CHAPTER
VII
WIND BENEATH
MY WINGS
She was two years old when her mother pressed
her into the arms of a fleeing neighbour woman who had wrangled a pass
to Hong Kong. With her mother detained by the newly-empowered Communist
Government in Canton, and her father in the far-away land of the gold mountain,
the world suddenly became a terrifying and lonely place to this toddler.
Even after her mother managed to join her in Hong Kong, it would be eight
more confusing years until the family could be reunited in Canada. It was
an alien, hostile land which greeted the little girl and her mother after
the dayslong airplane journey: huge cars, bewildering mobs of 'go bays'
who all looked and sounded alike - greasy, smelly foods - miles of endless
highways stretching across a flat and barren countryside of ice and snow...
a cold and a wind which hurt her face, her ears, her hands and which for
some reason tied her stomach into knots... And an endless trip across this
land to another new home - a house and restaurant in a place with an unpronounceable
name: Newdale.
She had ranked above all the other girls
in the Catholic School back in her warm Hong Kong but here she found herself
pushed in with little six-year-old girls...and boys - everyone in the school
stared, snickered, and talked that strange babble behind her back - and
no one could understand anything she tried to say or do.
For the next seven years every waking moment
outside of school hours would be spent working in the restaurant - The
Paris Cafe (her grandfather had named it many years before). All the drama
of her little world - family life, social life, homework, relaxation -
and her indoctrination into this 'O so foreign' rural farm community -
would play against a backdrop of high wooden booths, counters and stools,
magazine and grocery displays, and a 'Specializing in Chinese and Canadian
Dishes' kitchen. The work was hard and long - there was endless preparation
of food, shelves to be stocked, orders to be served from 7 am to 11 pm,
and a daily supply of water to be dragged from the town well.
She fell in love at 15 and ran away from
home at 18, disowned by family, because the only way she could continue
to see the boy was to marry him. They were deeply in love. She and her
husband performed nightly in Brandon bars for enough years to each garner
two university degrees and to become high school teachers. She travelled
and performed across two continents, bore three glorious children, and
excelled in cooking, gardening, crafts, karate, music, motherhood, and
as a person. This little-smuggled-waif-turned-beautiful-woman is the most
amazing person I have ever met. She is an inspiration and a source of wonder
to all who have been touched by her aura. I have been touched. ....I married
her....
What has this to do with my experience in
teaching, learning and living?
......EVERYTHING.....
CHINA SONG
(Words & Music by Bill Hillman) (From
CD Album #10)
Tears dim my eyes
Leaves drift to the ground
Cold winter rain Chills
to the bone
Time lingers on But
love has passed me by
All I have are dreams
Of you and home
CHINESE LYRICS BY
SUE-ON......
CHINA LADY
(Words & Music by Bill Hillman) (From
CD Album #10)
O China Lady Though
you are far away
You're haunting me
night and day
With your laughing
eyes
O China Lady In every
dream I see
A vision of you and
me
Under China skies
When the moon shines
Through the prairie sky
And the cold wind
wails And calls your name
I'm on some foreign
shore
By the ocean's roar
Long ago Far away
O China Lady I'm living
in misery
Surrounded by memories
Of our last goodbye
A GRIM PRAIRIE
TALE
(POV WH the grade one kid)STRATHCLAIR
ELEMENTARY SCHOOL GRADE ONE REPORT COMMENTS: Billie's occasional bad conduct
is not satisfactory. "But Mom he's bigger than I am. He stole my lunch
all year. He makes fun of me. He smothered my face in snowbanks every recess.
I'm afraid to go out for recess. He pushes me all the time. He jumped on
my back in the classroom and I fought back and the teacher caught us. He
hit me with gravel stones and I finally threw one back... and he told the
teacher on me."
THE GOOD OLE
DAYS WHEN THINGS WERE ROTTEN
We travelled to Maycomb County, Georgia
of the 1930s today. There are many lessons to be learned on this journey:
life in the 'dirty thirties,' the world through the eyes of a child, moral
courage, decadence, and injustice and prejudice of many different types
and on many different levels. The guidebook we took along was Harper Lee's
To Kill a Mockingbird, the title of which suggests the main motif and metaphor
threaded throughout the novel. This book always promotes discussion and
gives me a chance to point out the many 'mockingbirds' around us - birds
who harm no one yet are persecuted by those who are prone to performing
deliberately evil and mean acts. It also gives us an opportunity to step
into another person's shoes or skin to try to see things from that person's
viewpoint. I feel that the lessons which come out of these experiences
are some of the most worthwhile and lasting of any that I teach.
