Page Content
This year, I helped a young man trust again. Last year he threw a chair at his teacher. Yesterday, I caught him sharing food and when I spoke to him about trust and being sneaky, he broke down in tears and admitted to hiding snacks among his school supplies. He tearfully showed me. His guilt was real. He cared. Cared that I trusted him. Cared that I was disappointed. And he wanted to come clean. He wanted to own it. And he trusted me to listen to him.
This year, I helped get an important assessment for a girl with severe anxiety. She’s quiet and well behaved so flew under the radar, but I was concerned. She couldn’t work with numbers. She wouldn’t raise her hand or offer opinions. She told me the words move when she reads and that math makes her physically sick. This past month, she’s raised her hand four times and worked during math class over half the time. This last week she received an important educational psych test for anxiety. Her life will be different now.
This year, I talked to my students about talking with people about their feelings and asking for help. I talked about our family support worker’s role and how sometimes you just need someone who isn’t totally connected to your life. A young girl came to me and said she wanted to meet with our family support worker. She went in and asked for help with her anger. She opened up about bullies at her last school, moving to Canada to live with a mom she didn’t really know and her mom’s boyfriend, who makes her feel like she doesn’t belong. She smiles more now. She stands up for herself. She misses me when I’m not at school.
This year, I changed my math unit plans four times because of self-isolation. I created five different ways to teach one thing because some of my kids can’t multiply. So they can’t multiply decimals, fractions or divide. I worried about sending them to Grade 7 without these skills and constantly reworked my teaching to try to prepare them. I did all of this while also trying to instill in them a desire to learn and a feeling of success.
This year, I took deep breaths with an 11 year old who whines, throws little tantrums and blames me for most everything when he’s upset. I walked him home in the rain when he couldn’t handle school anymore. I reached out to his mom and his dad. I filled out three different forms and questionnaires for his pediatrician. I met with my school resource team and partner teacher 20-plus times to adapt our teaching and involvement with this child. Challenging him, expecting realistic outcomes while keeping in mind his mental health.
This year, I met with my principal over and over again to discuss how we could move forward with the fun, normal things kids love at school while adhering to COVID protocols. Patrols. Play day. Phys-ed. Library. Community walks. Recess. I stood up when I felt we weren’t being safe, and I had an uncomfortable conversation about how I felt like I wasn’t safe at work and needed some things to change.
This year, I read the draft curriculum for Grade 6 and K–6 physical education. I joined a Facebook group and submitted feedback to the Alberta government—one subject and grade at a time. I designed and had signs made. I distributed these signs and spoke to many people about how I felt. I fielded questions. I joined a two-hour Zoom listening to our consultants discuss the draft curriculum. I printed off and collected 42 signatures for a petition to go to the legislature.
This year, I joined a committee to rewrite the document that supports English language learners (ELLs), required by the Alberta government. I wrote five days’ worth of guest teacher plans so I could go do work somewhere else. I sat with teachers and discussed how to make this document valuable to teachers and beneficial to our ELLs. I met with all of the teachers at my school to help them pilot these new documents. I created a checklist to make the steps clear, and I collected feedback from each grade.
This year, I worked hard. I took care of my students. I helped them learn and thrive. I navigated an ever-changing situation, while reassuring the little people around me that we were OK. I got up every day and went to do a job that my government doesn’t respect. I don’t have time to bully you.
I teach my students this:
- It’s not disrespectful to say no if you are being asked to do something you are uncomfortable with.
- It’s not mean to tell someone you don’t want to be around them if they aren’t nice to you.
- Sometimes, to do what’s best for you, you have to be impolite. You have to disagree.
Disagreeing with you, our minister of education, is not bullying. You don’t like it. There are a lot of us. That’s hard to swallow for you.
It’s not bullying. It’s courage. There’s a difference.
The author has chosen to withhold her last name out of respect for her students’ privacy. ❚
