Remember me?

Dear Student-Who-Does-Not-Remember-Me, 

I hope you are well. I am back in school now, working on my Master’s courses. I enjoy being in class with colleagues and discussions that we engage in. Some participate vocally, some with their silence. It’s a safe place.

There are days when I wonder what I am I doing, whether any of this matters: if after years of cancer research, we still lose loved ones, is my analogy for this. Surely that does not mean that we have not made progress as a people: where Terry Fox had to have his leg amputated and succumbed at such a young age, today the same cancer today is curable. I remember reading that article a few years ago in class. Was that you then, who was excited about making a difference? 

You are an adult now and I can talk to you about serious matters. While I do agree that some teachers must stop seeing themselves so seriously and understand that factors other than themselves drive education. From my corporate perspective, with my first career, I too am often perplexed at why colleagues delve so much into what is not and have such a hard time making the best use of what is, now. What is within us. What is within our communities of practice. Maybe that is the way forward. Perhaps we can look at others, just a little further North who have less. The deficits are in the lenses, not in the objects. But we don't get it, we are too busy venting about what we don't have.

I also believe that as an educator, or as an individual, one identity blends into the other. I see my narrative if you will, comes from the advantages I have that others don't (erasure?? really??). I refuse to deny that I am privileged: I had a head start in life, others didn’t. I had a head start in Canada, other’s didn’t. It’s simple when I think of it this way, for me at least.

I guess I am able to come back to what I do well everyday as I do not let others define who I am or to put a judgement on what I do, and I also do extend that respect to others. So whether it is silver hair, or my fight for social justice, I march to my own drummer. Many do. And that is what works for me. And them too, I’m sure.

Clearly those who leave are, like all living things that perish or phase out, those who do not adapt; this is where science guides me. Adapt or perish. Darwin had seen something there.

The most effective teachers, and we do remember them, are those who care enough to work outside the box, who refuse to let students close the doors on their own potential and who believe in them until they start believing in themselves.

Surely you remember the ones who touched your lives. Why else would you holler across the mall and swing me into the air with joy, startling my son? Why do you wave when you see me at traffic lights or at the library? Why do you ask: How is Cedarwood without me? And LOL when I quip: “Better”. That is all that matters.

On cold Monday nights when I return home, I sometimes meet a former grade 7 student on the bus back to Markham. We exchange news, they chat and I respond. We speak of our journeys. They wish me well and say that they hope I will teach at the university someday. They ask if I still wear my beautiful necklaces as they cannot see them bundled under my coat. It's all good.

Do I expect plaques? No way. Even a nod is great. I don’t remember all their names always, yet I am not here for the vacations. That I suppose is the acid test. They call me Miss, high school air does that to them. The next time, they address me by my name.

 I can say for myself that I do not start out each day to be remembered. I start out with the desire that I don't lose the students who need that special something.

And yes, I do teach to bring awareness. That is empowering for students and for me, as I see my own mortality in the mirror everyday and my presence merely as scaffolding.

I am a dreamer, but I am not the only one.