My First (real) Snow Day

A snow day is a rite of passage for most Canadian kids. Waking early on a weekday and waiting in anticipation by the radio-- will it be closed? Can I go back to sleep and spend my afternoon sledding instead of studying? But of all those mornings that I awoke and hoped for the good news that would liberate me for the day, it happened only once.

Grade twelve. Now, I went to a weird high school. I didn't have to attend classes (which served my ADD just fine). Instead I just showed up at 9am, sat myself down with some books and studied whatever I felt like that day. I had skipped my evening math class (yet again) at Viscount Bennett (those of us from Bishop Carroll High that had motivation problems went there for real classes ) and opted for smoking a joint and going to see a movie with Colin, the boy of the moment. I don't remember what movie it was, but I know we were the only people in the theatre. We left the movie theatre and walked across the deserted parking lot to the car, buried under a foot of snow.

I contemplated how I had mocked my mother for keeping a shovel in the car, but being a Montrealer to the bone, she had refused to remove it. I hate it when she's right. With much difficulty, I drove Colin home. A group of drunken young men helped me push the car out when I got stuck on his street, and I continued home. When I finally reached my driveway, I tried to pull the car in as far as I could, but ended up leaving it half in the street. At 3am I wasn't about to start shovelling snow. I went to bed and awoke early for school the next day. School was cancelled! Finally in my grade twelve year I got the snow day I had been waiting for since grade one. I called around to find out how everyone was celebrating the day off and was invited to go sledding with Colin and his friends. I got dressed, keys in hand and made my way out to the car, determined to dig it out and enjoy my day off. My mother met me at the door and asked where I thought I was going. At the time, she was quite accustomed to saying no to everything under the sun, so I had simply stopped asking her and had begun telling her what I was doing.

She looked at me and shook her head. I wasn't going anywhere until I shovelled the drive-way, she told me. I looked out the window and saw that the foot of snow that had greeted me at 3am, had become nearly two feet of snow in our drive-way. Despite my best efforts to recruit various boys who called themselves friends, none of them came to my rescue. I began to dig. The snow was past my knees and heavy. I glanced up and down the street and saw families outside shovelling the mess together. Tyler and Travis were at my dad's place for the week, and my mother had put her back out, so it was me and me alone. It took me six hours to shovel the drive-way, and I took plenty of breaks to complain to my mother about lack of solidarity in our family. I was nearly finished, and gazed with some satisfaction at our neighbour's house. She hadn't even started shovelling yet. I laughed to myself about how she would be up all night. Just then, the garage door opened and a snow blower emerged. She was finished in twenty minutes.

Colin called later on and infuriated me by recounting how much fun he had had that day. After twelve years of anticipation, my first snow day had been absolutely terrible. I got in the car to drive to school the next morning and arrived to find that the crew in charge of plowing our school's driveway had also opted to take the day off. I had to park on Crowchild Trail (on the highway) and walk for half an hour to get to school. Stupid snow day.

This morning, I awoke at 6 am. I accidently turned the radio on as I fumbled in the dark and the announcer declared that it was going to be "An absolutely terrible Friday." Words of encouragement. I got dressed, grabbed my coffee and left the house. I could barely see across the street. The snowflakes stung my face as the wind whipped them at my cheeks. I caught the number 11 bus to take me over Mount Royal, not my usual route to work but a better one given the weather. I got off at my transfer point and noted my bus would not come for ten minutes, so I started to walk. I arrived at school half an hour later- the bus had never come. I glanced in the mirror on my way to my desk and found mascara running down my face and snowflakes frozen to my hair and eyelashes. Madonna continued to blare away from my mp3 player, and I made a note to myself to remove her songs. Fred had been wrong, I didn't like her new album. I took off my jacket and walked past the secretary's desk to my first class. I heard her tell a parent we were closing the school and a smile broke out across my face. Woohoo! Snow day #2!!

