Opening Day 2012 And A 1974 Flashback

Last Thursday, I had the pleasure of hearing Dr. Jennifer James speak at the Opening Day celebration for our school district.  

Held at West Vancouver’s Kay Meek Theatre, the event drew over 500 teachers, administrators, staff, trustees, partner-representatives, and parent-representatives to join in honouring 20-year employees, to hear from the Board Chair and the Superintendent, to learn from a distinguished speaker, and to be moved — in my case to tears — by a slideshow presentation with highlights from the past year.

In her presentation, Dr. James masterfully outlined the cultural shifts we’re experiencing and the challenges they present particularly to educators.  In relating her vision, her experience, and her understanding, Dr. James also shared details of personal issues she’s contending with today and some she had to overcome as a child. 

As the theatre emptied and the exuberant buzz faded, I thanked Dr. James and commended her on being so candid about her family life. “Well,” she said after a pause, “education is personal.”

And it is.

Why?

Because our educational experiences stay with us, shape us, and guide us as we negotiate our daily lives, our relationships, and our careers.  For Dr. James, her education included interactions with a Grade 4 teacher she “hated” and a high school teacher she adored.  The former dismissed her, penalized her, and undercut her self-esteem. The latter noticed her, cared about her, and took action to ensure that she made it to college despite her difficult family situation. 

Her story inspired me to reflect on one of my own. 

It was 1974 and we’d just settled in West Vancouver after moving back to Canada from Lebanon.

I knew no one.

I was moving from an all-girls school where we wore uniforms every day to a mixed gender school where student outfits tended mostly to jeans sporting gaping holes.

 

On the first day of Grade 8, I missed the bus. 

I snagged a ride from my father after traipsing back home.

Having reached Hillside Secondary, I made my way into a buzzing school gym of 1,200 students arrayed along the bleachers.

Darting curious glances here and there, I sat through the roll call which ended without my name being called.

So after arriving late, after the anxiety of missing the bus, after feeling as if I’d never find my way, I was escorted to Mrs. Haagen’s classroom, Division 82.

And as the last one in, in my plaid-skirted dress with white knee high socks and black patent shoes, I was awarded an undesirable front row seat inspiring a chorus of “A-reema, a-reema, a-rrrreeemmma” from the boys in the back which would haunt me as the year progressed.

It sucked and I believe the ramifications are with me still.

But it’s important to share our stories, positive or negative, because education is personal.  

And to all those students facing their first day of school this week, I wish you the very best in your personal journey and, above all, I wish you kindness.  

Because as Dr. James also said, education is at the core of civilization and the heart of that is kindness.

Keepsakes and Memories

“And the seasons they go ’round and ’round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game”

Joni Mitchell

A T-shirt decorated at a friend’s birthday party.  A Tintin T-shirt bought in Aix-en-Provence almost four years ago.  A pair of Vancouver 2010 red mittens. A hat from our first Disneyland trip embroidered with his name.

These were the four items, after a reorganization of his room and clothes closet, that were selected for deposit in my son’s memory box.  A blue plastic bin which is home to other treasures including a few items which he wore as an infant and breastfeeding charts which I’m sure he’ll prize — or not — when he’s twenty. 

I’ve learned to be careful with what we save knowing that the instinct to keep it all is a sure path to clutter-mania and a heaviness of spirit which comes from the emotional trap of not being able to let things go.  Even so, my ability to avoid amassing keepsakes, which has improved over time, remains variable.

Despite my growing awareness and diligence around clutter (belied by the mountain of memorabilia and discarded items in our storage room – picture not included!), I have safeguarded this box for the first decade of my son’s life because I believe connections to our past are important.  While the collection I’ve begun on his behalf may be small, it dwarfs what has been preserved for me from my childhood.  

Why?

We moved a lot.  I was born in Montreal and by the time I was twelve, we’d lived in Kuwait, Calgary, and Lebanon with other smaller stops in between.  I think my mother, early in her married life, learned to keep things light.  Making transcontinental, transatlantic moves economically forty to fifty years ago was not conducive to carrying a lot of “stuff” around. 

A blue bin of keepsakes overflowing with treasured items. - ReemaFaris.com

If you look at the accompanying photo you’ll spot a small doll whose blue dress sports a yellow apple. That is it. This is not the only, but it is the primary keepsake from my childhood.  It was given to me by classmates at school when they heard I’d be leaving Lebanon and returning to Canada.  I can picture my friends from that time, I even remember a few names, and I can always look at photos of them in the school yearbooks I have.  ButI don’t know where they are today or what their lives may be like.  A 15-year civil war in Lebanon, an era before instant electronic communication, and the need to adapt to a new culture, a new society, a new school, and new friends intervened, all playing a role in building distance between them and me.

And so four items added to a blue plastic bin — a couple more boxes of school work and early artwork — may not seem like much for my son but it’s enough. 

Because it’s not the stuff you save but the memories you never forget which are your greatest treasures.