Dedicated to my older brother Emerson,
thanks for always pushing me beyond my limits.
Itâs time to go, I thought to myself.
It had been a long day, and I made it even longer for myself since I decided to stay after school and mark a few more notebooks from my classes.
âĂTRE: VERB, TO BEâ I read. âJe suis, tu es, il/elle estâŚâ
I quickly scanned the list of conjugations and made the corrections where it was necessary. I had been teaching the grade 7/8 class the same French verbs for the past week, yet some of the students were still making the same mistakes. I closed the notebook.
Maybe just one more, my mind encouraged me. To end on a better note.
I held my pen and opened the next book. I recognized the writing right away and had a feeling there wouldnât be much to mark, but Iâve always carried hope for each of my students. I hoped they may have at least tempted the work. To my disappointment I couldnât even find todayâs date. At the next blank page I wrote: INCOMPLETE in bright red ink.
âI definitely jinxed itâ I mumbled out loud.
I should have left it at the previous notebook. I appreciated effort with mistakes rather than, no effort with a blank page. Unfortunately, this was more frequent to particularly the older grades, such as this grade 7/8 class. What made things worse was the way they treated the class. Not only did they not care about their work, but about the courtesy of others. There were several cliques in the class, and unless you were a part of them, you were made fun of. I shook my head in disgust thinking back to all the impolite incidents. There are times they would talk back when I would ask them to work, or they would make up excuses to leave the class.
I glanced up at the clock, hanging right above a colourful bulletin board, filled with artwork and poems by the students. Without a doubt, I knew these students were smart and creative. If only they shared the same passion to do well in all their subjects, as oppose to certain creative assignments. You could already tell their main teacher was slowly giving up on them. It seems as if the most work the class did were art projects on a theme determined by the teacher.
It was nearly 6 oâclock on a Friday and I had to meet my daughter, Stella for dinner. I rested my elbows onto the table while rubbing both my eyes. Then, I pressed my right cheek onto the palm of my hand which now held my face. I closed my eyes slowly and took a deep breath. The smell of paper, glue and pencils filled my nose. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes again and looked up at the clock.
I really need to get home.
I collected all the notebooks into a pile, placing the unmarked notebooks on top. I took a look out the window to make sure it was still light out. I was placed to teach at an elementary school, in a neighbourhood that hasnât had the greatest history. It was located in the outskirts of a city called, Scarborough. From gun violence, theft and harassment, the school had a total of 3 lockdowns in the past month.
It looked like the sun was about to set and so I quickly packed my things. I carried the pile of notebooks into a bag and made my way outside the school. I cautiously looked around. Surprisingly the parking lot was empty. A cold breeze rushed passed me, blowing by my neck, making me shiver all over. The wind gave me chills, making the neighbourhood around the school seem eerie.
âI forgot my jacket in the classroomâ I hissed.
After contemplating whether or not I should go back, I had already reached my car. I sighed and decided to drive home while imagining the warmth, and comfort of my home. I thought back to my home in Quebec, it has been nearly 5 years since I left. I wanted to explore, thatâs why I decided to move. As much as the world seemed to look upon Quebec as the province who wanted independence from Canada, some of us didnât care for it as much. I still wanted to experience and be a part of the country in my own way. Then, slowly adventure around the world.
I finally reached home in Pickering, another city away from Scarborough. Stella was going to pick me up at 7pm, so I accelerated down the streets making it home in a record time of 15mins. I got out of my car and saw my neighbours cleaning their car.
âHello!â They called out.
He was a tall european man, with dark brown hair. He wore a striped polo along with cargo shorts and slippers. His hose was dripping onto his feet.
âHow are you?â I asked
âGreat. Thanks!â
The ethnic diversity in Canada has been a phenomenal experience for me. During my first year in Canada, I was able to attend several cultural parties from my neighbours. I have always wondered what is was like for the neighbourhood back in Scarborough. Why their students did not share the same attitude and vibe here in Pickering.
Carrying the bag full of notebooks always felt heavier bringing into the house, so I dropped it onto one of the dining room chairs. My house had passed my expectations when my husband and I moved in. We were fortunate enough to have my brother in-law help us financially until we were settled in.
