Tag Archives: #PSS210

There’s a Way

bookLast week at our school we read P.H. Reynolds’ book, I’m Here. Inspired by this book, the next day students and staff made, tossed paper air planes and then we shared stories and smiled.

We are an alternate school and part of what we believe is finding ways to listen to and live alongside each other. Around here, we hope everyone finds a sense of belonging so that everyone is able to say, in some way, I’m here.

The morning after we read Reynolds’ book, before I arrived at school, I messaged friends and colleagues. I asked folks to make a paper airplane, to toss an air plane and then to share that moment.

Many people ignored my request. Many people responded with a LOL. A few people grumped out a response.

I few folks wondered about the purpose of my request. At the end of the day I shared that we had been reading Reynolds’ books as part of the author share with the Global Read Aloud.

I didn’t share our connection with #GRA14 until the end of the day. This was deliberate.

I wanted to see who would find a way to connect without an academic link. I reached out through trust and joy in play and hoped others might speak this same language.

“Where ever you are today, toss a paper airplane. Send photo.”SC plane

I like when the world smiles. Does there need to be a better reason to toss a plane?

But that was my cover story.

The night before my sister, my mom and I had an hour long conference call organizing our schedules around Mom’s surgery. We organized her time in recovery, our days off, coordinated our time with Dad, and the if-than conversations that followed. It was a tough call. My heart hurt up inside under my arms in an aching sort of spin. I scheduled and organized and listened. Nothing seemed grounded.

In the morning I wondered how to make my smoothie, plan for the substitute and craft coherent field texts. I wanted to share. Yet, I really didn’t want to either.

I wanted to find a way.

I wanted to find a way, a way to between you and me. A way to smile. A way to take that big big deep breath. A way to hope.

So.

There’s a way you know.

The air planes keep coming in…

Finding a way between the living & telling and the reliving & retelling.

What if I had made explicit the purpose of hope, would others have shared? What if I had added the #GRA2014 hashtag, would others have been keen to share? Would you?

I wonder…

For all those educators (and you are the best of the best, the ones who speak the language of the heart) who pulled their kids into gymnasiums and made and tossed and shared, thank you; I’m here.

For all my friends who made and tossed and giggled and wrote poetry and shared; I’m here.

And for our kids. Our kids. Who read and wondered and shared stories and picked their colours and ran fingers along creases and decided to move outside and tossed and tossed and laughed and laughed, their first ever planes …We’re here.

I am so honoured.

 

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How Do I Get That Job?

Last week I attended the seventeenth annual National Congress on Rural Education. My role at the conference was as teacher advisor to a team of nine high school ejournalism students from Prairie South Schools. The students were successful; this means I was responsible for frequently refilling my coffee cup.

I sat in on the keynote speakers and the entertainment following the banquet. As well, I made certain to attend all session where one of @yourgeeksquad was sharing their work.

My role was not only to listen to kids, but to offer my students a platform from which to share their experiences.

The conference began on Sunday evening, March 25, and ran until Tuesday noon, March 27. Driving home on Tuesday, my kids and I reflected about what went well and what they would do differently if given the chance to report at another RCEd, or during their next ejournalist gig. The students’ big take-away was: let kids lead more.

Sunday night my students gathered on the second floor common area of the Delta Bessborough. There, we collected and reviewed our interviews and summarized our notes from the first day. The adrenaline was running. We had just met and interviewed and been photographed with Craig Kielburger; also, we had just come from the local coffee house. 

A night of collaboration was in full swing. Then the elevator doors opened.

See the Geek Squad were not the only kids who had met Craig. My kids, the-at-first-glance-what-appear-to-be-white kids-from Prairie South Schools were not the only kids who had attended the conference.

Around 11:55 pm, from out of the elevator stepped Jake, “So what are you all doing?”

A few of my students looked up from their pieces and began to explain their role as a team of ejournalists at the event. But deadlines won out, the kids returned to their work and at midnight the hotel security ushered my kids into a private room 30 feet away.

My coffee and I stayed with Jake.

“Have you seen the App for our virtual wall?” I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and I handed my phone up to him. As he began investigating the wall, he sat down beside me. Instantly, Jake and I were connected.

Jake is a vlogger. He had watched the Geek Squad all night. I had seen him hanging around. My legs tired, I soon curled up into the comfy green sofa. Jake, in his spiffy jeans and sport coat sat with legs a bit too long yet for the rest of him, sprawled out in the common area, in the arm chair at my side. Here, we shared stories.

Like the Geek Squad, Jake too was attending the event. Jake however was also presenting at the congress. With me he shared the story he’d be sharing the next day, the story of the lasting legacy of residential schools in the North. Jake paused, asked me if I understood about residential schools. It was important to Jake that I understood. He shared that what many people fail to understand, that when residential schools were closed, and in the north that wasn’t too long ago, there were few if any financial or educational supports in place for First Nations people. He shared about the results the lack of supports have had on his community. He shared about the challenges, specifically access to educational services and systemic racism, which continue to affect First Nations people, his home community, his family and him.

Jake spoke gently yet passionately relating his narrative. We laughed, and we cried. I shared my story too, being a single mom to a teenaged daughter and the understandings many assume they share of me.

Jake and I also shared that we had never before stayed in such a beautiful hotel.

Jake talked about his sister. Jake shared that he is the first in his family, at the age of fifteen, to have never smoke or drank or fought or have yet had sex, all things to which Jake assigns much worth.  Jake shared that he struggles every day in a world that models, albeit falsely, that hero means doing and being something Jake is not, a world where hero means self-harm.

Jake shared that as he walked into the coffee house on his way to the hotel, a stranger grabbed him by the shirt collar and asked, “Hey, hey do you have a smoke? Hey?”

Jake thought about this a while. Then, he looked towards the white painted wooden doors where the Geek Squad worked, “Did anyone stop you?”

“Ya. Someone asked for change.”

“No one asked me for change.” He looked back towards me. “You know why they asked you that?”

Jake and I looked at each other a long time. He looked over my shoulder towards the door again. The door was locked for now; neither of us could enter without a key.

“How do I get that job?”

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