THE GREAT SANTINI
While pausing to view the film version of
To Kill a Mockingbird, I was struck by the irony of seeing Robert Duvall,
in his screen debut, playing the part of the shy 'mockingbird' Boo Radley.
Just as the child narrator of the film is not aware of the much more profound,
and frightening, implications of the seemingly simple events she is narrating,
so too are my companions unaware of the various screen personas Duvall
would develop later on in his film career. Along the way he would add many
different characterizations to that of the original shy reclusive misunderstood
Boo: a gangster, a villain, a gung ho marine pilot, a crime fighter, a
clergyman, a psycho, a jock, a leader, an insensitive bullying, father,
and a well-adjusted, respected average/exceptional man. I see an interesting
analogy between all of this and real life. I have seen struggling, at-odds
young people pushed by our system into all of these characters - and more.
Some we have served well... others have been dealt grave injustices.
THE FLIGHT OF
THE MOCKINGBIRD
A life-long friend of mine, now 50, was
excessively gentle and shy as a child and was failed repeatedly in elementary
school until it was decided in grade 5 that he could go no further. He
loved reading, music, sports and people, in his own way, but he did not
fit into the mold cast by the teachers of the day. He fell through the
cracks. He kept feeding his innate curiosity at home through voracious
reading, and he learned his social skills from the adult world in which
he found himself embarrassingly dumped... but the whole social milieu belonging
to his generation was closed to him. He never married... or dated. His
father died and he lives alone now - with his mother. But he does own and
operate a successful 1500 acre farm - by himself - and he maintains and
services all the technologically complex farm equipment needed to run such
an enterprise. He has a house full of the latest in electronic equipment
and enjoys one of the largest video tape collections of Hollywood musicals
in Canada. He failed our school system... we failed him... and he is still
shy... and lonely....
I believe that the school must represent
present life - life as real and vital to the child as that which he carries
on in his home, in the neighborhood or on the playground. - Dewey
TEENAGE MUTANT HARDROCK
MINERS
Today's whirlwind adventure started as we
piled into 'Big 17' - the flagship of the yellow Birdtail River fleet.
We steamed westward to our first port of call - Shoal Lake's Nesbitt Publishing
offices. Here we saw a power in desktop publishing only hinted at by the
computers we have been using. The combined desktop publishing power of
the rows of big Macs with their oversize monitors and laser printers -
the rich cousins of our family of Apple IIs - brought a reverent hush to
our humbled throng. It was with heads bowed that we headed out into the
heat of late morning to continue westward. An adrenalin rush revitalized
my companions as we crossed the Saskatchewan border. The towering, almost
foreboding, silhouette of the Rocanville Potash Mine complex lay on the
horizon. Events from that point on unfolded in a blurring burst - starting
when we found ourselves in miners' gear huddled in the cage which dropped
us into a vast cavern almost a mile underground. This rush was soon eclipsed
by the ultimate in thrill rides - travelling at reckless speed in an open
diesel 'go truck' through a labyrinth of monster-mole tunnels - our miner's
helmets grazing the rock ceilings as our battery lights strobed klieg-like
through the abyssinian darkness. This twisting OZ ride, in the depths of
subterrania cascaded on and on until a big lumbering yellow hulk dropped
40 fatigued bodies back at Auntie Em's school yard.
FLIGHT OF THE
OESOPHAGUS
(POV WH the kid goes to camp) "Bye Mom!"
Gee it's getting light already - 5 o'clock. This is neat. My first train
ride - well, the first I can remember - then we get to fly all the way
to Sea Island Air Cadet camp in a 'flying boxcar' - hope I don't get air
sick again. There's the station agent waving - someday if I keep practicing,
my morse code will be as fast as his. This is scary - I've never been farther
away from home than Brandon. Captain Morris said I might get to be in the
colour party to meet Princess Margaret... AND ... be an usher at the Blue
Bomber/Lions game in Empire Stadium. Wonder if the Bomber guys remember
autographing my football? This is a scary ride.
...ALL THE DIFFERENCE
Educationists Connelly and Clandinin seem
to agree that the classroom is "a home," or at least how a home should
be... a group of people interacting and cooperating together. I see or
feel little of this - certainly not the home atmosphere I am used to. The
situation is too artificial and can never have the long-term commitment
that a home possesses. I see more parallels with another way I life I am
used to... life on the road with fellow road travellers. One comes under
many more pressures and outside influences 'on the road'. True both home
and road life involve a group of people interacting and cooperating together
but despite the camaraderie which develops, the road family can never be
KIN. It seems to be much harder to develop real kindness toward those who
are not kin - blood ties - family.
My travel companions travel in a broad assortment
of group configurations and vehicles - from one-on-one assemblages at road
stops... all the way to the sum of all mankind racing through time and
space on our spaceship earth. The teacher on these journeys is not exclusively
a tour guide, but an active participant in the processes of interaction
and inquiry.
The road is ever-changing - with time and
place. The terrain and scenery provide limitless variety and curiosities
and entertainment and enriching experiences. There is danger too - as there
always is in the uncharted/unfamiliar.
Some of us are content to watch the unfolding
panorama through the windshield, windows rolled up - air conditioner on
- or - with the wind full in our faces - savouring the smells sounds sensations
- or - to actually strike out on foot to become a partaker of first hand
experiences.
We start learning as soon as we embark on
the road - the safe and familiar close to home. But gradually as the journey
moves out into more exotic locales we have to lean on each other more.
As we gain our travel legs and confidence in our companions we become a
little more daring and venture into more exotic locales.
All the rules of travel apply: planning,
preparation for the unexpected, choice and gathering of equipment and supplies
for the road, vehicle maintenance, mental preparation, satisfaction of
physical needs, camaraderie, mutual support and understanding.
Each day opens new adventures and as long
as mental and physical well-being, as well as natural curiosity and awareness
are maintained, there is joy and excitement and challenge in the approaching
of new horizons.
Many roads turn out to be dead ends, or too
difficult for travel, and some even fall off in precipitous cliffs - so
they are by-passed or abandoned, left forever or to be challenged at another
time.
DR. FRANKENSTEIN'S
PRESCRIPTION
Teaching is never far from my mind... I
can not think of any job which is more all-consuming. "I can use that news
item next day... set the VCR timer for that show...it will fit in nicely
with the section on Urban Studies... a free moment?... let's go through
the satellite guide and circle the shows I have to tape this week." A lifetime
of dedication to this pursuit, coupled with the voracious packrat mentality
of an inveterate collector has resulted in there being very few bare walls
in our house. Despite having cocooned our already large original family
home in additions, we are still forced to devise novel ways of storing
and displaying reference materials. Computers have been invaluable assistants
in the organization and referencing of our countless movies, documentaries,
old radio shows, music albums, computer programs, and books and magazines.
Much of today's day away from my travel
companions is taken up by a search for science fiction movie scenes which
I can use to give my time with my language arts devotees a bit of zip as
another year on the road draws to a close. This process is very time consuming
as it involves searching for the appropriate scenes and editing and dubbing
onto another tape. This is followed by the transcribing of dialogue, analysis,
and the creation of related student activities.
My experience in teaching is that it is
often hit and miss with new hits and misses each time around - some courses
have been sheer frustration because what worked last time with one group
did not work the next time with another group. Most often though, when
things do work there is an element of futuristic and science fiction themes
present.
Those students who have read science fiction
tend to be more interested in technology than most readers - and they are
more vocal and vociferous than most. This is evidenced in the many fan
groups, fanzines and conventions associated with the genre.
"The event on which the interest of the
story depends is exempt from the disadvantages of a mere tale of spectres
or enchantment. It was recommended by the novelty of the situations which
it develops; and, however possible as a physical fact, affords a point
of view to the imagination for the delineating of human passions more comprehensive
and commanding than any which the ordinary relations of existing events
can yield." - Mary Shelley, Preface to Frankenstein
QUAESTIO...POLYGONIA
INTERROGATIONIS
This suggests the formula for achieving
the true essence of meaningful curriculum - to constantly question - to
seek another point of view - to so stimulate our minds that they are stretched
to either seeing humanity from an outside position, or at least in some
way alternate. Through science fiction, we are given different facets of
reality and we are trained to extrapolate not only A but B and C from current
reality. I believe that if the majority of Canadians had been science fiction
readers 50 years ago, we would not be in the ecological mess we are in
now, since the growing problems might have been more readily seen by more
people able to do more about it.
