, I was a little flattered and maybe a bit embarrassed, mostly from the looks on the faces of the other teachers. I was never sure whether they were impressed … or jealous. Over time, I realized it wasn’t really about me. It was about the invisible threads teachers weave in their classrooms and school yards … threads that stretch far beyond exams, syllabi, and assigning grades. And with each speech, my students were quietly teaching me things I couldn’t have learned anywhere else:

1. Teachers and Parents Need to Be Careful With What They Say … All the Time.

You never know which offhand comment, which moment of encouragement, or which quiet correction will echo in a student’s mind for years. Teaching isn’t just about delivering content; it’s about delivering presence. The words we choose become the furniture in a student’s mind, and they’ll sit with them long after they’ve left our classrooms. I learned to speak with intention, because students remember how you made them feel long after they forget what you taught.

2. Care Outweighs Content

Over time, a pattern emerged that I couldn’t ignore: every Head Girl, except one (and she served as Deputy Head Girl), had been in my Year 9 Care Group. Was it a coincidence? Or was it proof that leadership isn’t just built on academic excellence … it’s nurtured in spaces where students feel seen and special.

One of my principals quite fondly used this line about teaching kids:

“I don’t care how much you know, until I know how much you care.”

She said she heard it from a student, and she said it often … my students lived it. They taught me that subject mastery is secondary to relational trust.

3. The “Dad” Request Wasn’t About Science

I’ll never forget when two of the school’s “ratbag” students … kids who wore their defiance like armor (yes, private schools have them, too) … asked me, right in front of the class, if they could call me “Dad.” I didn’t know how to take it at first. But I quickly realized it wasn’t about subject matter or classroom management; it was about safety. It was about showing up consistently enough that a couple kids who had been let down by the world decided, quietly, to trust me anyway. That moment stripped away any illusion I had about being just a “teacher.” Students don’t just want experts. They want anchors — someone who pays attention to them as a person, not just a name on a roll. They just wanted to feel special, and to me, those two really were. Sadly, my “daughters” didn’t do so well in the real world … but that’s another story for another day.

4. We Are All Learners

If there’s one thread that ties it all together, it’s this: we are all learners. Early in my teaching career I stopped positioning myself as the sole authority and placed myself alongside my students as co-explorers. Everything shifted. Lessons became conversations. I seldom provided answers and more often asked more probing questions. Mistakes became … well, there were no “mistakes” … there were just more opportunities for learning. Laughter became part of the pedagogy. Classes that were too quiet made me nervous … or suspicious. Learning together isn’t just more effective … it’s infinitely more human, and honestly, a lot more fun.

The Real Curriculum

Looking back on all those years, I realize the syllabus was never the real curriculum. My students were. They taught me to measure my words, lead with care, show up consistently, and embrace the beautiful mess of learning alongside them.

If you’re in education, which you all are if you are ever around younger kids, I hope you’ll take this to heart: the people we’re meant to guide will often end up guiding us right back. And that’s the greatest privilege of all.