丁香园AV

Akiv is a quiet boy at first. He seems apprehensive, unsure of whether to trust us, but he likes to talk; sitting with him is an invitation to learn about space, the universe, the stars. He鈥檚 a tricky boy. He likes to test us; are we smart enough to help him? Are we cool enough to talk to?

Sometimes he seems sad and quieter than usual, but we always make sure to say hi to him and ask him about his day. Unlike the other students he seems reluctant to share at first but, soon he gets used to the routine of us asking. I try to help him with his homework although he gets distracted, he starts talking about black holes and the stars. I nod and listen; it seems he just wants someone to talk to.

Sometimes he doesn鈥檛 say much, or he is unresponsive. It is hard to tell if he actually likes Friends of Simon. One day as we are setting up worksheets, he comes over to where Jay and I are standing. He doesn鈥檛 smile but he says hi to me and as he walks away, he whispers something under his breath. I don鈥檛 catch it, so I ask him to repeat it. He looks at me for a long moment

and then he walks away not saying anything. I stand there confused; did I say something wrong? But then I make eye contact with Jay and he bursts out laughing. Akiv has

walked away and is nibbling on his cinnamon bun as Jay approaches me.

鈥淒id you hear what he said?鈥�

I shake my head, 鈥淣o, is he okay?鈥�

鈥淗e said that he loves you.鈥�

Jay laughs and I laugh a long with him, maybe

Akiv does like us after all.

It鈥檚 February 26th. Us tutors have arrived at the site and enter a sea of pink; it鈥檚 Pink Shirt Day. This week, I had the opportunity to plan our Pink Shirt Day themed activities. We begin by taping papers on students' backs and asking them to wander around the classroom to write positive messages on each other's papers. Our students are not the biggest fans of writing; however, to our surprise, their faces expressed excitement.

The activity comes to an end; 鈥渉ow did it make you feel to spread kindness throughout the classroom?鈥� I ask.

鈥淗appy!鈥� they shout.

I explain that being kind to others is not something we only need to do one day a year on Pink Shirt Day; I encourage them to pursue daily acts of kindness.

It鈥檚 March 4th; a week after Pink Shirt Day. Today鈥檚 session begins with a worksheet on addition.

鈥淭his worksheet is so easy!鈥� some children exclaim.

I feared that students who didn鈥檛 quite understand the math would hear these remarks and feel ashamed or embarrassed for finding it difficult. I look over to Jackson, our youngest member, who is infamous for refusing to partake in activities. I am concerned that these comments

will make his participation even more unlikely. As I look over, I see twin brothers, Braydon and Bryson, hovering over Jackson鈥檚 paper.

鈥淲hat are you boys doing?鈥� I ask curiously.

Their sweet, bright-eyed faces look up at me. 鈥淲e鈥檙e writing easier equations for Jackson!鈥� they say.

My heart melts. I watch in awe and cannot help but wonder if perhaps my encouragement to pursue acts of kindness influenced their behaviour. I also wonder if our ability to model how to help others as tutors inspired Braydon and Bryson to help Jackson. I will never know what motivated them to lend a helping hand but the fact that it鈥檚 even possible that us tutors could have such an impact on students is what inspires me to do the work that we do.

You know that feeling every tutor gets? When you feel like you are not making a difference, like you鈥檙e not helping anyone. You ask yourself: 鈥渨hat am I doing here?!鈥� I鈥檝e felt that as well. I felt that for so many tutoring sessions, until one special day.

Rema hardly interacted with anyone. She sat quietly and did her work. She nodded when required of her and answered questions when asked. For weeks I would wonder what I was doing wrong. Suddenly, there was something different about her. She started speaking up more. She would speak so much that I was shocked. She began asking me for work that was more challenging. She interacted with her classmates and offered help to those who didn鈥檛 know what to do.

You know that feeling every tutor gets? The one that comes once in a blue moon. When you finally realize that you are making a difference. Even if it is a difference that you don鈥檛 immediately see. Friends of Simon has shown me that we all have the ability to make a positive impact on someone鈥檚 life, whether that impact is big or small.

We are laughing as he explains a chemistry concept to me. It is the last session before spring break, and he is delighted at being able to share something new with a tutor.

We talk about compounds, and quarks, and matter. His smile grows with every new piece of information he learns.

"Is high school going to be hard?" he asks.

I reply, "Not really. If you study for your classes, I know you'll do well."

He ponders my response, "I think I want to become a scientist when I grow up. Do you think I could become a good scientist?" he enquires.

"I think you'd be an amazing scientist!" I respond.

His eyes grow wide as he asks me, "Really?" Disbelief is evident on his face.

"Really. I think you'll even be better than me," I answer with a smile.

His face breaks into a grin, "Will you be proud?"

I truthfully reply, "I would be very proud."

It鈥檚 story time, and my first turn at reading. I grab my book and sit in the teacher鈥檚 chair. The children gather on the carpet, jittery. So much energy; they can never sit still. It takes several back and forths, many not listening to put their stuff away.

Finally, the group stills enough for me to start. I open up the book to the first page, reading out the title. It鈥檚 about a tree, how it grows from a tiny acorn seed into a massive oak tree. Most of my focus is on the pages, 滨鈥檓 so nervous to mess up, to read it wrong. Despite my fears, I make it through, and with little interruption. I look back at the kids.

They鈥檙e sitting, eyes wide, enraptured. Then there is a flurry of questions. How does a tree grow? How big is it actually? Can we go back to that one page? What about this? And so many more. I answer as many as I can. Another tutor finds an acorn in the classroom and hands it around. The kids get even more excited, something tangible to tie their curiosity to. We have to pry it from their hands when it鈥檚 time to send them off.

I smile, relieved.

As you know I am currently away on field school in Southeast Asia. While overseas, I've had a few opportunities to play and interact with local children, and it's only upon reflection that I've realized how useful the skills I've learned at Friends of Simon are not just in a classroom, but in a "real-world" context as well. Not that the classroom isn't the real world, quite the opposite in fact. Just that it's often easy to compartmentalize our skills we have learned as being purely "for the classroom". This one story stands out to me in particular, and I just wanted to share, since I know how important storytelling is to FoS. 

A few weeks ago some friends and I went trekking in the hill tribes just north of Chiang Mai. We had the opportunity to visit a Karen tribe, where women traditionally wear rings around their necks to make them longer (they're often referred to as the "long neck tribe"). I thought I was going for an authentic cultural experience, and was incredibly disappointed when I found out that it was just a tourist ploy. The place I was visiting was as far from an authentic cultural experience as you could get (this thankfully changed later that day though, but that's another story completely). Walking around quite disheartened, pondering the role that tourism plays in cultural degradation and looking half-interested at the crafts the women were selling, I spotted a young girl (maybe about 7 or 8) sitting by a small table with a school book. I immediately, but cautiously walked over to her and sat down beside her. She seemed hesitant at first, and her English was quite limited, but through single words and hand gestures I asked to see her work book and she gave it to me. I could see that she was learning basic English and Burmese words. It took a bit of time to warm up to me (I think that this was probably the first time that a tourist every took interest in what she was learning), but eventually we got on a role where I would teach her an English word and she would teach it back to me in Thai. This continued on for about fifteen minutes, and by the end we were both laughing at my terrible pronunciation of Thai. I left the village feeling happy and fulfilled, as I wasn't just another tourist looking for a cheap souvenir to buy. Instead I made a connection with someone that we will hopefully both remember for a long time. 

I was recently thinking about this encounter and realized that if I hadn't been involved with Friends of Simon then I never would have had the courage to go up to that young girl, let alone try and interact with her in an educational context. In many ways it reminded me of a first day at a new site: the feeling of apprehension yet excitement. "Will they like me?" "What should I say and do first?" "What if my plans completely fail?" Having gone through this before, and using the skills I learned through FoS, I was able to confidently go up to and interact with that young girl. And despite not speaking the same language, we were still able to have a grand and memorable time together. I've had the opportunity to interact with a lot of kids while I'm here, and every time I do I think of how much our wonderful program has helped develop my confidence playing and interacting with kids, especially from different cultures. 

So I just thought I would share the story and pass on my appreciation for the program. The skills we are learning really are more than training us to become good educators, but are truly life skills that I will use wherever I may go. 

 

I look at my watch. Two o鈥檆lock. 滨鈥檓 thirty minutes early for my first tutoring shift at Green Timbers. It鈥檚 been years since I first walked to into an elementary school and now, as then, I am nervous.

Are they going to like me? Will they care about what I鈥檝e planned for them? Are they going to have fun?

I look at my watch again. Ten after two. I glance at my bag. It鈥檚 full of children books, flashcards, lined paper, blank paper, construction paper, pencils, markers, and pencil crayons.

I look at my watch one more time. Twenty-five after two.

滨鈥檓 sitting in the classroom with two other tutors. One by one, children come in and join our table.

I look around the room. We鈥檙e playing games, exercising and stretching our bodies, learning each other鈥檚 names, drawing, writing, and reading Robert Munsch books. 滨鈥檓 hearing laughter and seeing smiles fill the room.

I look at my watch one last time. Five o鈥檆lock!

Katie is quiet and demure when I first meet her 鈥� and shy. She stays close to Marissa, the other Russian-speaking girl. She shrinks from the boisterous Marissa and the chatty pair of Rachel and Sarah.

We鈥檙e playing 鈥楢pple to Apples鈥�. Most of the girls need help understanding the adjectives 鈥� especially Katie.

Katie is her usual quiet and polite self. As the game continues, Katie is doing well. She notices how many more cards she has than everyone else. She realizes she鈥檚 winning, and I encourage her to keep it up.

Katie鈥檚 sitting up straighter, leaning forward into the table, eyes open wider. A hint of a smile tugs at the edge of her mouth.

Katie can no longer contain her excitement, as she extends her lead. Now, she鈥檚 standing up, hands in the air! 鈥淵-E-E-E-S!鈥� she exclaims, and pumps her arms back and forth every time she wins a round.

