Time May Not Care But I Do
December looms. The last month of the year. I can only wonder how it is that 2013 has just over four weeks to go.
The months have flown by, the year has evaporated. Like the contrails of planes which soar overhead, all that’s left are lingering impressions of passing through space and time. I know I started there and I know I’ve ended up here, but I’ve lost the texture of the days and won’t remember all the details of my experiences along the way.
Time’s not going to hesitate in its relentless march to give me back the days or weeks or minutes or seconds I wasn’t able to enjoy or forgot to savour.
Time doesn’t care, but I do.
Why?
Because the end of the year means the end of the semester at Simon Fraser University (SFU) and while time may not care that it’s left me breathless with its bruising speed, I do care about having to say goodbye to the students I’ve been working with since the first week in September.
There are any number of reasons for me to be ecstatic. Once exams are over and grading is done, I won’t have to contend with the agony of marking. Once the last book has been read and the last office hour held, I may be able to reintroduce balance in my day to day activities. Once the demands have lessened, I might be able to capitalize on a few extra hours of sleep.
I have many reasons to celebrate. But here’s the thing. All of those reasons and more are trumped by this one truth: I treasure working with undergraduates even if they hand in papers late, even if they won’t contribute to a class discussion, even if they haven’t done the reading, even if their writing skills are still in development, and even if they don’t care as much about the course as I do.
Based on concentrated interactions over 12 to 13 weeks, even if it’s just for 50 minutes each week, a connection is established although not with every student and not always successfully. A rapport grows among the members of each tutorial group, a sense of common purpose.
And for me the most rewarding moments are those times during a tutorial session when I can actually see the students thinking. When it seems like they are puzzling over a new idea, a new concept. Of course, they may just be squinting at the clock in anticipation of being released from the torture of sitting in yet another classroom with yet another TA droning on about something or the other. Maybe. But more often than not, I feel they’re giving serious consideration to the material at hand. They are learning and their horizons are expanding.
My time with these students is rapidly coming to an end and I’m incredibly appreciative of the time I’ve been privileged to spend in their company.
It may be brief, it may be over all too soon, but it’s time well-spent.
The Value of a Shock
In June 2013, a Grade 8 teacher invited me to participate in an event she had organized for her English class.
I accepted, with no qualms, to be a talking book. That is, an individual with whom students could converse. A living book providing real-time dialogue.
On the day of the event, each living book was guided to a different spot in the Rockridge library. The students, in small groups of five or six, rotated from one station to the next on a timed basis. They had spent time preparing for their roles as interviewers and the evidence of how much time their teacher had spent helping them get ready was clear.
Many of the questions they asked me focused on education.
“Is high school the best years of our lives?” One of my favourite questions, to which I answered, “No.” In my view, I explained, high school may be a pinnacle of experience for some, but it was not necessarily so for all. It hadn’t been for me.
One young woman asked for my advice on how best to prepare for university. I didn’t mind this question the first time it was asked, but by the second or third time it was broached, I’d had enough. I suggested that since they were only in Grade 8 they may be better served by focusing on what they had to do now. They had time to agonize over the rest.
There was one question which resonated with me the most. I remember it as “what do you think is the purpose of education?” but in her thank you letter the young woman who’d posed the question wrote it down as “what makes you so passionate about education?” The exact form of the question doesn’t matter because it was her interpretation which has made this into a cherished memory.
“Your answer shocked me. It was not an answer that I expected. You are not passionate about education because you think it makes people smart for a better job in the future, that was what I expected. Instead, you said that education makes us better people. … This is a moral that I will carry with me for my upcoming school years.”
And I do; I believe that education is about making each of us better.
That’s why the chorus for choice in the public education system sometimes rings false. Because those who sing that chorus the loudest are trying to draw a straight line from their children’s education, even as far back as kindergarten and earlier, to success in their lives as adults. There are connections and correlations between the two, but I believe we do a disservice to our young people when we present life as a simple equation of “if you do this, then you will get, or you will be, this”.
Life is complex and nuanced.
Life doesn’t always unroll in a straight line.
And that can be a shock.
And in the face of a shock like that, sometimes all we have to rely on is being the best person we can be.
The Impossibility of Knowing What Is To Be
Here’s the thing: none of us has a crystal ball. Not the pundits nor the prognosticators, some of whom have made very lucrative careers out of saying what they “know” will happen.
In fact, some say the events which shape the human experience are not the outcomes we forecast, but the unexpected occurrences to which we respond. For more on this, read The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable by Nassim Nicholas Taleb.
I know I can’t speak to the future with certainty, but as I look towards the fall, I suspect my voice will be a dissenting one.
Why?
Because events are moving quickly in the public education sector with no clear indication of the government’s ultimate objective and yet there seems to be a general complacency about it all.
Here are three red-flag issues for me:
- The removal of the BCPSEA Board points to a profound change in the way bargaining will be conducted in the public education sector. I think BCPSEA paid the price for pursuing a path contrary to the provincial government’s vision. The board’s removal was sudden, swift, and seemingly–and mistakenly in my opinion–unlamented. Whether this is an improvement or not remains to be seen, but I am still looking for assurance that this is not the first step in a series of unilaterally determined shifts which may or may not prove to be publicly beneficial.
- A 10-year labour agreement with the BCTF is seductive and such an easy sell in the court of public opinion. But I’m not convinced, unless the deal is fully funded and increases resources significantly for students, that it can be accomplished in a fair and equitable manner. I am also not convinced that it is in the best interest of the employer as I’ve written about before here.
