Andre -- who had sent me the poster of the event, which I'd printed and posted -- stopped in after school. No, I wasn't going in to the city. Too pooped after a full day of my ELA Moving Company Simulation. Andre would also not be able to go, busy with kids. Cathy joined our conversation. She had gone to the last "talkin'" event. It had been great conversation, but tonight, she planned to read all 300 plus student report card comments. Bless her. We'd talked about powering-up as educators and the need to put it out there, but we admitted, we can't do everything.
As I'd left to walk home, I'd called over my shoulder. "Cathy, if you end up going, give me a shout. I'm a last minute kind of girl."
It was six o'clock. I'd made omelette's for Michael and the girls. Everyone was happy. I'd decide to drive into the city.
I'm sitting with Mona Hill -- a dear friend from years ago -- who I've run into upstairs at La Bodega. We're nibbling on yummy treats, catching up, talking civics, amnesty international, social work, and education. And who should come around the corner, but my principal, Cathy. We laugh. We hug, and she joins us.
Michael Cappello is emceeing the evening. He's someone I've admired while running in the same circles as Professor Carol Schick, He even sat and listened to my breaking-teacher-heart a long time ago, he, in turn, sharing some of his vulnerable teacher moments, and we shed some tears together.
He introduces Ken Montgomery, faculty of education; Trish Elliott, school of journalism, and Carrie Bourassa, a professor at First Nations University of Canada.
Each talk is short, and sweet, and to the point. Short in time. Sweet in anecdote, passion, poetry, vision, questions, and hope. To the point, a bulls-eye to the beating heart we call education.
I am not taking notes. Didn't think to even bring paper. I'm just listening and nodding and shouting my amens too.
I grab a serviette and dig for a pen.
It was six o'clock. I'd made omelette's for Michael and the girls. Everyone was happy. I'd decide to drive into the city.
I'm sitting with Mona Hill -- a dear friend from years ago -- who I've run into upstairs at La Bodega. We're nibbling on yummy treats, catching up, talking civics, amnesty international, social work, and education. And who should come around the corner, but my principal, Cathy. We laugh. We hug, and she joins us.
Michael Cappello is emceeing the evening. He's someone I've admired while running in the same circles as Professor Carol Schick, He even sat and listened to my breaking-teacher-heart a long time ago, he, in turn, sharing some of his vulnerable teacher moments, and we shed some tears together.
He introduces Ken Montgomery, faculty of education; Trish Elliott, school of journalism, and Carrie Bourassa, a professor at First Nations University of Canada.
Each talk is short, and sweet, and to the point. Short in time. Sweet in anecdote, passion, poetry, vision, questions, and hope. To the point, a bulls-eye to the beating heart we call education.
I am not taking notes. Didn't think to even bring paper. I'm just listening and nodding and shouting my amens too.
I grab a serviette and dig for a pen.
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