I can see the others are getting impatient with Katie鈥檚 bragging, but I don鈥檛 want to stop her. When it鈥檚 time to go home, Katie doesn鈥檛 want to stop鈥� she鈥檚 won and now she鈥檚 doing a victory dance!

John's not here.  I knew it.  Well, I didn't know it, but now that it's true, I want to say that I knew it.

I guess I just like saying 鈥業 knew it鈥� because it's emphatic, and it helps me to express my disappointment.

I won't get to use the blocks my wife, Anya, and I made today. How we worked and laughed and rushed to get them done.  I was going to use them to help us understand the place value system of numbers.  Small cubes, French fries, flats, and large cubes.  I had placed a lot of value in this system! 

But John's not here.

We won't get to use the blocks.  Neither will we read another book. 

Maybe he鈥檒l comes next week.

I like this Mo-Ees kid, and no one is working with him, yet.  He doesn't need to work on the place value system right now.  We're multiplying double digit numbers.  Elevens to be exact.  I show him my trick.  He gets it.

After a while, Mo-Ees doesn't want to do math anymore.  We play chess and I teach him the moves.  He gets it, plays well, and loses.

That's okay, I tell him, 'cause he played really well.  I love losing in chess, because that's when I learn.

Mo-Ees won't be coming back next week, or probably ever.  He's moving to Abbotsford.  Sudan, Burnaby, Abbotsford 鈥� all in 11 years.  That's not how I grew up, and it seems tough, but I think he'll do well wherever he goes.

I鈥檒l pray for him when I leave.

Well, I hope John comes back next week.  I hope we get to use the blocks.

Jeff hates homework. He doesn鈥檛 like working with tutors. He stalls and play games.

I decide to work with Jeff.

The first time, 滨鈥檓 overwhelmed鈥� but we manage to complete the work. The next week, Jeff shows some interest, sits down, and we talk.

When I walk in the door, the following week, I hear: 鈥淎medeo! Can I work with you today?鈥�

David, the site coordinator wants me to work with Zack. I tell Jeff I鈥檒l help him when Zack and I are finished.

I discover Zack has already completed his homework and I search for Jeff. I can鈥檛 find him. I ask David where he is. David heads to the closet and opens it.

Underneath the coat rack is Jeff, scowling, eyes welling up with tears. I ask him to come out of the closet 鈥� we can work together now.  His eyes widen, a grin lights up his face. He grabs his bag, sits down at a table, and takes out his homework.

A quiet eureka moment: we have made a difference in each other鈥檚 lives.

鈥淕ym time!鈥� the children line up excitedly by the door.

But not Josh: 鈥淒on鈥檛 want to go to the gym! I wanna be outside!鈥� he throws himself down on the floor, at the back of the class.

I volunteer to accompany Josh outside: in this tense moment, that鈥檚 how I can best help out the teacher. Later on, she鈥檒l talk it out with him.

Josh bursts through the heavy doors to the playground. He takes a flying leap onto the platform of a zip-glide, teeter-totter contraption. Then, latching on to a triangular bar, he launches himself higher into the air, legs cycling vigorously as he slides across to the other end.

鈥淲ee-ee-ee!鈥� he squeals. Then lets go the bar, races back to the platform, and calls for me to slide the triangle back.

He grabs the bar, slides across, jumps off, and races back. I slide the triangle back to him.

Again and again. Josh doesn鈥檛 tire of going back and forth.

His round face is still plastered with a smile when he pauses to call out, chattily: 鈥淢y mom smokes weed.鈥�

I freeze. Stop breathing. Don鈥檛 know where to put myself; where to look, even.

鈥淪he puts it on a bong,鈥� Josh adds casually, 鈥渁nd lights it up...鈥�

I stare into the distance, the threatening sky, the dark, heavy clouds rolling in.

鈥淢y older brother and sister, too. They smoke weed.鈥�

滨鈥檓 studying the mess of houses across the street. The one with the broken yellow picket fence catches my eye.

鈥淭hey鈥檙e in high school. Teenagers. Teenagers do that kinda stuff,鈥� he explains. 鈥淭hey think it鈥檚 cool.鈥�

滨鈥檓 scrutinizing the platform contraption Josh鈥檚 teeter-tottering on now.

鈥淗arveer鈥� 鈥� his voice drops confidentially: 鈥淒o you smoke weed?鈥�

滨鈥檓 brought back to here and now. At last.

My gaze comes to rest on Josh. I search into his round, brown button eyes 鈥� bright with anticipation:

鈥淣ope鈥︹�� I say flatly, matter-of-factly. 鈥淚鈥檝e never smoked weed in my life.鈥�

滨鈥檓 wondering what this has all been about, where it鈥檚 going.

Josh sighs. Smiles. A long pause.

鈥淕ood,鈥� he says with some finality: 鈥淭hen 滨鈥檓 not gonna smoke it, either.鈥�

I smile back. Nod.

My fear dissipates. My paralysis lifts. I feel only waves of sadness 鈥� and helplessness 鈥� wash over me鈥�

And now, from deep inside, wells up a flutter of hope.

