Two interactions over the last two days caused me to take a step back from my middle-class world, and appreciate everything I have that I take for granted.
In drama class, we were reading an abridged version of MacBeth. While trying unsuccessfully to help a student understand the idea of “theme” I was caught off guard when he asked me what I knew about welfare. I told him not much, and asked why. He said, “Well, I want to see if they can set me up with an apartment, so that I can keep coming to school.” Then the whole story came out – he is 17, has been kicked out of his house for months and is currently staying with a cousin, but is feeling like a burden, and not wanting to outstay his welcome. He is still in grade 10, with no high school credits, but has a desire to complete school. The significance of theme vanished immediately, and I took him to our Student Services teacher, who referred him to an Elder we have on staff to work it out. He came back to class later that morning, and seemed in better spirits, assuring me that he had a plan. Oh, and he suggested that a possible theme for the play would be that power corrupts.
The other interaction occurred yesterday, when a student tracked me down in the hallway and apologized for missing my class that morning. He explained that he had an appointment with Social Services to see if he would qualify for Social Assistance. He told them that he wants to quit his full-time job, so he can focus on getting through school. However, when he was there, he didn’t have all of the identification required, and so he had to walk back to his house (a 45 minute walk in -30 degree Celsius temperatures) and get it. He stopped in at the school for a minute en route back to the office to tell me why he was absent, and why he had to leave again right away, and would miss the rest of his classes for the day.
Moments like these remind me that teachers at my school are fighting an uphill battle against poverty and its myriad of side effects. So much affects our students that is beyond both our, and their control. I am also reminded of the privilege afforded me through no doing of my own – my white skin color, my middle-class upbringing, my literate family, my supportive parents – I could go on, but you get the point.