Our staffroom interaction has changed utterly and it's all Howard Gardner's fault. It all began when Catherine, the remedial teacher, having returned from a weekend conference, began introducing the notion of multiple intelligences over our coffee-time discussions. Initially, she was satisfied to engage in the art of perspective building by following negative academic pupil appraisals from colleagues with an occasional smiling tut-tut. This changed the focus as "Ara, sure there's more to life than . . .' became her catchphrase. It was adapted for all subjects and was utilised most stridently with relation to narrow-focused three Rs based criticisms. Soon, she moved to another level and began to challenge systematically traditional ideas of educational success. Invariably, this phase occurred after an exasperated teacher had slumped into a soft chair and made a pithy, definitive proclamation.
"That shower are the worst fifth class I've ever taught. None of them got more than seven right in their spellings this morning. They know nothing and they don't give a toss," complained Bridget typically. Catherine retorted enthusiastically. "Ah now, they're not a bad mob at all. Weren't they brilliant and full of confidence during the Christmas concert? And the ones who came to me are mad about your minigarden." She never used the terminology of musical-rhythmic and naturalist intelligences but her messages started to register.
"`Mmm. I suppose. You know they really do have great voices especially Dylan and love getting mucky with the plants and trying out little experiments. Only the other day, Melanie told me that she has begun to sow vegetables out her back." A reinvigorated Brigid returned to her future Dions and Attenboroughs.
Catherine's greatest triumph was still to come as she undertook to formalise the staff's knowledge. The strategic positioning of photocopies of Gardner's theories on the resources cupboard and beside the Burco produced startling results, particularly among some Jurassic males. Feargal now protests strongly whenever his cause celebre comes under fire.
"That Glenn of yours is a thick pup," accused Maura in his direction.
"Yeah I know he loses it, but you should have seen him against St Mark's. His positioning and close control were fabulous. At one stage, he took it inside, glided past two and tucked it away. What's it your man Gardner calls it?"
"Spatial and bodily kinaesthetic intelligence," Catherine gloated.
"That's the one and you know what's really great about his play is how he's aware of how good he is and knows whether to go himself or pass it."
"Intrapersonal intelligence," confirmed Catherine. But not everyone had embraced the good news.
`Hippie bunkum." Finbar's mutterings from behind his McVities' digestive brought wry smiles to other faces. "I taught Glenn's father and he was a brat too. All he wanted to do all day was kick ball and entertain us, cracking jokes and telling tall tales."
"And what is he at now?" wondered Catherine.
"He's big in sales," contributed Maura, the parental occupation database.
"Sounds like you encouraged his interpersonal intelligence, Finbar," surmised an undeterred Catherine.
Finbar's mind moved to long wooden benches and rows of uniformed children. Brushing away crumbs form his lap he stood up and whispered. "E pluribus unum."