When Jas arrives, she greets me with enthusiasm鈥� and a book in hand!

鈥淲ill you read to me, please?鈥� she asks.

I recall, as a child, my reluctance to read.  I鈥檇 hold my book open, but my mind would be wandering. 

I ask Jas: "Have you always loved reading?" 

She replies: "No! You made me love reading." 

We teach kids to read鈥� but, first, we teach them to love to read.

The smile of the little girl I鈥檝e been working with warms me from across the room.

I sit with her as she practices writing her name. I follow her slow, tentative flow of exploration.

She bites her lip as her pencil follows a mysterious, invisible path on the page.  A path she has been making as she walks the pencil. 

In a moment, I look down鈥� expecting to see what I always see.

I am surprised. On the page is her name with a flowing 鈥榚鈥� that no longer looks backwards.

She looks up into my face. I smile.

Only this moment, now. But, like her smile, it will warm me through the day.

The end-of-school bell has just rung, and already the door handle is rattling.

Jake sprints into the room, throws his knapsack onto the table, and abruptly halts before me.

鈥淕reat to see ya, Jake!鈥� I beam. 鈥淗ow was school?鈥�

Jake peers searchingly into my face: 鈥淒id you get it? 鈥� you promised?鈥�

I sense the other tutors and staff holding their collective breath.

鈥湵踱�檓 not quite sure this is what you want,鈥� I reach gingerly into my backpack, 鈥溾�� but it does have a red cover, like you asked for.鈥�

Jake doesn鈥檛 thank me for the notebook 鈥� or offer to explain why he wants it. As usual, he disappears; to the far corner of the room.

I continue to respect Jake鈥檚 reluctance to share his life. He has several family members in the Kla-How-Eya Club and, understandably, little privacy here. What matters to me is that Jake had enough courage 鈥� and faith 鈥� to ask me if I could get him some coloured paper; then a book with lined pages and a red cover.

I look forward to Jake鈥檚 next request.

Our work of literacy infusion into after-school programs focuses on children who are being forgotten every day and falling through holes in the support nets of family and community.

Their world is built upon simple interactions like making a promise and following through on it 鈥� or not.

In the book we鈥檙e reading together, we come across the word 鈥榥ickname鈥�. 

The children hypothesize what the word means. I ask for examples. 

One child shyly puts up her hand: "My dad used to call me 鈥楥ookie鈥�," she says.

滨鈥檓 wondering why she says her dad 鈥渦sed鈥� to call her that. Is it a confusion of past and present tenses?

鈥淎re you no longer a cookie, now?" I ask playfully. "Why doesn't your dad call you 鈥楥ookie鈥� any more?鈥� 

"I don't have a dad any more," she says, matter-of-factly:

鈥淚 hate writing,鈥� Eliza explains.  She says she doesn鈥檛 trust the way her d鈥檚 suddenly turn to b鈥檚.  Or, when you least expect it, the way c鈥檚 clang like the beginning of KABOOM! 鈥� then hiss-ss like a s-s-snake.  Most of all, Eliza fears getting ambushed by those silent, sneaky e鈥檚.

Her teacher gives Eliza a journal with questions to answer on an in-class movie about helping people in her community.

Eliza frowns: 鈥淚 hate writing.鈥�  She shoves the journal in her bag.

Three days a week Eliza comes to her Friends of Simon tutor.  For the first two days, she hides her journal. She doesn鈥檛 want to try.  She doesn鈥檛 want to look stupid.

On the third day, her tutor finds her journal.  She looks inside and sees blank pages.  She asks Eliza about the journal.

鈥淚 have to write four sentences鈥� and I don鈥檛 have any ideas鈥� and I hate writing!鈥�

We brainstorm ideas. We create sentences together. We write them down. We fill the blank pages.

鈥淚 like how my words look on paper,鈥� Eliza smiles. Especially the long ones: 鈥榗ommunity鈥� with its four humps; 鈥榟omeless鈥� that鈥檚 two words squished together; and even 鈥榚xperience鈥� with its slithery 鈥榗鈥� and silent 鈥榚鈥�.

Eliza writes six sentences instead of four.

The next day, Eliza hands in her journal. Her teacher reads her responses out to the class.  Her teacher doesn鈥檛 mention Eliza鈥檚 name, but Eliza knows it鈥檚 her journal.

When Eliza gets her journal back, she finds comments in green ink from her teacher: 鈥楪reat explanation!鈥� on one page.  鈥業 am impressed with your thoughtful response鈥� on another page.  鈥楻eally good connections!鈥� on the last page.

Eliza smiles. She shoves her journal into her bag. But, this time, it鈥檚 with pride.

My first day tutoring. I鈥檝e brought books 鈥� not any old books, my favourite books. This is going to be so much fun. I get to read with these kindergarten children, and I get to inspire them 鈥� the way I鈥檝e been inspired by my teachers, this is exciting.

