Anniversaries

10 years. They pass in a flash. Or is it time that compresses in retrospect to present that illusion? I think it is mostly the latter. Those were long and difficult journeys.

 

September 26th, 2002 was a very special day; I know that now.

After ruminating for a long time, and taking inspiration from many, I had finally decided to go to the York University Information Night for the Faculty of Education. I did not drive, I barely took public transit. In spite of my admirable fluency in the socially dominant language in my new home (Ahem, English: this is my attempt to activate academic language at 5 am, just to prove that coffee works magic after 4 hours of sleep), I was apprehensive.

I was going to a university in Canada to get information for my next steps.

I did not know who I would meet, what I would ask, what they would tell me.

I was well into my third decade and I had a dream...

 

I wanted to go back to pick up the dropped thread of my former career: I wanted to take from my corporate experience the job skills that would help me find work and 'settle' into my new life. After my long break from paid work ( thank you Drs. G and S for that lens), I was not ready to move back into juggling multiple roles. I was mindful of the monetary needs of the future and I wanted to do something about it with a field I loved.

 

I took a bus from right outside my street and went to Finch Station. From there, I took a crowded 60F. As the bus turned the corner into a tree lined boulevard, I was aware that this was a special place. Ahead of me lay a yellow domed building. I got off the bus and asking some younger people where to go, I made my way to a lecture hall, the fragrance of pizza wafting around me.

 

In true keener style, I took a seat in the front row. The lecture hall filled soon and a woman entered.

She spoke of the facts: the degree requirements from other universities, transcripts, letters of recommendation and spaces available for the programme. Numbers are frightening at such times: Over 7000 people apply, of these we shortlist 1500 and admit 750 people she said.

 

Then she said something that I will forever carry in my consciousness: "Do not limit yourself by thinking about other people's qualifications", she advised. " Just put together all you need to submit and do what you have to do. Do not feel intimidated by what you think is in your way. You don't know what the application pool is like."

 

And I did. Apply that is. It was not easy, many helped. My siblings who made countless trips to the university to coordinate the long process of transcript aquisition are the first in my gratitude list. They have always been my lifeline and they still tease me that had I done it right the first time, I wouldn't still be going to school. Cheeky but oh so dear !

 

I applied, and yesterday, 10 years after that day, I stood on that hallowed ground and spoke of Rethinking Urban Spaces. I stood on land the gift of which has not been acknowledged by everyone who walks it.

 

Yet I know that to be there, in that space, on that land is a privilege. I thank all who walked with me and who nudged me to take one more step. Through that one step and the encouragement of that one woman, I have found my life's work. I have met her this summer to thank her and miraculous, or shall I say by strong spiritual connection, I was in the same space that day when she mentioned she was moving to another area of work in the university. And I wished her well, knowing she would go on to touch lives just as meaningfully.

 

This, was the turning point in my life. This day, ten years ago was the milestone that marked perhaps one of the first points of my journey. There are two more I can think of, but those are other stories for another 5 am tryst with memories.

 

Today I am blessed with many brothers and sisters who nurture my spirit in this journey. And I have many Gurus who touch my life with their magic.

 

I keep walking...

Signature day

He waits by the door
long after others have left

a sheaf of papers in his hand
that his parents have signed in pencil

"I have to sign this and give it in,
it's due today" he says

But I need help...
"To read what's in it?" I ask

No, he remarks, looks down at me
as he towers over
and whispers

'What is a signature?
I don't have one'

So we get to work
I explain the concept to him
Unique
A combination of his first and last name
that he can repeat over and over
if required:
so the driver's licence and the bank card
look the same
and they know it's him

He nods
and doodles
and leaves

And that afternoon he tells me
triumphant

I did it
I handed it in
I wasn't late
I have a signature

FY is out into the world
And he is smiling.

Time, it goes fast

I met him today after many years.

We were out in the community, doing the long awaited Terry Fox Run. I walked with the different classes, and took pictures as I went through the quiet neighbourhood. 9 years in this place and I marvel at the peaceful company of the students and many colleagues who have shared this journey with me. When I first started working here, some of the students I now teach, and who tower over me had not even stepped into kindergarten. The ones who recently graduated had perhaps just learned to write their names. That's how long it has been. And as I wandered the paths coming back to the beloved building, I met him again.

He was talking to his grade 8 teacher, I had taught him the previous year. He has grown. He smiles now, he even has a smile in his voice. I was bringing up the rear and I waited with him, the others went on.  I stood there with him perched on his bike and we chatted a little of this and that. We did not speak of many things. I know I remembered most of them. And I was absolutely delighted to hear that he has completed grade 12 and after taking a year off, is headed to college.

I had said to him once long ago that I had two of him in my class: One who was very smart, and the other who was terrified I'd find out. I am glad that he persisted, though to get this far I am sure there were many who worked tirelessly and lay awake late nights to pray. He asked about his other teachers, my brothers who have now travelled far to touch other lives. One has returned to touch some lives closer home. I promised to tell them about him and that he was well.

In the days when I had lost touch, I would think of him often: was he one that I had let down, not done enough for, not followed through on something....

It is soul work, this teaching and learning. It is reciprocal transformation. I am not a catalyst that by definition affects a reaction but does not participate in it: I participate with all my heart and I am renewed everyday.

"You should have pushed me some more, Miss", he said. " I did" I replied, " As much as you would allow me. Then you went off" I reminded him.

With disarming honesty, he smiled. "Yeah, but I remembered. I appreciate all that you did for me" he said.

We shook hands, I think. And he said, very honestly and truthfully: "Time, it flies". At 18 he knows that.

On this overcast day, with the clouds of confusion and discord looming over the collective future of educators, I needed this sunshine.

As I saw him ride away, a humongous bottle of pop tucked under his arm, with a baseball cap matching his shoes, I smiled and my shimmering eyes saw only golden, glowing, glorious hope.

I am here and I return, because he matters, they all matter.

Someday, this too shall pass. And I squared my shoulders and walked back home... to Cedarwood.