In my case, restlessness runs in the blood.

Some people take the road less traveled. In my family, we take the road, get lost, build a railway company instead, and somehow end up in a resistance movement.

The Grandfather Who Swapped Medicine for Railways

Take my great-grandfather, Elias—a mayor, which must have made for some very 😎dignified dinner conversations. His son—my grandfather—was all set to study medicine, 🏥 thanks to Elias’ careful financial planning. And he did—until year five.

But then, in an inspired moment of “why do the expected?” he took off to Canada to start a Dutch enclave. Seemed like a great idea—until his wife got homesick. Back to the Netherlands they went, now with five kids in tow.

Since medicine was no longer an option, he worked his way up to eventually running a railway company (Zuid-Brabantse Buurtspoorweg). Naturally, this felt like the next logical step. And that’s not the full story—he played a key role during a time of social unrest, introducing a pension scheme and other reforms for railway workers.

The Fighter’s Path: My Father’s Story

Fast forward a generation, and my father, Louis Gustaaf Wolf, inherited that same unpredictable spirit.

He started out in law but soon found himself swept up in WWII, leading the Flying Brigade—a fierce resistance group that protected Jews and fought the Nazis. At times, they even hired assassins to eliminate high-ranking Gestapo officers. Betrayed and hunted by the Gestapo, he survived, only to face a new war after the war: justice.

As a temporary attorney, he interrogated captured collaborators—people responsible for the deaths of his group. A serious and harrowing task that weighed heavily on him. But as he often said, survival wasn’t enough—there was work to do.

After a brief stint in a law firm, he switched to education, becoming an inspector of education—first in Goes, then Apeldoorn, and later Arnhem. Remarkably, he did this without any formal background in education, which—if nothing else—proved he was adaptable.

But like many who had fought in the war, he never fully adjusted to peacetime. His marriage to my mother—a former resistance courier (and later a social worker)—eventually crumbled in Apeldoorn, creating a difficult situation – for both myself and my three brothers.

Rebellion in the Classroom: My Own Schooling Saga

As for me? Well, let’s just say my school years followed a similarly unconventional path.

Primary school was fine—until the final year, when I encountered a headmaster who believed in discipline with a capital D (and possibly a wooden ruler). By the way: he used his hands and also his legs. 😇 My grades plummeted.

In my first two years of secondary school (Mulo), I became a frequent 😇 guest in the headmaster’s office. The reason? I had taken a firm stance against corporal punishment, organizing walkouts whenever teachers crossed the line.

The school responded with a tried-and-tested method: punish the troublemaker. I spent weekends writing endless lines, my grades suffered, and the school system and I reached a mutual conclusion: We weren’t a good fit for each other. So, after seeing a psychologist, the advice was both a different family and a different school. The latter happened.

Off I went to a special school for kids with learning and behavioral issues. 😇 It had a stigma, sure, but the upside? No abusive teachers. I relaxed, I adjusted, and I passed.

But the real test was yet to come…

The Great French Exam Caper

French was never my strong suit. And when the final exam arrived, I was in serious trouble.

My written exam score? A solid 4 out of 10—meaning I’d need at least an 8 on the oral exam to pass.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I crammed a Lingaphone course, but I had my priorities. Instead of focusing on serious literature, I focused on what truly mattered—holidays.

On exam day, I was the last student to be tested. My examiners? Two slightly aged ladies who had spent hours listening to students butcher the French language.

The moment I sat down, I realized something: they were exhausted.

So, instead of struggling through poetry analysis, I took a calculated risk.

In flawless French, I asked them:
“Do you have any holiday plans?”

Their faces lit up. Suddenly, we were chatting about summer vacations, travel destinations, and the joys of good weather.

Not once did they ask me about the poem. Not once did they mention the books. I had, in effect, turned an oral exam into a casual holiday conversation.

Final score? 10 out of 10.

Foster Family, New Lessons, and an Unlikely Success

After my parents’ divorce, my grades collapsed again. 😇 But fate had another twist—I ended up with a wonderful foster family.

Again, I had to see a shrink 😂 for testing. His verdict? I was apt for becoming a doctor but would never achieve it due to my circumstances.

My foster father, a patient and wise man, introduced me to a new learning technique: writing my own summaries of foreign-language books.

I wasn’t thrilled. After all, why write my own when I could just borrow existing ones like every other student? But he encouraged me to engage with the material, to think, rather than memorize.

It wasn’t an instant fix. My concentration issues persisted, and I had to redo a year. But something clicked. It was clear that the real lesson wasn’t in avoiding challenges—it was in embracing them head-on.

I passed my final Havo exams—not spectacular, but respectable. To be honest, I was never a high flyer in school—too much daydreaming, too little enthusiasm for rigid academia.

But I did learn something far more valuable than just passing grades:
How to adapt.
How to take risks.
And—occasionally—how to talk my way out of trouble in French.

The Journey Continues

And so, life went on.

From a Teaching Academy to Medicine in the Netherlands (after an 😇 entry exam)—to working in South Africa, England, and eventually Australia, my path has never been straightforward.

Like my ancestors before me, I’ve followed instinct over convention, movement over stability.

Along the way, I’ve realized that life isn’t about rigid plans—it’s about Persistence, Imagination, and Adaptability (PIA).

(Not to be confused with Pakistan International Airways, which has a high crash record.)

And, of course, an occasional chat about holidays.

Obviously, there’s much more to it, but isn’t that how stories go?

Paul Alexander Wolf 😂🇳🇱🇿🇦🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇦🇺