Are the kids going to be alright?

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The oldest boy, Simon, called the other morning from his home in Alberta. He’s a newly minted primary school teacher and from his enthusiasm on the call I reckon he’s making a difference in the lives of his students…

I shouldn’t be surprised - he showed promise for this vocation from a young age.

It was “bring your parents to school day.”

Simon had just turned 4 and was in junior kindergarten. A November baby, who still enjoyed afternoon naps, I worried he may not be ready for the rigors of all-day school.

The class was small – maybe a dozen children. His teacher, Madame Mireille, was white-haired and tiny – almost gnome like. I remember her rising not far above the munchkins under her care.

She was also experienced, energetic, and entirely without cynicism – a combination of attributes that I would find rare among my children’s educators.

I had been taught by my mother (herself a stern and passionate teacher) to make ruthless assessments by observing a teacher’s classroom. With labeled bins, (perfectly aligned), tidy, colourful bulletin boards and attentive pupils, this one rated an A+.

My mother - a stern & passionate teacher

Despite the invitation and warm reception, as parents, Madame Mireille made sure we understood that we were trespassing. This was their turf - we were expected to remain discreet and in the background.

She asked her little flock to assemble on the cushions at the far end of the class and sit in a circle. They quickly followed her instructions and Madame Mireille reached for an oversized, hardcover book.

It was story time.

The petite woman read a sentence or two and then turned the book around to show the illustrations. She put questions to the class that they happily answered. I remember Simon remained silent, if not a little distracted.

Then, near the end of the story, the teacher shared with the class a two-page illustration of children of different cultures, dress and ethnicities.

Madame Mireille asked them to describe what they saw.

In turns, they remarked on some of the details they observed. They described the different hats, headdresses, outfits, skin tone, footwear…

Simon just sat there. I couldn’t tell if he was following along or not and I remember a certain uneasy feeling – worried whether he was really ready for this – if he was going to be alright.

Then, the boy finally raised his arm.

“I have something to say,” Simon asserted.

It was a moment of truth and I was full of the kind of over-the-top anticipation/apprehension that parents can feel in such situations.

Madame Mireille invited Simon to share what he had to say.

“The children may look different - but they’re all the same in their hearts.”

Today, Simon’s the teacher and - I suspect - he’s got a hidden agenda.

If the face of our society’s fears, hatreds and resentments – I bet he’s still spreading that same subversive message he first voiced in Madame Mireille’s classroom decades ago.

And, I reckon, the kids are going to be alright.

- 30 -