I was a bit jealous of my husband who welcomed me home, while wearing his comfortable, checkered pyjama pants and a plain, loose, grey t-shirt. His arms pulled me in for a hug as he lightly kissed my forehead.
âHad a good day?â he asked smiling. Seeing him made me feel a lot more relaxed.
âComme ci, comme çaâ I half-smiled.
He smiled back, letting go of me and walked back into his home office to work. He always seemed so calm while he worked. I guess thereâs not much you could react to behind a laptop screen. I began to imagine what it would be like if I was one of the e-class teachers, and taught kids through a computer instead. It would eliminate the rude body language from students thatâs for sure.
 I called out to him, reminding him how Stella would be picking me up for dinner. Then, my phone rings.
âHi mom, Iâm on my way nowâ Stella replied.
It was her idea to go out for dinner, she said I needed to be treated.
âHow was work?â she asked, before I could even respond.
âJust fine,â I lied, staring at the bag of notebooks. âAre you sure you have time to be going out?â
âOf course! Itâs Friday, we all deserve a break from work. Just like right now, this is why I want to take you out!â
I admit my job can be exhausting, but not to the point where my daughter should feel the need to take me out. I had already tried backing out of the plan, but she wouldnât let me. Eventually I gave in after she had agreed this would be the last time sheâll do this.
âRight. Thanks, Iâll see you soon!â I cheered.
âLove you!â she laughed.
I went upstairs to wash my face and change into a plain royal-blue dress that flowed just above my knees. I didnât have enough time to shower. While brushing my teeth I examined myself in the mirror.
I combed back my hair with my fingers, allowing each strand to delicately take shape of my fingers. You seem to always forget you had a haircut for the first few days after getting it.
Hair especially shouldnât make me feel this way.
I thought back to earlier today. I had overheard a few of the students talking about my haircut. They told each other that I looked like a boy and that it was ugly, and too short. At first I didnât care what they said, but after a while their words began to creep into my feelings. A lot of their words lately began to knock at my chest, making me emotional. Gradually the more I heard these comments, the more I listened and believed them.
I finished brushing my teeth and rinsed my mouth. I let out a deep sigh and made my way downstairs.
âMom!â Stella exclaimed, as she stood by the front door about to close it.
âYou made it!â I replied.
I gave her a hug and told her how dad was busy working and it was best we didn't disturb him until later. We both left the house to walk towards her car.
âNice haircutâ she said, breaking the silence.
âThank youâ
âMy friend told me about this seafood restaurant I thought we could tryâ
âSounds deliciousâ
Just like that, she quickly complimented about my hair and it didnât affect me at all. However, when a student says one negative thing, it can ruin my entire mood.
Throughout the car ride, I listened to her talk about her job, university and new changes she made to the condominium. She was living with my sister who happen to live near her university. Stella came to Ontario when she was 14, 4 years sooner than her father and I did. We both agreed we would rather have her grow up there, and that eventually we would join her.
Stellaâs face seemed to never age, and looked exactly like her 18 year old self. Iâve always told her she did not need to wear makeup, but she instead of having her perfectly-arched eyebrows filled in, and wore a few coats of mascara. Her naturally wavy brown hair was growing longer, it had reached down to her ribcage. She was taller than me and always had a slim body. One of my co-workers had suggested a modelling career for her, but she was never interested.
She looked content with how things have been going and I wanted to tell her how things on my end have been nothing but gloomy compared to hers.
But all I could say was, âGreat. Some of my students are really getting better at there French.â
It seemed to be the one statement I would result to when I needed to lie about how bad my day really was. Except this time, I was lying about how bad things have been for the past few weeks.
âI was at school late today, busy marking all their workâ I added.
âIs that why you look so tired?â she questioned, as she pulled into the parking lot.
The restaurant was big with large arched roofs and golden beams by the entrance. Perfect timing, I thought. I brushed off the question by complimenting the restaurant building. I didnât feel like explaining myself. There was a picture of an over-sized red lobster, holding a blue fish followed by cursive golden text that read, âCeeâs Foodâ. The sign sat above the main doors.
âThe ownerâs name starts with a, âCââ she said out loud as if reading my mind.