WORLDS WITHOUT
END
Science fiction is the play of and on reality
- it is the thinking man's escape - and perhaps the most valid and simple
reason for reading science fiction is that it can provide enjoyable escapism.
As long as there is an unexplored corner of this universe there will be
some form of science fiction to speculate on it - as long as there is youth
there will be young minds speculating.
"It is the eye which makes the horizon."
-Emerson
-BATHYSIDERODROMOPHOBIA
AND HISTORIOMORPHOBIA CAN BE CURED
"Come on gang..." Across the tracks, across
Highway 16, down a dusty tree-lined road - just a country gravel road but
it used to be the main highway - Highway 4 which used to lead to the big,
exciting city of Brandon. The road is smaller, the city seems smaller,
and the new main highway - the usurper Yellowhead - angles a much shorter
route to the sleepy Wheat City, ignoring the original road allowances and
skirting the ailing prairie towns of Newdale, Basswood, and Minnedosa.
We are coming to the end of another tour - five days left - and as we usually
do this time of year, we get out and enjoy the incredible greenery of June.
My companions really questioned my qualifications as tour guide this morning
as we turned off the road, up a lane, and through an ornate gate to enter
the Strathclair Cemetery. Having been raised on a steady diet of Stephen
King and Freddie and Jason they have a much different feel for cemeteries
than do I. I see the local burial ground as a resource - as one of the
few places where we can actually find some evidence of the rich historical
background of our prairie settlements. In fact, the other cemetery which
we sometimes visit is all that remains of the original location of our
town - The Bend - back before the young seductress CPR lured it four miles
south. The morning air soon filled with excitement as young voices chorused
finds of increasingly relevant information harvested from the fields of
granite and marble. To give some purpose to this travel back through the
generations, I had prepared activities in which they made rubbings and
sketches, and compiled lists of family names, countries of birth, veterans,
epitaphs, dates, epidemics, shapes, designs, life spans, occupations...the
search seems to grow more elaborate each year.
The whole venture is really designed to
be an integrated learning experience for my journey-mates. Besides the
obvious social studies slant, we also gathered information for computer
activities. Always though, the most interesting results come out of the
creative writing assignments.
PRAIRIE MECCA
To me this day is a sort of annual pilgrimage
to the resting places of my own lost loved ones - although I would never
admit it to those around me. This morning, as I always do, I strolled around
rediscovering distant relatives - but always coming back to immediate family.
Even though I have always encouraged my fellow visitors to write about
their experiences here in different voices, I have never ventured to try
it myself. This morning I did. I couldn't do it beside my Dad's memory
- too soon. But a nearby stone etched with the name Katherine Campbell
and another, a monument to a World War II casualty, William Campbell...
and some almost forgotten voice... seemed to give my pencil a life of its
own:
MY DARLING BOY,
(POV my Nanny) I come again to see and
touch your name. I wonder if anyone stops to realize that next to your
name on this memorial is your mother's heart. A heart broken so many years
ago when you lost your life. When I look at your name I think back to all
the times I wondered how scared and homesick you must have been in far
off wartime England. And if and how it might have changed you - for you
were the most happy-go-lucky kid in the world - hardly ever sad or unhappy
- and until the day I die I will see you when you laughed at me whenever
I was very mad at you... and then we laughed together.
But really I know the answer because I
have often talked to your cousin Gordon who was with you so much of the
time... and to your friend Mike Spack who was there... and I know you died
suddenly, without suffering, as your plane lost power coming home and plummeted
into a hillside - on the second last day of the war. Gordon told me how
you stayed the same happy, sunshine boy you were when you first arrived
in England - and how your warmth and friendliness and love for fun and
pranks drew the guys to you. How when you died it struck everyone so hard
- you of all people should never have been the one to die.