I walk in, and the kids are at a table, eating snacks. I introduce myself, I learn their names, and then I ask: 鈥淲ho wants to rea-ea-ead?鈥�

滨鈥檓 waiting for a reply but nobody says anything. I ask again: 鈥淲ho wants to rea-ea-ead?鈥� 

鈥淲e don鈥檛 want to read,鈥� they chant.

鈥淚 want to play.鈥� 鈥淚 want to colour.鈥� 鈥淐an I go home?鈥� That鈥檚 what I hear.

So what is going on? 滨鈥檓 asking myself: don鈥檛 they want to read, and have fun with me, and be inspired?

The kids disperse, and some are playing with toys, some are on the computer, and others start colouring.

So I walk over to a table with two girls and a boy, and they鈥檙e colouring.

鈥淗别测, guys, I have this really cool book鈥� Wanna read it with me?鈥�

鈥淣o,鈥� they say.

鈥淒o you want me to read it to you鈥�?

鈥淣o thanks,鈥� they say.

鈥淲ell, it鈥檚 a great book 鈥� look at the pictures鈥� aren鈥檛 they cool?鈥�

They glance over鈥� but only just 鈥� they dare not read.

The day is over and 滨鈥檓 disappointed. I couldn鈥檛 even get one kid to want to read.    

*      *      *     

I come back again next week, with the same ambition: to inspire! 滨鈥檓 determined to get one of the kids to read.

It鈥檚 the same day, all over again.

I walk up to the two girls and the little boy. They鈥檙e still colouring: 鈥淲ould you guys like to read with me today?鈥�

鈥淣o,鈥� they say. 鈥淣o thanks.鈥�

鈥淥kay. Well, 滨鈥檓 going to read to you.鈥�

I begin to read. I don鈥檛 know if they鈥檙e listening. They don鈥檛 look up from their colouring, but I still read all the way through to the end.

Then the day is over. 滨鈥檓 disappointed, once more, that I wasn鈥檛 able to get one child to want to read.

     *      *      *     

I come back again the following week, with the same ambition: to inspire! 滨鈥檓 determined to get one of the kids to want to read.

It鈥檚 the same day all, over again.

I walk up to the two girls and the boy who are colouring again: 鈥淲ould you guys like to read with me today?鈥�

鈥淐an we all read together?鈥� the boy asks.

鈥淪ure! That鈥檒l be fun,鈥� I say.

鈥淐an we pick the book?鈥� asks one of the girls.

鈥�础产蝉辞濒耻迟别濒测!鈥�

So we sit together, and I read to them, and they listen 鈥� they鈥檙e actually listening. Wow, I think: I can鈥檛 believe they鈥檙e listening.

The day ends, and 滨鈥檓 content. Okay, I think, today wasn鈥檛 too bad, they listened to the book, 滨鈥檓 almost there.

     *      *      *     

I come again the next week, yes, with the same ambition: to inspire. 滨鈥檓 determined to get one of the kids to read.

It鈥檚 the same day, again.

But wait鈥�now, this little girl 鈥� she鈥檚 running up to me:

鈥淟ook, Amrita,鈥� she says, 鈥淚 brought a book from the library, I practiced reading it, can I read it to you?鈥�

Wow, this is great, she wants to read. I didn鈥檛 have to ask and she wants to read. Have I done it? Did I spark an interest in literature; did I inspire?

滨鈥檓 not sure. But this is ok, this little girl wants to read. We grab our chairs and sit down, and she begins to read: 鈥淥nce upon a time...鈥�

I walk towards the main building. I have no idea what to expect from this next tutoring session.  School鈥檚 over; the children are outside on the playground. 

Will they remember me from last week?  Will they look forward to another session?  Do they want after-school help, or are they there because they have to be? 

滨鈥檓 deep in my questions, focused on getting inside the warm building. 

I look up at the door.  A familiar figure.  He鈥檚 peeping around the door at me.  I wave. 

He smiles excitedly.  Opens the door for me.  Greets me. He could have been playing outside, running around.  That's what he did last week. 

But, this afternoon, he鈥檚 waiting for me right at the front door. And now he walks me down to the classroom.  

She looks me straight in the eye: 鈥淪o, the difference between simple past and past progressive is鈥�?鈥�

滨鈥檓 trying to convince her I know something 鈥� anything 鈥� about English grammar, even though she鈥檚 correcting my mistakes more often that 滨鈥檓 correcting hers.

鈥淓rm鈥︹�� I stumble, struggling to comprehend her Grammar 12 worksheet in the surrounding hubbub.

She smiles at my convoluted examples and tense face.

鈥淒o you understand what I mean?鈥� I ask.

鈥淪ort of,鈥� she laughs. 鈥淲hy don鈥檛 I try a couple questions鈥� and you can look them over.鈥�

She focuses on her worksheet as I look around the room鈥� Aha! A boy with nothing to do!

I remember him. Last visit, he was wrestling and calling out鈥� and throwing paper rockets.

鈥淪o鈥� do you have any homework?鈥� I ask him.

鈥淣ope!鈥� the boy responds.

