Celebrating Oliver: A Tribute to My Eldest Son Upon His Graduation

Aweh, My Dearly Beloved Fellow Ruminants & Groupies,

Oliver didn’t have a 21st birthday party like his younger brother, Connor—Covid-19 put paid to that. So instead, we’re celebrating with a graduation party.

I never planned to have children, but when I married Nerine, she began making the critical decisions in our lives. Without her, there would be no Oliver, and my life would be immeasurably poorer. Warren Buffett has said that choosing the right spouse is the most important decision one can make. I definitely got that one right.

Before talking about Ollie’s educational journey, I’d like to assure you that full ethics clearance has been obtained for this speech, and it is fully compliant with the Protection of Personal Information Act. With two lawyers in the family, legal compliance is not something we take lightly. Ol and I have spoken about this story—he’s given it the green light.

Oliver’s formal schooling began at The Ridge in 2006. It wasn’t an easy road. By Grade 3, it was clear he was struggling significantly, and we were advised to take him for a comprehensive assessment with an educational psychologist. The results were a gut punch for Nerine and me: the battery of IQ and cognitive tests placed Ol’s scores from borderline to below average.

The recommendations were blunt: we should seriously consider a special education school.

There are moments in life that become etched in your memory. One of those was sitting in the headmaster Paul Channon’s office, discussing Ol’s future. After a long conversation, Paul said something I’ll never forget while there were no guarantees, and while Ol would face challenges, children with learning difficulties often mature in unexpected ways. He believed there were real benefits in keeping Ol in a mainstream environment—and that the Ridge could support him. And they did.

Though it wasn’t always easy, Ol loved the rest of his time at the Ridge. Then came the high school dilemma. Initially, we didn’t consider my alma mater, St Stithians, and leaned toward a rival school closer to home. I won’t name that school—for fear of libel litigation.

On one side, you’ve got the proudly academically exclusive school perched on a hill somewhere in the suburbs, where acceptance hinges on academic excellence and the unstated ability to speak fluent Cambridge syllabus by Grade 5. It’s all about top IEB results, Olympiad winners, and kids who treat maths like a competitive sport. Meanwhile, across town, there’s the more inclusive school that doesn’t believe your entire potential is summed up by how many distinctions you racked up in Grade 7. They open their doors to a broader mix—kids from different backgrounds, talents, and kids from the wrong side of the tracks—believing that diversity in the classroom might actually be as valuable as diversity in the periodic table. It’s a bit less polished and a bit chaotic at times, but it might just produce students who know how to think and live.

And so, we found ourselves in the headmaster’s office again—this time, Dave Knowles at St Stithians. “We’ve got this,” he said. “We don’t just admit boys for academic excellence—we also run a program for those with learning challenges.”

And so began Ollie’s journey at Saints. It wasn’t all smooth sailing. Early on, he was bullied. Ol is a gentle soul, and the school responded well. But perhaps a bit of fatherly advice helped, too. Oliver has always been the biggest in his class. Much to his mother’s dismay, my advice was simple and effective: “Lean in close to the bully, nose to nose, and say: ‘Do you want me to hurt you? Because I can.’” Not exactly Gandhian, but effective. The bullying stopped, and Ol began to thrive—embracing the sporting culture and finishing strongly with his best academic results in matric.

Then as if we hadn’t learned our lesson, it was back to the educational psychologist and extensive analysis and tests. This time, the recommendation was: to pursue sports management or become a commentator—he’s passionate about sport, but under no circumstances, they said, should he consider law or commerce.

Naturally, he did both.

He started with commerce, then switched to law. It wasn’t easy, but he is nothing if not persistent. He found his rhythm, settled in, and here we are—graduation in hand.

Our dinner table is now perfectly balanced between lawyers and techno nerds, and I regularly must remind the feeble-minded lawyers that the laws of nature always trump the laws of man.

Educational psychologists, bless their cotton socks, often mean well—but put them in a room with a real outlier or a kid who refuses to colour inside the cognitive lines, and things can get interesting. Armed with checklists, acronyms, and a penchant for diagnosing every wobble as a syndrome, they sometimes miss the messy brilliance of children who just don’t fit the norm.

Through every twist and turn of Oliver’s journey, Nerine has been an unwavering pillar of strength and support. With fierce love and quiet determination, she stood by him when the road was rough, championed him when others doubted, and held the line when the rest of us wobbled. Her instinct, patience, and resilience have been the steady heartbeat behind Oliver’s success—and without her, none of this would have been possible.

On Monday Ol starts his job as a candidate attorney!

Thanks for all the comments and input.

Bruce