O God, how it hurts to write this but
I must face it and put it to rest. I have told them how I loved them -
loved them for being close and for being there when you died.... How lucky
you were to have had them for friends... and how lucky they were to have
had you. Ohhhh...But still I'd rather to have had you for a few short years
and all the pain that goes with losing you than never to have had you at
all.
Love... Mom
CYCLES
(POV WH the kid’s first day of teaching)
Can I do it? Sure, I'll just imitate my old teachers - not hard to do as
I've only been out of school for two years. A couple years at Brandon College
and here I am teaching on permit back at my old school... surrounded by
my former teachers... under fire from a classroom bursting with 40 rowdies
- kids who were in grade nine when I graduated from here.
OK. How would my role models deal with
this...Morris... Hyndman... Mundell... Remple... Ferguson... Waddell...
or... Young... Tyman... Purdue... Kidd... at the College? Guess I'll just
toss them around and take out the best from each.
The guy who said that the best way to
learn something is to teach it, sure knew what he was talking about.
...SINS OF THE
TEACHERS...
I turned the navigation over to my companions
today as I often try to do throughout our travels. The added responsibility
of having to study the travel manuals, charts, and surroundings, as well
as having to take on the role of spotlighted leader and decision-maker,
is an experience I believe every student should share on a regular basis.
The curious thing is that I can see in their actions what their image of
a teacher appears to be... inculcated as they have climbed up the long
ladder of successive leaders of learning. Their role playing is an embodiment
of all the lessons to which they have been subjected by teachers over the
years - for better and for worse. And I suspect that many of these attitudes
and styles of behaviour will spill over into their everyday lives as they
become learners, citizens, civic leaders, parents... all the many roles
each of them shall take on in a lifetime.
DESERT STORM
(POV WH sister Bonnie) "You've got to
come with us! They need teachers... a much bigger salary... no taxes...
quality schools - most of the teachers have their Masters or PhD... a zillion
fringe benefits... more holidays... travel... free education for the kids...
adventure... ride a camel... watch the oil wells burn..."
FULL CYCLE
The offer pitched to me by my sister Bonnie
is tempting. After numerous all-expense paid trips to Houston to meet with
Prince Abdul, she and husband Michael and family are about to leave for
Saudi Arabia. Michael has been offered a prestigious job at the King's
Hospital - practicing and teaching medicine and advanced surgery. They
had almost made the move last summer but a spot of trouble to the north
- in Kuwait and Iraq - put everything 'on hold.' Michael, who for years
has operated around the clock at Calgary's Foothills Hospital and who has
found himself taxed ever-deeper into the ground by our tax system, is looking
forward to the change. An opportunity to spend more time with the family.
The move promises fair recompense, some long-overdue
time with family, more realistic and humane work demands, and an opportunity
to share his unsurpassed surgery techniques. As so often happens in life,
events have come full cycle as he is currently teaching laser surgery to
one of his former Medical School Teachers - coincidentally on official
leave from Saudi.
HARVEST
(Words & Music by Bill Hillman) (From
CD Album #10)
Sun shining brightly
Cold wind blowing free
Old mallard's winging
His way from the north
Smokey air sweeping
Through tired leaves weeping
Prairie life singing
A song to the North
When the brown city
air and cold sidewalk stares get me down
I reach for the days
and old time ways of the farm
Memories so warm of
the place I was born I recall
Harvest time and dandelion
wine in the fall
Stubble fields burning
And old windmills turning
Silhouettes framed
by The sun's fall to earth
Dew crystallizing
Harvest moon's rising
October night singing
A song to the North
IT'LL NEVER
FLY
We travelled through time and place today
and managed to integrate elements of history, social studies, language
arts, and technology while doing it. Old travel-buddy Dick Cavett teamed
up with us and shared one of his HBO Remember When documentaries. A-behind-the-scenes
look at famous inventions and inventors proved to be more entertaining
than my companions had expected and, I believe, gave them a whole new perspective
on technology. In looking back over the incredible advances man has made
over the last 2000 years it was a source of amusement to learn that Ancient
Roman scholars in the First Century AD declared that man's genius and technological
creativity had gone as far as they could possibly go. The amazing thing
about so many inventions was that they were often just refinements of things
or ideas that had been around for a long time. Very often the original
creator just did not see the potential in his creation. This has happened
time and time again - resulting in some of the world's greatest scientific
breakthroughs. From the current Japanese lead in VCRs, camcorders, CDs,
and factory robot technologies all the way back to the discovery of fire
and beyond.
