Dear Parents/Carers,                                      

As I write this newsletter (a week before it's published), I’m reflecting on a deeply moving personal experience that happened just yesterday. I’ve always believed that one of the greatest strengths of our pastoral care lies in the meaningful relationships staff—especially teachers—build with our students. These relationships give children the space to speak freely, to share their fears, anxieties, and questions with adults who truly listen, care, and respond with empathy.

For some children, one-on-one moments offer powerful opportunities to feel heard and valued. It’s in these moments that a child begins to understand their self-worth and the unique gifts they bring to the world. Fostering this climate of affirmation is, I believe, at the very heart of leading a school.

But yesterday, the roles were unexpectedly reversed. It was an eight-year-old student who offered that same kind of care—this time, to their principal.

The day had begun with great sadness. I had just learned that Chris, from the deli on the main street, had died in a tragic car accident. Only the day before the long weekend, I had chatted with her while she made my sandwich, discussing her plans for retirement. That morning, I shared the news of her passing with our school community, knowing that word would soon spread quickly through Camden. I also wanted our collective prayers to surround and support Chris’s family during such a heartbreaking time.

Throughout the day, I struggled to process the sudden loss of someone I had known for nearly forty years. My heart ached for her family and the grief they must be feeling.

It was just after 5:00 pm, and it was getting dark. I was in my office with Mrs Brunetta, finalising some planning, when I heard a child’s voice call out, “Mr Reardon.” I looked out the window and saw one of our students, standing at the gate with his mum, gesturing for me to come outside. I turned to Mrs Brunetta and said I needed to go.

As I stepped out, the weight of the day still heavy on my shoulders, I approached the child and his mum. As I opened the gate, the boy said he had asked his mum if he could bring me a box of chocolates—to cheer me up on what he could see was a very sad day.

This eight-year-old saw my pain. And at that moment, I was humbled. I found myself grappling with the fact that a child so young could offer the same affirmation and care that I, as principal, strive to offer them.

Yesterday, this child gave me a glimpse of the divine—in a simple, yet profound act of kindness. In his compassion, I saw the teachings of Jesus Christ come to life. Through that one encounter, I felt both the sorrow of Good Friday and the hope of Easter Sunday, united in a single moment—a moment that reminded me of Christ’s enduring presence in our everyday lives.

To that child: thank you for seeing the child in me.

I dedicate this newsletter to Chris—a woman of great heart, few words, and a listening ear.

Go Gently,

Michael Reardon