My mother was my teacher at school for two years: Grades 4 and 5. Her best friend, the woman we called “Aunt Ivey” was my teacher in Grade 6. My brother-in-law Carl was my Grade 7 teacher. We socialized regularly with a Quebecois family whose mother became my high school French teacher. Other teacher friends of my mother’s were often at our kitchen table, having coffee.
And well before my time, my maternal grandfather was an English teacher and high school principal. Let’s just say that our family was a little overloaded with connections in the field of education!
When I taught high school for the Catholic Board, I had the privilege of ending each class with a blessing or prayer of some kind. Sometimes I would say to the class: “It is your turn. I will stand by the door and on the way out, you give me a blessing.”
One day as they filed out saying “Thanks for the class!” or “God bless your day!” I noticed that the most shy boy in the class was lingering. “Johnny” had done his work, sat at the front, but not looked at me the entire semester. As he filed out of the room last that day, he still looked straight ahead but said on his way by: “I really like the way you do your hair.”
