Alternately a dis track if you are were my grade 9 Math or French teacher.

Welcome to the first year in 13 that I won’t be getting a kid ready for back to public school. While in years past, it has tended to be a hectic time in our house(people still love to get married in September, and there are lots of extra catering things with groups getting back to it and all)-trying to find balance between being a present parent and not tanking my business with inattention. This year, everything is different.

I was reflecting with a friend over the summer about teachers we’ve had in our lives, and the impact they have made- and I was inspired to share it with all of you. Or more specifically, I felt the need to wax poetically about all of the fine folks who are currently walking around an office supply store, with a cart full of school supplies that they will buy with their own money, for our children’s betterment. For the life of me, I cannot believe that they have to fight for fare wages-good lord they have the hardest job in the world. Have you ever felt the energy of five excited teens together? How about 30? Now teach them math in the time of cell phones and Ai and vapes. Or small children. Have you ever been around even one? Now multiply that by 20 plus and add a few learning differences. My first attempt at post secondary was elementary education, and I can tell you that I am neither organized, or an adulty enough adult to do this job. I later went to school to be a child and youth worker, and realized by the end of my studies that I also am not that great at relating to youth (though was really great at writing, so enjoyed creating critical analysis about films and writing in depth about social issues that were the root cause of people needing our care). So, these people have so much respect from me doing the impossible job they do.

From my own experience going through school, I learned the power that teachers can have in your life. Madame Pappas, who taught me grade 10 English who was fresh out of teacher’s college and full of new and creative ideas. She introduced us to “The Chrysalids”, which I’m sure you also read in school-if not, it was a post apocalyptic tale about a group of kids with telepathic powers and mutations from the fallout of an atomic bomb. I loved the book so much I stole it, which is silly-most teachers would be thrilled that you liked the book so much, and would make sure you had a copy to keep. I was a good kid who didn’t generally steal things, but it’s in the teen handbook that you have to rebel-so that’s one of the ways I did it. She let us do a book report in pictures if we wanted to- the first time I had been offered such freedom in an assignment. I excelled, and I also loved imagining what their world would look like outside of my mind. She was also the first person I can remember telling me that I was a really good writer, and encouraging assignments that offered creativity instead of rigidity.

I also remember some of my suck teachers. The one in grade 6 who missed how terrifically I was being bullied, and sent me to the principle’s office instead (where I would cry bitter tears of a good kid wrongly accused). My French teacher in high school who, after I returned from two weeks out with strep throat, gave me a test immediately on the unit I had missed -and then berated me in front of my classmates for being stupid when I inevitably did poorly. I never took French again after that year. (if you were at Thom Collegiate in Regina in the 90s, you probably know who I’m talking about) Or the math teacher in grade 9, who made me feel like an absolute nothing. Or, my grade 11 social studies teacher, who was so demeaning after I dared question a mark on my test that I had to march right down to the principle to tell them about it. And then after I did that, he would verbally harass me in the halls when he was standing around with other teachers. Big guy intimidating teenage girls he had total power over, nice example to set. But then there was my guidance councilor in grade 12 (I had moved from my home in Regina to Brandon, MB for grade 12-and I was deeply unhappy about it. I went from strong student to a “burn this fucker to the ground” student in a single summer.) He saw that I was smart, capable and out of character, and helped me graduate by the skin of my teeth when no one else could get me to go to school. Educators have the extraordinary power to influence their student’s lives, and I am so incredibly grateful for the dedicated teachers who taught me to see my own potential. Most sincerely the ones who encouraged me to colour outside the lines and lean deeply into creativity-sentence structure be damned.

This year, I got an much deeper look at how teachers hold together the fabric of our society and are actually angels in human clothes. During Kale’s last bit at school, he had been having a lot of trouble in math class. Following those events, I was included in a group note from his teacher to Kale so we knew what was going on. Within it, magic was contained. In this email, his teacher went on to tell Kale (paraphrasing)…that he was so much more than just math, that she knew he would get it and that she was there for help whenever he needed it. That she valued him as a person, and that she was on his team. That she really cared for his well being and noticed he was struggling. It was so supportive, so empathetic, so empowering, so real (as in, not everyone can be good at all things. Kale was legitimately good at math *and* an incredible creative, but for me personally-my strengths lay in other things and I need to choose career paths with minimal math for public safety.) that she somehow left me sobbing after reading that email, with all the ways a teacher could have helped me but chose blame and shame instead. Of the different relationship I could have with numbers. With gratitude that my child had such an empathetic, excellent teacher and mentor. I sent it on to my mom, who’s relationship with math trauma is even greater than my own-and certainly coloured my early relationship with math. In this one email, this teacher eased generational trauma around learning. Tell me that’s not magic.

And I haven’t even started on how teachers showed up for our family during tragedy. The early years educators at our child’s nursery school, who were professional, compassionate and patient with both us and our little one as we had to navigate their return to school. They had gotten used to being with both of us all the time, and we were all truly shaken at the fragility of life and how each time we said goodbye could be our last. That family members don’t always return. They had regressed on milestones because of trauma, and grownups being too preoccupied to catch their cues. We decided that we had enough tears and sadness as a family, and that our conditions for their return were that there was none of that. It was a bumpy return back with lots of false starts and patience required. They were loving and understanding through all of it.

And then Kale’s teachers. The folks that were his other adults. The people who kept him safe when we weren’t there. They too suffered a loss too deep, when he left Earth so unexpectedly. They showed up with broken hearts that they had woven into gifts, from puddings and soups to yarn they had hand spun through their grief. Then made into mittens so it would be like “he was holding our hand”. The print made with Kale in mind and words that were poems. About our beautiful shared human, who has left us all changed in both his life, and his loss. They have come with hugs, and loss, and stories, and projects he worked on that we hadn’t remembered or even seen. One even had a little trickster Kale haunting, where all of her green yard jumped out at her at the same time-reminding her to make that sweater for our little one in all of Kale’s favourite colours. They have made awards in his name, and carry in their heart finishing his work. And maybe more importantly than all of that, they were on the front lines for their students when their beloved classmate died. I’m sure some had to be the bearers of the news- a time in life when they were asked to bear the unbearable. All of the meaningful rituals and tributes they helped put together in his honour. Having to stand beside us when we went back to his school after hours to see it all (they had an emotional support dog there, that was a very comforting touch). Our heartbreak during that time was very raw and not everyone can bear witness. The community carried us yes, but a huge subsection was the teachers of KSS (and leaders of Kale’s theater company, Blue Canoe, who are subsequently and of-course-they-are teachers). Many of our most meaningful mementos, memories, and tributes all flowed from this loving group of people. I just love them all so much.

So, I write this post and lay it at their feet-like a shiny red apple in a different skin. In deep gratitude and humble thanks for all that teachers do for their students, all that teachers have done for me, and all that teachers have put into my kids. A nobler, more selfless profession hardly exists. Here’s to a year full of being a special grown up to someone who really needs it, enough pay to live comfortably and not have to spend your money on school related expenses, some down time to recharge and do the things that fill your cup, students that are respectful and keen to learn, people to see and appreciate all the hard work you put into your profession, and many, many treats coming across your desk. You really, really deserve the world.