Luckily we found a parking spot at the side of the restaurant relatively close to the entrance. It was busy, and there were many other cars roaming trying to find a vacant spot. Once we entered, the seafood aroma filled my nose. It was until that moment when I realized how hungry I had been. I only ate a few fruits the whole day. All of my breaks were dedicated to detentions.
Stella asked for a table of two and we were seated at a booth next to the window. As we opened our menus she asked again what I had hoped she forgotten about.
âAre you sure things have been great at work? I was serious when I asked if that is whatâs tiring you out.â
âYeah really, thanks for your concern. I wonât deny the occasional kids who misbehave but other than that, overall they are hardworking studentsâ
It was so easy to lie. Kids are kids, and itâs our job as teachers to educate them. But, outside of that job we are also human beings with a life and feelings. I would discipline students to stay in for their recess to make up for the work they missed. They took it as a punishment and I was ruining their fun, but my intentions were to help them succeed. No other student seemed to understand that, at least thats how I felt. There are nights I would come home thinking about what I was doing wrong, and how could I help them. Nothing seemed to work. I was close to giving up, but I remember I had asked for adventure and I decided to take on the challenge.
I glanced up at my daughter who was now ready to order. I wondered if she had ever treated her teachers politely back in Quebec. While Stella was still in elementary school, we made it a routine to always give thank you cards to each of her teachers at the end of the year. Every year only one of her teachers would mention about the Thank You card.
âWell whatever it is, itâll get better I guarantee youâ she smiled.
She was always optimistic about almost everything. She always kept the house balanced that way. Whenever my husband or I would feel down, she was there to cheer us up. I wish I had that same attitude, lately Iâve been feeling the complete opposite.
We ordered our food and talked about memories from the past. It was a nice laugh remembering times like when Stella had peed on the floor and blamed her father for spilling apple juice. After an evening full of more laughter and memories, she paid for our meal and made our way home.
âThank you Stella, you were right. I guess a break is all I neededâ I told her.
I continued my weekend by spending time on my own or with my husband. I felt motivated to find another chance to help these students.
I woke up to rays of the sun spilling through my window, filling up every nook and cranny of my bedroom. I checked my alarm clock and noticed it was just a few minutes before it would sound for me to wake up. I felt better than ever this morning and was ready to take on the week. I disabled my alarm and got ready for work. For the first time in a long time, I was able to make myself a full breakfast and get a few more marking done. They happen to be the notebooks of a few of the better students in the class. It was already a great start to my day. My husband offered to drive me to work, and even he noticed my good mood.
âBonne chance!â he called out, as I left the car.
When you put yourself in a good mood, you tend to take things more positively. While teaching the grade 3 class, I was no longer irritated by the students that disrupted the class by giggling and instead laughed along with them. Turns out, the story we read out loud had a character named, Dudu which sounded like âdoo-dooâ. Normally I would be upset that I hadnât had enough time to finish the lesson I planned, but I could tell the class was having a lot more fun. They were also able to learn so much more French words, than boring the class with long lectures. Things felt better now, I was ready to take on my second-last class, the grade 7/8 class. I decided to take a different approach this lesson.
âI am going to give back your cahiers, and if you need any extra help please see me after class. There are a few of you who did not complete the work at all, and I suggest you catch up with a partner or come talk to meâ I said out loud, handing out their notebooks.
This time I will give them the choice to succeed with the extra help and encouragement they need. Instead of forcefully telling them to stay in for their recess, Iâll try to have them reflect and see the responsibility they carry upon themselves. Now, I could only hope they take their chances.
âHave a good recess!â I exclaimed, while the bell rung.
I packed up the french text books and looked around the classroom. There were still a few students in the class. I decided to sit patiently at the main table which was found in the middle of the class. A few minutes passed and no one looked at me once. There was a smaller group of students inside the classroom now, who decided to stay in for recess to do whatever they wanted.
A set of keys began to jingle down the hallway and into the classroom. Their main teacher, Mr. Bilo came in with keys hanging from his neck by a black lanyard with yellow smiley faces all around. He had been playing with it while he made his way to the classroom.
âMadame! Youâre still here!â he said surprised.