I left the school amidst grumbles as teachers and parents complained about having to turn right around and go home. It was fine with me. The trek home was long, but enjoyable because I knew I had the whole day to myself. My first real snow day- and it's full of possibilities!

Teaching in Canada

I was never really clear on how I managed to find myself in a supervising position at IMAX. I may have been reliable in some ways, but I know without question that mornings were not my forté. I never understood why Ingrid would schedule me on Saturdays for early morning functions. I rarely made it on a time and finally asked her to stop scheduling me on Saturday mornings, and she didn't, so I went right on being late. Miraculously once I was given a key to theatre, I only slept in once. Thankfully Brett was au courant with the various ways to break into the theatre....

Last Monday I started work at a private French school in the plateau. School has changed little since I was in Elementary, except that mornings start earlier. I start teaching at 8:30am and am expected to be here at 8am. Unfortunately this means waking up at 6am.... something that I do far from gracefully.

Aside from my shock at the complete lack of respect that these Canadian students have for themselves, each other and their teachers, it's easier than teaching in Korea. I actually have enough materials to sustain a full class, without resorting to absolutely ridiculous activities. It's difficult though, going from teaching a class of seven students to teaching twenty-seven. On the upside, they expect less individual attention because they know they aren't about to get it. On the downside, the students are less self-sufficient, less respectful and more self-centered. In the two weeks since starting, I've kicked at least four students out of my grade six class for swearing and other innapropriately language. One student told another to fuck off, another told a girl to suck his dick. He told me afterwards he didn't think it was offensive to say it to a girl because she didn't have a dick. Nice. It seems one of the things that has changed since my days is students now call their teachers by their first names. I was introduced to my classes as Mrs. Stephanie - and many of the students have dropped the Mme when talking about their homeroom teachers. I was shocked. I've also noticed that the students don't use vous when talking to their teachers, but the less respectful and more familiar tu. Of course I didn't expect the students to bow to me as they entered the school as they did in Korea, but I just didn't expect... this. It doesn't feel like that long ago that I was in Elementary school, although it has been fifteen years. Every time I yell at my classes, I can't help but feel eery flashbacks to grade four. Every time I yell, "Samuel, je veux voir les quatre pieds de la chaise à terre," I hear Mme Deschênes' voice. Every time I snap "On lève la main et on ferme la bouche," I hear Mme Jolicoeur. I don't feel old enough to have a real job... responsible for the education and growth of over two hundred students. But I am, and it's scary stuff.

After teaching in Korea, I'm not on the same page as the other teachers. At lunch one day, they discussed how it was terrible to have such long days for the students in Elementary school and they were just too tired. They talked about how their schedules were too rigid and it was too bad the system didn't allow the students more freedom. Excuse me? I nearly yelled. Eleven year old children are telling each other to suck their dicks and you think these kids need more freedom? If ever there was a doubt in my mind that I didn't want children, working in a Canadian school has made my decision. I got angry with a student for propping his feet up on the chair next to him- to which he responded, "My feet are clean." I lost it. My time of Korea made me hyper-aware of how dirt travels. At home, I had three pairs of slippers for different areas of my house so as not to transfer bathroom dirt to the kitchen, for instance. Even now I have two pairs of slippers for my Montreal apartment, and keep a seperate broom to sweep the bathroom floor. It was both the sight of dirty feet on a chair and the indignant response of the child that shocked me. I can't imagine how anyone could teach for thirty years. In fact, the idea of going back on Monday makes me mildly anxious. There are too many students in the classes and they have not been trained to think independantly or resourcefully. After explaining a presentation that I assigned my grade four class, I was bombarded by students asking me to translate various words for them. In my day we had dictionaries, which we were trained to consult. Not so today, as they hmmed and hawed about the injustice of my not doing their work for them. People love to blame the schools for not teaching children this or that, but truth be told, the responsibility to teach children respect rests squarely on the shoulders of parents and the community. And it seems we're failing all around.