- Publicly elected school boards make a difference because they represent local interests and are accountable to local communities. The fact that we have a high-performing system today is due in large measure to the way districts (everyone from students to parents to trustees to staff to principals to teachers to support staff) have been able to keep the machine humming despite inadequate funding. Yes, the provincial government spends more per student now than ever before, but add up the costs that have been downloaded without being funded and the increases in expenses which haven’t been covered (including key items such as utility costs, MSP premiums, and carbon offsets) and you’ll see why there’s such a discrepancy. Yes, some boards have run into difficulties, and yes improvements can be made, but the attempt to disregard the government’s role in exacerbating the situation is disingenuous.
So while I may not be able to speak to what the future is bound to bring, I do know that I will continue to speak up and to advocate, even if I’m in the minority, because it doesn’t take a crystal ball to see that a healthy, thriving public education system is the best foundation for all our tomorrows.
A Question of Size
“We may not be big but we’re small!”
As CBC radio listeners know, that’s the motto of the Vinyl Café, the vinyl record store at the heart of Stuart McLean’s storytelling series.
I think the motto counterbalances another common theme of our times: “Bigger is Better”. A concept which often leads to trouble economically, politically, and environmentally.
The Vinyl Café motto is also a good fit for Lions Bay Community School, a primary school in School District 45 which enrolls approximately 60 students per year in kindergarten to Grade 3. A privately run preschool also operates on the premises.
In June, I attended the school’s leave-taking ceremony for its Grade 3s, a ceremony which marks their “graduation” and acknowledges their future status as intermediate students at other schools starting in September.
Lions Bay, it seems to me, is so big in what it does even though it is small.
Why?
Part of it is the setting. Nestled in the forest, the school seems to be swimming in an ocean of green.
Part of it is the architecture. Now over 30 years old, the school is built on an open-concept plan which allows an unparalleled flow between learning spaces and allows the teaching staff an exceptional amount of flexibility.
Part of it is the community. Families who choose to live in Lions Bay have made a specific lifestyle choice and they are active participants in the school because it is a major focus for the community.
There are challenges, too. Because it is so highly dependent on area demographics, enrollment at the school can only be maintained as long as there are young families in the area or willing longer-distance commuters (for example, if Squamish families or Horseshoe Bay residents were to choose the school for their children).
In addition to the excellent teaching staff, the supportive community, and the outstanding physical environment, size is something else that gives Lions Bay an edge. Being small helps the school fulfill its mission statement “to provide a safe learning environment and strive to enable students to become confident learners”.
The size of the school, in my opinion, keeps the student experience at the heart of operations by allowing a higher degree of personal attention. It has also sparked innovation in pedagogical approaches.
These factors have all combined to ensure success for these young students.
Being small can be effective.
Which brings me to the measures being taken to restructure the bargaining framework in BC’s public education system. Measures which I hope are not a prelude to regionalizing or eliminating Boards of Education.
As John Abbott, President of the 21st Century Learning Initiative, cautioned during a visit to West Vancouver earlier this year, losing local governance puts the future of learners at risk by distancing the local community from decision-making.
So here’s what I hope our provincial government and the leadership of BCSTA remember as they work together during the remaining days of summer.
Bigger is not always better.
Artwork by Lions Bay students on display in the gym.
Do I Want To Know?
Ignorance is bliss.
Or so they say.
And as we hurtle through the German countryside, on this train voyage from Berlin to Frankfurt, on the last leg of our summer adventure abroad, I believe it may be true.
Throughout this trip, I’ve had access to wireless connections and have checked my email regularly, followed Facebook postings and Twitter messages, but not to the same extent I do at home.
I haven’t read the newspaper each morning, I haven’t listened to broadcast news, and I haven’t been voraciously consuming the ups and downs of world events, whether trivial or significant. It helps that many of our accommodation spots have not provided access to a television or that we’ve been too busy exploring to watch.
So while I’ve been connected, I haven’t been obsessed and that’s opened room in my thoughts and daily experience to a stronger sense of well-being.
Which is an odd place to be for someone who is an advocate of digesting information regularly, of learning, of being aware that the world is so much more than our immediate circles of influence.
So if ignorance is bliss, why bother with education?
In thinking about this question, I realize how value-laden the field of education is as is the contemplation of what constitutes the qualities of our existence as social beings.
We talk about believing in better, but what’s better?
We talk about the value of knowledge, but what is knowledge?
We talk about leading good lives, but what constitutes a good life?
In addition, as I contemplate the historical record (traveling in Europe seems to make history somehow more real and pressing), I realize that crimes and atrocities, throughout the centuries and in our own day, are or have been committed by well-educated people.
Education has not acted as a barrier to tragedy, war, deprivation, suffering, inequality, and injustice.
And while I have a feeling the key is to keep asking questions rather than settling on fixed answers, there is one conclusion I feel able to draw with some certainty.
The most important result of education is to enable people to become and to be critical thinkers. And while the search for consensus may be integral to making progressive changes (what is progress? why change?), individual voices are needed now more than ever as is tolerance for different points of view.
And that’s a troubling aspect of political life in Canada and elsewhere along with the evolution of our mainstream media systems. It seems the goal is to manipulate citizens into thinking en masse by removing dissension and erasing individuality.
I can’t help feeling that we should – at this point in time and with the lessons of history – know better.
Ignorance may be bliss, but, as my nephew says (he’s recently graduated from the University of Bradford Peace Studies Department) “blissed” ignorance is not just.
Perhaps that’s the ultimate purpose of education then: to establish, maintain, and sustain just societies.
If so, let’s get on with it.