I am okay now

January 29th, 2009

A cold winter night in the rotunda of our neighbourhood high school. The time to let go, as a grade 7/8 teacher, sees me at the edge of my seat. I watch with bated breath as the students who have worked with me for two years, get ready to take their place in the next phase of their young lives.

There are students everywhere, some of them my own from years past. They stop by to say hello and share their wisdom about what I should remind my current batch before they enter this building:

1. Remind them to review their notes everyday.
2. Remind them to practise their math everyday
3. Just do for them what you did for us: believe they can do great things

( If I am allowed a Kleenex moment, this is it)

The high school is a very warm and family friendly place. The band has set itself up in the centre of the area, teachers at department booths are answering questions and the principal is walking around meeting every eye and doing what she does best: being the authentic and dedicated presence a parent would want as a partner in their child's education.

One of my students asks me to walk with him to the table. He forgets his questions, takes me aside, asks me for paper and makes me write them down. I do that unconditionally, knowing that this is a stressful time for him. He is expected to take decisions that will impact his life and he is learning how to do that.

Then he takes a deep breath, takes the sheet from me and looks over his shoulder at me. I walk behind him as he approaches the table again. He stands tall in front of the depratment head and jumps in:

• What does the course look like?


• Will you show us exemplars?


• What accomodations will you provide?


• What courses can I take in grade 10?


• If I think of anything else, can I call you at school?

Finally he seems more relaxed and moves to the cafetorium for the presentation. As we sit down, he turns to me. My son was sick. My daughter was watching him as their father was away on a business trip the whole week and I was working late again.

"I am okay, thank you Ms. KJ. You can go home now. I am going to be fine" He says.

My mother used to say: "If someone hugs you, don't break away until they are ready to let go"

This evening, I remember that sound advice. My student has to know I am here, with him as long as he needs me until he is ready to let go first.

I walk out into the still cold night, snowflakes falling softly on my head. And suddently at 7.30 pm on this magical January evening, the sun is shining.