Madame became the name I carried around everyone in the school. It is a bit odd to have adults addressing me as if Iâm much older, but it grew onto me as a nickname. I was the second French teacher this school ever had, and I could tell they enjoyed the uncommon name. He noticed me sitting at the table and that I hadnât stood up to leave yet, once I had seen him. He walked towards me and quietly spoke.
âWhy are you still here?â
âI told the kids Iâll give them extra help this recess if they needed itâ
He laughed. âYou think theyâll come to you? They donât care. As long as their passing theyâll happily spend their recess however they like to. Donât waste your time, itâs really not worth it.â
He pulled out a pack of Twizzlers from his pocket, and bit two of them at a time.
With his mouth still full he spoke again, âAnyways, donât be too hard on yourself. Youâre doing your job well. Save yourself the trouble and just teach what you can then leaveâ
He continued to chew, ripping off each Twizzler like a carnivore ripping itâs prey. I watched him disgust as he chewed while talking. He went on about how he had tried to give them extra help once, but the students seemed to prioritize other things than school.
âThey say, they wonât be able to get into great careers anyways. I donât blame them, they have a horrible attitude and work ethic. Besides, theyâre lucky their education is free because most of these families can't afford anything else. Itâs a shame their family chose to be lazy and now this is the price theyâll pay, a bad life for themselves and their families.â
I was raging with anger inside while I listened.
How could he be so ignorant?
âSo thatâs it? From that day you just gave up?â I asked.
âI know it sounds bad but trust me, youâll have the best and most stress free job ever. You're basically getting paid to just keep a few kids busy for a couple of hours, sounds awesome right?â he smirked.
âThis is a joke right. What kind of teacher are you to say that? This is why you're here? To get your money, then come home and munch on snacks all day? Itâs people like you that cause these students to feel that they are hopelessâ I protested. âYou donât know the full story behind these kids. You donât know about their past, nor the past of their families. Some of these families never had the opportunity to proceed in life because of factors beyond their control!â
I noticed my voice raise a little, but not loud enough for the students to make out what I was saying. A few students looked our way and rolled their eyes.
âDonât worry, things will change the more you stay here. Youâll seeâ he replied, crumpling the wrapper of his Twizzlers. Â
He then asked if I could watch the class instead. I agreed, and off he went jingling his keys. He seemed too relax in a selfish way. The teachers would do anything to not stay in the classroom with these students longer than they should be. I shook my head.
Maybe if I converse with them, theyâll feel more comfortable to talk with me. I thought to myself.
I approached the first group of students who were all sitting in a circle discussing what looked like a group project. There was a large bristol board at the centre of their table with construction paper, glue, scissors and sheets of paper with large text on it.
âYou guys look hard at workâ I smiled. âWhat is this for?â
A few of them looked up from what they were doing and forced a smile at me. An awkward silence fell upon us.
Finally one student, an african-american girl with perfectly divided braids spoke, âWe have a project for geography.â
âI see. What are you making?â
âWhat will you do with the Earth?â
âTalk about pollution.â
âAnd what kind of pollution?â
I noticed they all stopped talking amongst each other and avoided eye contact with me. The girl also looked like she did not want for the conversation to continue.
âSo like yeahâŚâ she added.
I smiled again, ignoring the unwelcoming vibe that grew upon me. I walked across the room to see another group of students.
âHi Madame!â a boy much taller me yelled. âWhatâs crackalackinâ?â
âWhatâs what?â I asked confused. The students around him giggled.
âNever mind Madame. Stick to french, because thatâs what youâre good atâ he smiled. âSome day Iâll be able to speak just like youâ
The other students continued to laugh and shake their heads. They all looked at me for my reaction.
âJust continue to practice and do your homework everyday, and youâll be fluent in no timeâ I suggested.
The students ooh-ed. It wasnât my intention to insult him, however the students reactions gave me a slight feeling they did feel guilty too.
âNah, youâre just too good. I canât like, match your levelâ he said again, composed.
All the students were already turning their heads trying not to laugh out loud. Not once did he look like he wanted to laugh. As soon as I decided to laugh along with them, they all bursted out laughing. They watched me, making me feel like a fool for laughing along with them. The boy was now laughing too and he turned away. I made my way back to the main table and sat back down. His genuine face and calm posture, was only a joke. He never meant a thing, it was all for their entertainment.
