Living In Words

 Writing is something almost everyone does. When I had an English class of thirty-five Grade Eight boys and three girls who didn't want to be there, this little old middle aged English teacher had a big job ahead. In the day, we didn't have much assistance for "different" children and these kids came from all walks of life in an up Westcoast setting. Teachers don't sit behind a desk and give orders to kids from nine to three. They have to consider what their classes need to learn to "pass". The job of educators is to educate in a way that allows for ALL to learn.  Apart from the nine to three with young faces before them, teachers spend countless personal hours thinking about and planning what it will take for them to teach thirty-five different kids of different families with different backgrounds. It's not easy, and pay isn't the first thought. The work needs doing and pay isn't the primary goal. These are minds, not papers.  For the class I faced the first day, we looked each other in the eye and instinctively felt what would be happening in the room over the next ten months. This group had only three girls and the rest were all boys. The girls weren't happy to be in the class loaded with young chaps. That was the first challenge. Many of the boys didn't like schooling when they could be out fishing and berry picking and hiking in the beautiful woods or riding out on the sea. The government manual dictating what must be learned during the term, left the "how" to the teacher and I was the teacher. We did get through the year somehow and it was one I'll never forget. First, we made up our own in-class rules so that everyone could learn. What we all had to do, we put on the chart on the wall. Anyone could merely point to it if needed. You could be in the classroom if you abided by the standards we wrote there. The year wasn't all smooth but we made it. We did simple films,  built sets,  we wrote poetry and we found out what makes a fine writer and what is a hack. There are hundreds of examples, not long dull ones but short pieces from the masters: those writings of great beauty and lasting image. Many came from writers where we lived and that made it very palatable. The boys saw that writing was not for sissies. The girls were respected and respected back, as we worked together on our projects that included our own people of the woods around us. It remains a best memory.