鈥淩eally? None at all? What grade are you in?鈥�

鈥淔颈惫别.鈥�

鈥淭hat鈥檚 not fair 鈥� I got tons of homework in grade five!鈥�

鈥淕ames!鈥� the boy yells.

鈥淣o,鈥� I say, 鈥渨e鈥檙e gonna try something different...鈥�

鈥淎w鈥︹�� he stares blankly at the table. 鈥淲ell, yeah鈥� I鈥檝e got homework... I have to trace my hand five times on this piece of paper.鈥�

鈥淐ool! What鈥檚 that for? Social Studies?鈥�

鈥淲hat鈥檚 that?鈥�

鈥淯m鈥� it鈥檚 like history, sort of.鈥�

鈥淥h! And you talk about other countries and stuff too, right!鈥�

鈥淵eah! And our country, too. All of that. All of that together is Social Studies.鈥�

鈥淐ool. Yeah, it鈥檚 not for Social Studies.鈥�

鈥淓苍驳濒颈蝉丑?鈥�

鈥淣辞辫别.鈥�

鈥淧.贰.?鈥�

鈥�No! No it鈥檚 for art class! Weirdo.鈥�

鈥淎wesome! So let鈥檚 get to it then.鈥�

鈥淐an you help me?鈥� he asks.

鈥淚鈥檒l support you,鈥� I say.

鈥淥kay, so you trace it for me then, okay? And I鈥檒l watch.鈥�

鈥淣o way!鈥� I laugh. 滨鈥檓 not doing your work for you. You know that鈥檚 not why 滨鈥檓 here. 滨鈥檓 here to support you, not help you. Support you in doing it all yourself. 鈥�

鈥淏ut I suck at it!鈥�

鈥淗ow about we use this scrap paper for practice?鈥�

To get ready for this endeavour, he sharpens his pencil, his brow furrowed.

One minute goes by. Two minutes.

鈥淒o you think it鈥檚 sharp enough?鈥� I ask mildly.

He shoots me a grin.

Three minutes go by.

鈥淎lrighty! Time for practice!鈥� I say, as I gently swipe the sharpener from his hands.

鈥淐an I trace your hand first?鈥� he asks.

鈥淪ure,鈥� I say, excited at the prospect of pencil hitting paper for the first time today.

He traces around my hand, biting his lower lip and, at last, completes his squiggly creation. He sits back in his chair; tilts his head away from the paper. Then looks back at my hand.

鈥淕ee, you鈥檝e got small hands for a guy.鈥�

鈥淥kay, okay鈥� let鈥檚 try with your hand now.鈥�

He plops his hand down on the paper and traces out five copies of his own hand, not that much smaller than my own. He continues to bite his lip as he adds artistic flourishes to each tracing.

鈥淗别测, that one hand looks like a mummy!鈥� I say to him.

鈥淲hat鈥檚 that?鈥�

鈥淵ou know those old Egyptian kings?鈥�

鈥�Pharaohs!鈥� the girl shouts from her corner. She鈥檚 finished with her grammar work, so she comes to join the fun.

鈥淧haraohs鈥� 鈥� the girl explains: 鈥淭hey used to wrap them up in long strips of cloth when they died.鈥�

I hope the doesn鈥檛 ask me about death again.

鈥淥h, I鈥檝e seen those in cartoons!鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey were real? I thought they were fake.鈥�

鈥淲ell, they鈥檙e definitely real,鈥� I say, 鈥渂ut they never came back to life or anything.鈥�

鈥淗别测, you drew this?鈥� the girl asks him.

鈥渊别补丑鈥︹赌�

鈥淚t鈥檚 really good! And whose hand is that on the piece of scrap?鈥�

鈥淥h, that鈥檚 Grant鈥檚 hand.鈥�

鈥淚t鈥檚 pretty small for a guy, eh?鈥� she laughs. 鈥淟ook 鈥� my hand fits perfectly! Look at that, eh!鈥�

Unable to contain my smile I snatch the paper from the girl as they both laugh at my tiny hands. I put the scrap in the recycling bin鈥�

     *      *      *

When I get back to the table, the boy looks me with wide eyes and a wider smile as he plops down his some papers.

鈥淚 got more homework!鈥�

鈥淲hat kinda homework? P.E.?鈥�

鈥淓苍驳濒颈蝉丑!鈥�

He sifts through loose papers in his folder to find his new worksheet: 鈥楢ntonyms.鈥�

I look at the definition on the worksheet: 鈥淎n antonym is a word opposite in meaning to another.鈥� I guess 滨鈥檓 learning something too.

鈥淪o what does the title say?鈥�

鈥淎ntonyms!鈥� says the boy.

