Every student needs to know they belong

I am that person who waits till the end of August to do my back-to-school shopping and plan my first day of work. Some of you may completely understand and others are probably thinking, “That poor lady needs to get organized.” That won’t happen. That’s not me. And that is completely okay.

I haven’t always been a procrastinator when it comes to preparing for school. When I was a kid, I looked forward to going school-supply shopping with my family. We would pick out what we needed — often not what we wanted, as being frugal was important. More than anything, I looked forward to school and was excited about being around my classmates and teachers. The school was a safe place for me. That was until I hit later elementary school. 

We had moved around a lot — a byproduct of the Sixties Scoop and Residential Institutions — and I went to many different schools. I can think back and fondly remember each of the schools I attended before my later elementary grades.

The staff and students had never treated me differently (at least I didn’t recognize any different treatment). I was a straight-A student and, as I said, always looked forward to school.

That all changed one afternoon when I asked my teacher for help with my math. She told me, “Don’t worry, my dear. You are just a little Indian girl — you won’t need to know how to use math.”

Yes, you read that correctly.

At that time, I had limited knowledge about the relationship between my people and non-Indigenous peoples. My grandparents and eight of their children had attended residential institutions, but although they sometimes talked quietly about their experiences, they didn’t reveal details and didn’t speak openly of the atrocities they’d faced, at least not in the presence of little ones like me. Still, although I didn’t understand what they were talking about, I could feel a sense of hurt and sadness about their time in those horrific places. 

For me, up until that comment about not needing math, I had never faced any negative interactions due to being Indigenous, so my teacher’s words were life-changing … and not in a good way. That moment of being labeled “just a little Indian girl” changed my whole outlook on the educational system and my journey in the halls of whatever school I was in. I gave in to those words my teacher had spoken and played out those words for the remainder of my young educational journey.

I dropped out of high school when I turned 16. There were other factors as well that led to me leaving, including a motor vehicle accident that made it hard to return to the classroom, but mostly it was the words. I became the words my teacher had spoken. I became the statistic that I later learned about. My love of and joy in spending time in the school’s hallways were shattered into pieces that I couldn’t glue back together — yet.

Then I found out I was going to be a mother. As I watched my belly grow, and it grew big, I had moments of self-talk and reflection. I knew that if I was going to be a good mother, I had to ensure that I was a good role model as well. So, I turned those words my teacher had spoken into my fire, my reason and my passion for education. I used those words to get me back into school to earn my high school diploma. I didn’t use the regular route and the math took longer, but I did it.

As I rebuilt my relationship with school, I saw an opportunity for me to be a role model, not only for my children but for other children as well.

There may be a child sitting in a classroom, just like I was that fateful afternoon, who needs someone to encourage them and build them up. Maybe there is a child in the hallway who sees teachers and school leaders who look nothing like them and so can scarcely ever imagine themselves in those roles. Maybe there is a family who needs someone who understands not wanting to send their children to school because you only have one loaf of bread left with nothing to put on it. Maybe there is a school leader who feels they have run out of ways to help a family—not ­because they don’t care but because they may not be seen as a support due to the historical realities many Indigenous people have etched upon their hearts.

I turned those words my teacher had spoken into my pledge to be one person in a school hallway who can build up every other person there, signaling that we all belong there, and all deserve access to top-notch public education.

As the following student submissions demonstrate, fostering this sense of belonging is a vital part of our journey as teachers. We work through the curriculum with our students, and that is a huge part of our work. But there is also the relationship piece — as teachers, we create a safe space for our students to thrive and spark their passions in life. What we do is important and, I can attest, what we say is imperative.

As you enter your schools day after day, know that this little Indian girl (the correct term is Indigenous, thank you) will always encourage each child to be their best because each child is important.

Kiitamatsiin (see you again) .