My desire to become a high school teacher was quite strong when I was 16 years old. Not long after, I acknowledged my desire to be a father. The former was because I really enjoyed my high school experience, but I didn't feel I was able to navigate the halls, procedures, nor skills that it took to succeed at least conventionally. But before high school, I did have such a teacher who was not only fair, but made an incredible impression on me. It was my math teacher, and I'll never forget in grade 8, during our trip to Quebec City, he patted me on the shoulder, impressed that I was spending some of the bus ride reading a book on math puzzles. I shouldn't say that my high school teachers were not good. They were likely the very best one could find in any high school. But I had a number of bad experiences which I felt were unreasonable.
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| Photo by Michael Barker |
I had an accounting teacher who made my life hell when I openly accepted a zero for skipping a test. She left the room shortly after I graciously accepted a zero, because her attempt to humiliate me failed. She asked me if I had a note for missing the test. I said I didn't. She asked if I skipped the test, and I said that I did. My father taught me never to lie, and at this point, I just wanted to stop skipping to end the spiral of missing class. It just ends up raising the price I paid for not adequately studying for the test and skipping it. I reasoned that it was a mistake, and there was no getting around writing the test if I was to also maintain my integrity, and skipping to avoid answering the questions about missing the test only made things worse. So I cut my losses. My teacher exclaimed that I would get a zero on the test. I'm not sure if she expected me to plead with her, or get upset, but I just nodded and said, "No Problem." A few minutes later she excused herself and was replaced by another teacher. Although I doubt I had anything to do with the inability to continue teaching us, the teacher who came to replace her asked who Adam was, and I raised my hand. And that was it. We were told to work quietly. The following year, when that substitute became a temporary VP, she had it in for me.
I was called down to the office for skipping class and she gave me a detention. The first of my high school career. After last period, I went to my locker, told my friends I was not walking home with them, sorted my things and went up to the office. I took a seat, and worked on my math homework for 30 minutes. The secretary excused us. The following day, I was called down again and asked why I hadn't attended the detention. I told her that I did attend. She said my name wasn't on the clipboard. I explained that I didn't know there was a clipboard. She said that if my name wasn't on the clipboard, I hadn't attended, and I wasn't there when she left the office. I told her I was sorry. I then told her she could ask the secretary, but she wouldn't have it. She didn't need to ask the secretary because I wasn't there when she left. She forced me to admit that I skipped detention or risk being suspended. I sat in silence, unsure how to handle it. Luckily, she broke the silence telling me I would have to serve another detention. She advised me not to go to my locker and to come straight to the office to serve the detention. This told me she knew I was late because I didn't go right away, so I followed this advise. But I also went to speak to the principal. I didn't like the threat of being suspended and being forced to say something that wasn't true. He sympathized, but for all practical purposes told me to appease her and serve the detention.
I'll spare the details of the physical education teacher who forced me to drop his course because I wasn't interested in the weight training module, the English teacher who denied me my vote in the school election for not attending her class (I was going to take it at night school), and the History teacher who gave my Head Photography position to someone else despite my efforts as a young Head Photographer. But these incidents all built upon my interest in becoming a compassionate teacher for students and ensuring there was less injustice in schools. Note that looking back on it, I'm happy for those experiences. They made me stronger and shaped who I am. I don't blame them for anything, and take full responsibility for what happened to me. I made some poor choices, even if they were noble.
I had some great experiences in high school that made those experiences less traumatic. Such as my music teacher, who was refreshingly not prejudiced, allowing students to volunteer Saturday mornings, building sets for the musical. I gained some confidence with power tools for no other reason than they let me use power tools. Even though I flunked English time and time again, but then became the best student in summer school, I never found any real confidence with English. But there was a good experience I had with an English teacher who gave me freedom in a way that I would show up from time to time just to learn something. One day we read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot. He asked us for our interpretation. Nobody was interested. He asked why he seemed to be out of place, why the footman in the poem would snicker at Prufrock's coat. It struck me. I gave my interpretation, comparing it to Pygmalion (My Fair Lady) and when I was done, he just started at me, smiling slightly. After class, he asked why I wouldn't come more often. I told him I would but never did. I preferred fewer forced books to read and essays to write in summer school.
My father was the one who discouraged me, or rather, painted an unflattering picture of the life and times of a high school teacher. Teaching the same thing over and over again, and how boring it would be after a few years. Ferris Bueller's Day Off and The Breakfast Club reinforced this negative image of the teaching profession. So I set my sights elsewhere. He would have supported me in doing anything, and ultimately, I followed another dream which was to work at the CBC. And then I did work at the CBC. But the thing I loved most working there was training others to use the computers to encode media and our online news delivery system. I eventually became staff, but without getting into too much detail, I pissed off my manager while trying to be helpful, and I suffered for it. I was no longer asked to participate in consulting and it was one of the aspects I enjoyed most, along with the occasional training. So I considered opening up a post-production school. That was when a friend of mine suggested I consider becoming a high school teacher. I told him I wanted to teach post-production and maybe photography, not French, which I saw as my only teachable. He said I could teach those things in high school. I investigated, and was immediately drawn to the idea, when it turned out he was right.
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| My classroom window at TheStudentSchool |
I got accepted to every one of my university choices, which was a great relief. I was afraid I wouldn't get accepted anywhere. I even got a scholarship to Queens, which would have been cool. Maybe Elon Musk would have been my friend. Once I was accepted, I put in my resignation and many of my colleagues and friends said I was crazy. It wasn't easy to take that leap, but I believed strongly that you are rewarded by taking risks. I had no security or promise that I would have a job after Teacher's College. And I loved the people I worked with, and would miss them, but I told myself I just wouldn't see them every day, but I would see them. And I do, from time to time. They are still very close friends, who I love and adore. This past summer I brought Gandhi's Rotis for lunch and it was amazing to see them all at once. Jessica brought Caribbean soda, and Andrew said it made his year, or something like that. Best day of his summer? Next week I'm going to hang with my CBC Archives peeps. Had I stayed at Archives, it might have been even harder to make the move!
When it came to my teaching career, and getting a job, I was very serious and dedicated to getting exactly what I wanted. I only applied to the TDSB. All my eggs in one basket. Luckily it paid off. I remember I drove to 5050 Yonge 3 hours in advance just in case my car broke down. I didn't want to take the subway for fear that the subway might break down. In the end, the two retired principals who interviewed me asked if I wouldn't mind having my interview early since I arrived over an hour before my appointment, and a teacher candidate called to say he was going to be late, so I agreed to take his place. I already had a leg up! After that, I did a few interviews, and luckily my cover letter, which spoke more about my dad than about me, resonated with Mamacita Principale, as I called her. She hired me.
And the rest as they say, is history. Now I teach teachers how to teach at Niagara University on top of my day job in the TDSB. I wonder what the next step will be. Author? *grin*
PS - My grade 9 Physics Summer School teacher (who I became friends with) eventually came across my name in the TDSB email list and asked if my father's name was Kamal. Ended up visiting her so many years after she taught me. That was a trip!
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