鈥淎ntonyms鈥︹�� says the girl, overhearing us: 鈥淒oesn鈥檛 that just mean opposites?鈥�

鈥淵es, that鈥檚 right,鈥� I say. Maybe she should be tutoring鈥�

鈥淚鈥檝e already finished two of the questions in class!鈥� the boy says with a puffed chest.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 a great start. So, then, what would be the antonym of 鈥榖right鈥�?鈥欌��

He searches through the possible matches: 鈥淯mmmm鈥� 鈥榰ntrustworthy鈥�?鈥�

鈥淲ell鈥� What does 鈥�bright鈥� mean?鈥�

鈥淚t means when all the lights are on.鈥�

鈥淎nd what鈥檚 it like when all the lights are off?鈥�

鈥淒ark鈥︹�� He looks at the list of words again: 鈥�Dark!鈥�

鈥淭here ya go! Nice job. So, what鈥檚 the antonym of 鈥榖right鈥�?鈥�

鈥淚t鈥檚 鈥�dark鈥� I tell you!鈥�

I laugh again. 鈥淎wesome! 鈥�Next: What is the antonym of鈥︹��

As I read off the questions, the girl peeks over our shoulders again and joins the fun. It becomes a group effort, and in five minutes we finish off the worksheet. This is the most work I鈥檝e ever gotten out of that boy鈥�

The session is over, and everybody is packed-up and ready to go.

鈥淏ye, Grant!鈥�

鈥淪ee ya next week, Ravi!鈥�

My first day tutoring. I come into the classroom. I find the teacher at his desk. The teacher is in a wheelchair.

And that鈥檚 when it strikes me 鈥� like a bolt of lightning鈥� suddenly illuminating my life in the brilliant flashback of a faraway and long ago memory.

滨鈥檓 in Mr. Tanner鈥檚 Grade 4, Twelfth Avenue School.  The recess bell sounds. We race outside.  The shrieking and chasing and grabbing of freeze-tag draws me into the game.

Then, out of the turmoil and noise, something pulls me away: over there; something silent, still.

A wheelchair.  In the wheelchair, a figure hunched forward. On the figure鈥檚 face, a sad, haunted look.

鈥淥ver here鈥� come on!鈥�  My friends are calling me.

I hesitate.  I waver between freeze-tag and the figure in the wheelchair. Now, drawn back to the shrieking and chasing of my friends; now, pulled to the lonely figure in the wheelchair.

I feel my friends鈥� eyes on my back, as I turn away from them.  What will they think?

I push on towards the figure: "Hi鈥�,鈥� I call out, 鈥淲hat's your name? 滨鈥檓 Lindsey."

The boy looks up, startled. Then鈥� quizzical鈥� intrigued鈥� delighted.

"Michael,鈥� he whispers: 鈥淢y name鈥檚 Michael.鈥�

I think I hear my friends pause in their play. They鈥檙e staring our way.  In a moment, the game picks up again.

Michael鈥檚 grinning.  He tells me about his class, his teacher, his friends.  As I walk and he wheels, his smile grows brighter, wider.  Mine, too.

Something鈥檚 changed. The school鈥檚 the same. The playground鈥檚 the same. My classmates are the same.

It鈥檚 me. I鈥檝e changed.

滨鈥檓 still the same. But 滨鈥檓 also different.

Through this small act of breaking away from my circle, I鈥檝e set something in motion.

I鈥檝e opened myself up.  To someone who is different from me.

And I realize I want others to share in this learning; to learn with me, alongside me.

And what I want them to learn is that sometimes we can act in a different way.

And so become different.

And so make a difference in the world.

One by one. One difference at a time.

And now, this afternoon鈥� as a Friends of Simon tutor鈥� I am reconnected to all this.

And I understand, more deeply, why 滨鈥檓 here.  And I know, more surely, where 滨鈥檓 going.

鈥淗e-e-elp!鈥� exclaims Diana, staring at her math homework.

            I walk over; sit down next to her. 

 &苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淚 can鈥檛 do this. It鈥檚 too hard. There鈥檚 too many steps!鈥� She lets out a long sigh.

            I take a blank sheet of paper from my binder and copy the first long division question: 2763 divided by 6. 

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淚鈥檒l do it with you, Diana. We can have a race!鈥� I suggest 

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥�You?You鈥檙e going to do it, too?鈥� Diana鈥檚 eyes are wide with hope.

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淥f course. We鈥檒l do it together . . .You ready?鈥�

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淪ure!鈥� Diana answers. 鈥淥ne, two, three, go!鈥�

            I don鈥檛 really race her. I ponder the questions slowly, peeking over her shoulder to make sure she鈥檚 getting the steps right. I give her a tip when she writes down an incorrect digit. I ask a question to point her in the right direction.

            Eventually, Diana forgets about our race. She just keeps plugging away at her long division.

            Sometimes being a tutor is just about 鈥榖eing with鈥�. 鈥楤eing with鈥� our students, side by side, elbow to elbow, quietly, patiently: that is how we can best serve them as they solve their own questions. 

 

It's six-year-old Blaiz鈥檚 last day at a site where I鈥檝e worked closely with him, once a week, for several months. 

            Before we part ways, we decide to do our favorite activity one last time 鈥攄rawing!

            Blaiz carefully creates an image, shielding the paper from me. I do the same. 

            "Close your eyes, put out your hands," he commands.  "Okay, now open!"