EUREKA
The point I tried to make throughout this
whole trip was the importance of multi-dimensional thinking - of seeing
things from different perspectives - of not falling into a creative or
thinking rut. Every great inventor seemed to approach problems in ways
just a little off kilter from the way a 'normal' person would. This too
is the stuff of which poets, writers, artists, comedians, and musicians
are made. Off the wall. Eccentric. Zany. Crazy. "Did you hear/see that?"
"He what?" "Gadzooks!"
PROM NIGHT,
NIAGARA FALLS, RENO, AND BEYOND
This phenomenon does not seem limited to
technological achievements since I see it happening constantly in education
as teachers evolve and refine their curricula. I believe a teacher has
to be open to change, and to pull ideas and techniques - materials and
resources - from everywhere. The successful teacher knows what to keep
and employ from his ever-burgeoning collection of booty, and what to move
to the back burner for future reference. Goods from this eclectic collection
may be re-cycled in ways which have little in common with their original
intent - they show up in new guises and in all manner of imaginative ways
- in whole - in part - or totally revamped and wed to the most unlikely
partners. The superior, innovative teacher is an effective scout, matchmaker,
marriage counselor, and divorce lawyer for such unions.
ALONE AGAIN...UP
AGAINST THE WALL
(POV WH Telecaster guitar) It's happening
again...he's ignored me again - all this week. I'm back on this brick wall
again and there he is - the centre of activity - playing with his other
toys. He's got three computers fired up - two of them connected and he
appears to be translating data from one to the other...and now he's hooking
one of them up to the phone line...suppose I'm going to have to put up
with even more or these interlopers. He's working on that new laptop...says
he has a presentation to make at University next week... Enns...Enns...
Enns... since that guy came into our lives, Will seems to be spending every
waking moment with those stupid chiclet keyboards.
The whole family have gotten into the
act - obsessed! Will's got Sue-On, Ja-On and Robin doing school work on
the Apple and IBM, China-Li is loading her own programs on the Commodore,
and the entire clan is fooling with that nefarious Nintendo.
Not enough to sit in front of those silly
flirting computer eyes, but what's with the satellite TV, stereo radio,
CD player, audio and video tape dubbing, and printer all going at once...and
in the middle of all this, the hotshot's reading, making notes, eating...
and exercising!
Give me the good old days...he'd read
and memorize a bit, lift me from the case for a bit of music, and then
grab a simple snack...toast or something...none of this new exotic garbage
that they bring home every day. He used to talk about what was happening
around home...now it's just about all that stuff he sees on those New York,
Atlanta, LA and English TV broadcasts.
GRADUATION DAY
Will met up with some fellow travellers
from neighbouring Saskatchewan today. We played a high school grad dance...
curious seeing the ever-so-teacherish teachers doing what they had to do
at the ceremonies... from the POV of Will and Sue-On on stage. Even stranger
was the experience of watching the parents - it really drove home the significance
of the generation gap. Despite the fact that the parents of this group
of grads all had to have experienced the explosive, mind-expanding '60s,
they all seemed very set in their ways. So many of the parents seem to
be locked into a time warp of the early '50s. The kids on the other hand
- a product of the new technological age - are becoming increasingly indoctrinated
to recorded DJ-presented music at their dances. They expect the highly
over-produced Top 40 or Heavy Metal which really can be only produced under
the genius of a hot-shot producer in a hi-tech recording studio or live
with multi tonnes of sound equipment. The demands on me then were rather
great - I had to appease both camps - caught in the middle I compromised
with a program of Rock 'n Roll oldies from a time period bridging both
generations - performed with the help of four synthesizers.
WALLS AND BRIDGES
AND TROUBLED WATERS
Increasingly I feel that the role of the
teacher is to act as a bridge between the generations. The job involves
being in constant touch with the youth culture, but seen through a frame
of reference of one from the adult world. An aware teacher also has the
advantage? of seeing the whole milieu through the perspective of one who,
perhaps more than any other, realizes that monumental changes are burgeoning
in society, teaching, life-styles and technology - perhaps faster than
most people can comprehend.
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