Learning a lesson on my daughter’s first day of school

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 07/09/2022 (1503 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It’s been a long time since I went to school but I still remember those first-day feelings. Proverbial butterflies flitting throughout my body, a million questions rushing through my head: Will I make friends? Will anyone like me? Will I be able to do math? What if I can’t find the toilet? Who will I be sitting next to?

Today, like many parents, I find myself back at the same place all these years later, grasping little hands tightly as our children stand on the cusp of one of the biggest events in their young lives; a journey that starts in Grade 1 and will lead them on adventures we cannot yet see, are unable to yet imagine.

My child in particular has had a turbulent year for one so small: How will she cope with yet another change?

And while I have had the glorious — and sometimes frustrating — task of teaching and guiding my child these last five years, the majority of which was spent with me, I now have to hand over the reins to her teachers with whom she will spend most of her weekdays.

It’s no wonder I am a ball of nerves — full of excitement and trepidation.

But last week my mind was set at ease when we toured her new school.

Five days after moving from Portage la Prairie to Winnipeg and 370 days after leaving the UK for Canada, my daughter stepped through the doorway of the school she will be attending for the next four years.

As we walked in, she of the skipping walks and jaunty strides, queen of eye rolls and cheeky quips, slowed down to a slink beside me, her steps hesitant. Suddenly shy, suddenly overcome, suddenly someone else.

My worry peaked.

And then a firm hello coupled with a steady gaze as we entered the school hallway brought about an almost immediate change in her.

The shyness was still there but the hesitancy had dissolved and within a matter of minutes a total transformation occurred. She was back to her boisterous best, wide-eyed and full of chatter, becoming more confident as the tour went on.

In a year punctuated by upheaval, uncertainly and unease, I suddenly found myself comforted for the first time in a long time.

And that is all down to the teachers and staff members we encountered.

Their innate ability to put my mind at ease was remarkable. They were warm and welcoming, competent and friendly, authoritative without being authoritarian. In short, everything you would want a teacher to be.

It was all done so effortlessly, so smoothly and seamlessly that all my misgivings melted away.

When I was eight I desperately wanted to be a teacher. I wanted it so badly I wrote a short article (if you can call it that) about why I wanted to teach. It went on to be published in a national newspaper, which then sparked another ambition, leading me down the path I now walk.

Left in the wrong hands, the spark would have sputtered and failed, leaving behind a wisp of smoke, an indication of what could have been but never became. Instead it was stoked and nurtured by a teacher — thank you Ms Pushpa — and I was encouraged and challenged, making me believe in myself, making me believe that I could create something of worth.

It seems a tired cliché these days, to describe teachers as unsung heroes. But cliches are such for a reason; they are rooted in truth.

In recent years, teachers have had to navigate an extremely challenging set of circumstances and through it all they rose to the occasion, doing what they do best with limited resources, unfamiliar practices and, at times, what may have seemed like a lack of support.

And as nervous as I am to be relinquishing my child to them for the best part of the day, I am also filled with gratitude that she will be guided by people who want the best for her.

That her very own journey — separate of me — is about to begin.

A spark will be spotted, and a fire will be stoked that will one day lead her on her own adventure.

Here’s to a brilliant first day back at school.

I’ll be the one trying my best not to cry at the gates.

av.kitching@freepress.mb.ca