            I look down at the parting gift. My eyes tear up. My heart swells. With a piece of paper and crayons, Blaiz shows me the impact I have on him.

            "It's you!" he explains. "Standing in a stormy night with a pink heart over your head, protecting you from the lightning and rain." 

I enter through the once familiar doors into what now feels like a whole new world. As I walk down the halls, I smile at the faces Ipass. 

            So much has changed in the two years since. 鈥淲ill anyone remember me?鈥� I wonder.

            As I walk into the classroom, the students begin coming in. I smile and greet them, each with a new name and story for me to learn. I get settled at the back of the room for the day鈥檚 activities.  

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淢s. Melissa!鈥� a familiar voice echoes across the room. 

            Before I can turn around, a small girl has wrapped her arms about me, holding me tight.  

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淗i, Aria!鈥� I say with excitement. 鈥淲onderful to see you again!鈥�

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥湵踱�檓 so glad you鈥檙e back!鈥� she yells. 鈥淚鈥檝e missed you so much!鈥� She stands back and smiles up at me, clapping with excitement.

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淚 can鈥檛 believe you remember me,鈥� I say. 鈥淚t鈥檚 been so long!鈥�

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淥f course I remember you!鈥� Aria says reproachfully. 鈥淚 still have the drawing we did together!  Now 滨鈥檓 reallyexcited to be here!鈥�

            I smile wide as Aria takes my hand and walks me to her desk, excited to see what鈥檚 in store for us this session.

 

It's homework time at our site. 

            I notice a student, Mohammed, sitting at an empty desk, staring into space. 

            Sitting down next to him, I ask, "D鈥檡ou have any homework today?" 

            He doesn't look at me.  Just shrugs. I take that as a 鈥榊es鈥�. 

            "May I see it?" I ask lightly. 

            Reluctantly, Mohammed pulls the homework out of his bag; throws the crumpled papers on the table. 

            "It's stupid!" he says, "I don't want to do it." 

            I pick up the papers, smooth them out. "What d鈥檡ou have to do?" I ask. 

            "It's just a stupid story and then we answer stupid questions," he replies. 

            I ask him what the story is about, and when it's due. We talk.

            Finally, I say to Mohammed: "If you do it now, you'll feel so much better because you won't have to think about it for the rest of the night." 

            Ahmed shrugs again. I feel discouraged but remain sitting quietly with him. 

            Ten seconds pass, twenty, thirty. A minute, then two. 

            Mohammed shrugs again and sighs. "Fine! I'll do it!" 

            I smile. 

            Ten minutes later, I'm circling around the room, but I see that Mohammed is almost done. Another student, who has arrived late, has sat down next to him. 

            The late student is complaining loudly to all who will listen that he wants to play a game, not do homework. 

            Before a tutor can respond, Mohammed turns to him and says, "Just do it, man 鈥� you'll feel better because you won't have to think about it for the rest of the night."

 

           At one of my sites, we have a boy, Khaled (not his real name), who is a newcomer refugee from Syria. He has two younger friends in the group who are also from Syria, so he sticks with them and they speak only Arabic to each other.

 

            This is fine with us, at first.  But as the weeks go by, it becomes more and more of a distraction. When we鈥檙e having group discussions, Khaled and his friends will clown around and giggle and talk in their language over the rest of the group, while others are trying to be heard. 

 

            In time, this becomes an issue, and we ask the advice of the Site Coordinator, who tells us that if this continues Khaled, the leader of the group, will have to leave the program 鈥� at least for a while.

 

            I know that Khaled鈥檚 leaving the program would be a relief to the group as his behaviour is disruptive.  But I also know that, deep down, Khaled and his friends appreciate our help and really want to belong because they see the value in Friends of Simonto improve their English and overall school performance. 

 

            So we just resolve, whatever happens, to not give up on Khaled. Instead, we draw up a written contract with him, a mutual agreement detailing how he can stay in the program by being respectful, co-operative, and attentive member of the group.

 

            Ever since then, Khaled has been a model student. He remains quiet and attentive when others are speaking, does not disrupt and, most importantly, is working diligently on his English. 

 

            This afternoon Khaled explains to me and his friends the intricacies of learning to drive a stickshift.  No easy task 鈥� driving or explaining how to do it!

 

                      The bell rings, and students trickle into the library. We tutors gather at a cluster of tables near the back, eagerly waiting for the students to sit down.

            I am a new tutor here, so I walk around trying to make conversation.

            We launch the session by playing a guessing game we鈥檝e prepared ahead of time, where the students guess facts about the tutors.

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淟OVES DALMATIAN DOGS鈥� is the next fact on the board. 

&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;&苍产蝉辫;鈥淲ho is this about?鈥� the tutor at the front asks. 

            The students look around, examining our faces for any hints. All of a sudden, a student yells out, 鈥淚t鈥檚 ROTINI!!!鈥�

            We all burst out laughing: 鈥淲ho鈥檚 Rotini?!鈥�

             I stand up, and between giggles, manage to say, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e right, it鈥檚 me! But my name is RUVINI.鈥� 

            At that moment, I know this is going to be a fun site.