Kia aroha tētahi ki tētahi

A Lesson That’s Stayed With Me

I was five years old and it was my first day at kura. I don’t remember much about what I had in my lunchbox that day, but I do remember the very first lesson my kaiako taught me.

It wasn’t a big list of classroom rules. No colour-coded posters or star charts. Just one guiding tikanga:

Kia aroha tētahi ki tētahi
Show aroha for each other.

She explained it so simply. Show aroha for the people around you, for the taiao (environment) and for the resources we have in our classroom. And if I could make decisions from a place of aroha, she said, then I’d be alright.

So there I was, sitting cross legged on the whāriki (mat), first day of kura. My kaiako asks the class a pātai about the pukapuka (book) she’s reading. I know the answer, so I do what any excited five year old does… I blurt it out.

She looks at me kindly, not angry, and says,
“Anton, are you showing aroha for your classmates, the ones sitting quietly with their hands up, when you shout out over them?”

I paused. Thought about it. And yeah… nah. I probably wasn’t.

She gently reminded me again:
Kia aroha tētahi ki tētahi

Not even 2 minutes later, the class dickhead sitting behind me leans in and whispers,
“Shame, Anton, you got told off.”

Now I’m a pretty emotional five year old which meant all the feels were floating around. So I bit. I reacted. And I whacked him.

Kaiako sees it, raises her voice this time.
“Anton, are you showing aroha for your classmates when you hit them?”

Answer was obvious. Of course I wasn’t.

Again, she reminded me:
Kia aroha tētahi ki tētahi. Come on, you can do better.

The bell rings. It’s morning tea. And at this point, I’ve pissed off 90% of the class. The other 10% just weren’t paying attention to me and my behaviour. So I’m on my own eating my Twisties.

I finish the packet, and the bin’s way over the other side of the field. My little legs make an executive decision… nah, too far. I stuff the empty packet into the harakeke bush next to me.

Busted.

Teacher on duty sees me and makes a beeline.
“Anton, are you showing aroha for the taiao when you hide your rubbish in the harakeke?”

Again - I knew the answer. I wasn’t.

Cue teachable moment. She knelt down beside me and leaned in. She explained:

• When we snap branches off trees just for fun - we’re not showing aroha for Tāne Mahuta.

• When we carve our names into desks, or draw on the pages of our books, or don’t take good care of our pens and glue sticks - we’re not showing aroha for the things or places that look after us.

• When we waste kai, we’re not showing aroha for the people who have prepared that kai (with aroha) for us.

• And when we hit, tease, or put others down to make ourselves feel better… there’s no aroha in that either.

She didn’t yell. She didn’t make me feel small. She just taught me… with aroha.

That one simple principle - Kia aroha tētahi ki tētahi - has stayed with me ever since.

And over the years, I’ve come to realise something…

Almost every time I’ve got myself into trouble, something other than aroha has been behind my actions. Anger. Jealousy. Frustration. Insecurity. Ego.

But the times I’ve led with aroha - when I’ve shown care, empathy, and kindness - those have been the moments that kept me on the right track.

Of course, sometimes you still get burnt. People might take advantage of your kindness. That sucks. But that’s a reflection of them, not of aroha.

In my experience, when we show aroha for the people, the environment, and the things around us - we’re usually pretty safe.

So here’s a reminder I keep coming back to:
Shrink your decisions down to one thing - am I leading with aroha right now?
And if not, maybe I need to pause and re-think.

Let’s teach our tamariki this too. Let’s normalise calling each other back to aroha when we slip. And let’s recognise the power of those moments when someone does the same for us.

Because when you’re on the receiving end of true aroha - it feels pretty nice too.

Ngā mihi

Anton