Then, I overhear him saying, âYo, sheâs actually so ugly! Itâs okay she has an ass thoughâ
âThatâs nasty, donât say that!â one student commented.
âItâs whatever, Iâd honestly get at thatâ
There was another outburst of laughter.
All the optimism I had built up from this weekend up until this morning was beginning to fade away. I opened one of the French textbooks and began to read through it, pretending like I was busy doing something. I was only trying to distract my emotions. No one else in the class seem to care about what had happened or even glance at me to see if I was okay for any reason. I knew I could never be helped.
But I couldnât give up. Especially not after what just happened with Mr. Bilo.
Tuesday came around, and teaching this class seem to be worse than last week.
âI am very disappointed by these quizzesâ I expressed.
I continued to call out names, handing quizzes back to the class.
âWho cares, when am I ever going to speak French?â one of the students side commented.
âHonestly I think we wouldnât be doing so bad if only she taught us betterâ another student admitted to himself quietly.
âWhat was that?â I asked, looking at him now.
A few of the students began whispering to themselves, others giggled and looked away shaking their head.
âNothing, Madameâ he replied looking down at his quiz paper.
On Wednesday a group of students continuously imitated my accent as if they hadnât heard it before. Every day after that, was just an overload of attitude. I couldn't wait for Friday again, I couldnât wait to have time on my own time over the weekend to recover. People complain all the time how boring their job is, and how it leaves them physically exhausted. I would trade that for my emotionally tiring job. I had considered moving schools before, but I admitted I enjoyed the challenge.
I wanted adventure, so here it is I mocked.
Thank God itâs Friday, I sighed.
I tried to make one of my life goals to not always look forward to the end of the week, since it only made the rest of the days dreadful. I told myself to make the best of each and every day as if they were all Fridays, that way I could keep my spirits up. However, like for all things life wants to steer you otherwise.
Once I reached the school I noticed a couple of the grade 7 students standing at the main entrance. I felt intimidated to enter the school. I thought of all the judgement Iâd receive after walking past them. They always teach to not bully in school, however the focus was only at other students. What about the adults?
This is ridiculous, get it together, I told myself.
I was the more mature one, I shouldnât let them get to me. I parked my car and made my way to the front door.
A few students turned their heads and yelled out, âBonjour Madame!â
âIâll open the door for youâ one of the boys announced.
Thats when I realized itâs the little things that have kept me going. That underneath the bad behaviour they all genuinely had a kind heart. They just needed some guidance.
âMerci beaucoup!â I cheered. âComment ca va?â
âCa va bien!â he sang.
I concluded that itâs important for them to feel good about themselves when they do a good deed. Therefore, theyâll enjoy doing good things for others to gain their respect, instead of acting tough to gain false respect, which is only fear.
I should always make sure their good deeds never go unnoticed, I vowed to myself.
The day went by smooth, but before I could jinx it came the grade 7/8 class. Just like most days, right from the beginning of class there was trouble. There was one particular student who loved to joke around and thought it would be entertaining to have the class start late almost everyday from all the laughter. Then there were always the same 2 to 3 students who wouldnât take their notebooks out or choose to not pay attention. There were many disruptions throughout the class that I could barely teach anything.
The recess bell rang and the students quickly packed their things to go outside as if they were anxiously waiting the whole time. Which probably was the case, and I just wished they would have cared more.
âAgain, I will be here all recess.â I called out.
A few students stayed after class to ask about the lesson. Seeing there were other students staying to work on their French, other students decided to stay.
Was it really working? I wondered.
Mr. Bilo came into the class and gave me a nod, as he watched students crowd around the table with their notebooks opened, waiting to be helped. I smiled and nodded back, then he was gone.
I spark of hope shot out from me. I held onto the feeling to help me through the day. I had one more class to get through, which was the grade 3 class. I didnât want my bad mood to ruin their day. After helping the last student, I collected my papers stacking them in a pile. I was in awe by the site of the students sitting at their desks working in the notebooks.
âMadame, is this right?â A student with long black hair pulled back on a pony tail asked me.
She was pointing at a French sentence she created all on her own using the verbs we learned.
âYes, that is perfectâ I smiled.
My smile still felt forced. I was so tired, I felt paranoid it was all going to be ruined in a moment. I couldnât even feel as happy as I would be for the few students who showed they cared. Then I felt a soft tap on my arm.
I turned around to see another student who was standing directly in front of me. She had a slim figure and straight black hair that fell past her shoulders. She was doing well in my class, I wondered what she had a problem with. It took her a while to speak at first, then she looked at me smiling.
Finally she said, âMadame, I have something to tell youâ
âWhat is it?â I asked. I stopped tidying my things and directed all my attention towards her now.
âWell I just wanted to say..â her eyes wandered elsewhere but my own. ââŚThanks for all that you've done for the class. I know sometimes our class can be disrespectful, butâŚâ
I could tell she was really nervous.
ââŚI-I- wanted to let you know that I really appreciate your efforts and everything youâve done for the class. So, thank youâ
I didnât know how to react. I was looking at her eyes now, she finally felt a little more comfortable to look at me. I could tell she felt uncomfortable and was waiting for me to reply.
âThank youâ I smiled. It was the only thing that could come out of my mouth.
She smiled back and made her way back to her desk.
The little things, I reminded myself. Should never go unnoticed.
I made my way to the front of the class, then quickly turned to face it.
âMay I have your attention please!â I called out.
After a few seconds I began, âA student came up to me and told me something very special. I know I get upset with you guys, but you know it is because I want you all to be successful. I hope you all continue to work hard, you are all great studentsâ
Everyone was listening to me now, with a confused expression on their faces. My speech was as spontaneous as the conversation I had with her. Then I turned to smile at the young girl who had inspired me to keep going.
âThank you Miaâ I said smiling.
All the students turned to her now, and she looked a little flushed. But she had done a great deed.
I thought back to my daughter, she believed in me the whole time too. God really has been helping me along the way. He gave me another push to not give up. I started to believe and understand that he truly would never put us in some place he knows we cannot handle. It was such an incredible feeling to know, there are students who genuinely appreciated what teachers do for their students.
Yes, this was based on a true story.
My class was always known to be rowdy. I have had 3 different music teachers, seen supply teachers cry and several class detentions. Iâve always watched several students in my class treat our teacher and other staff poorly. If we werenât the ones causing the trouble, we were the ones watching, letting it happen. For the longest time, I would come home and vent to my brother about it. I would express how angry and disappointed I felt watching our class act this way. Yet, I never did anything about it. Finally he made the suggestion to tell her how I felt, if it really bothered me that much. To take a stand? During that time, it was difficult for me to do.
Growing up, I have watched several bullying presentations. We would always giggle about how cheesy the examples were, and concluded how those things donât really happen in real life. More or less, the message of each scenario were actually accurate. Then, at the end they would explain different things we could do to avoiding these situations, help ourselves or other victims.
(Come to think of it, they never really educated us on why people became bullies. Maybe finding solutions at the very root of the problem, would cause a bigger change.)
When it comes to real life bullying, taking a stand is actually much more difficult that it looks. Itâs no joke when they tell you it takes courage. Thinking back at it, I tell myself how I could easily show her gratitude for what she has done. But  during that time it was much more nerve-wracking. For some reason, as kids we didnât want to feel like a âsuck upâ or a âteachers petâ. We wanted to prove that we were independent and could handle ourselves, therefore we did not want to show any weakness. Showing that you were grateful for a person who happen to always get picked on, somehow translated that we had a soft side which meant we were weak. I never really understood why we ever developed that behaviour, but it made a lot of us prideful. With pride came our attitude.
In the end, after a long time of contemplating and building the courage to finally tell her. I finally did it and I donât regret it.
It only took me up until last year to see this different perspective. I refereed a volleyball tournament in my elementary school last Fall 2014. She had visited the gym and saw me. She looked overjoyed to see me and called me over, âMiyaâ (she always mispronounced my name). She told me about how she kept my words, âclose to her heartâ and that was when I finally realized she was inspired by what I said, although it was 4 years ago. It finally hit me. How instead of feeling shy about what I did, I should feel be happy for myself. I am so glad I was able to make a difference in someoneâs life. She was a wonderful person and should always be reminded of that.
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