Dear Teachers

This month has been a lot. Teachers have been on strike now for three full weeks. We have lost time with our students so we will have to work doubly hard to make up. We have learned that the government never had any intention of negotiating a fair deal, and we have lost thousands of dollars in salary and pension. I have said time and again this isn’t about money; it’s about classroom conditions.

I’m holding true to that because if it were about money, I would have voted yes to return weeks ago. If it were just about money, we wouldn’t have had the largest rally in Alberta history. If this were only about money, the government wouldn’t have their researcher friends publishing opinion pieces that most readers wouldn’t recognize as biased. If it were all about getting a raise, teachers wouldn’t be risking everything, including our rights.

This is about more than money. But if you still don’t believe us, I won’t be able to convince you. So instead, I’m going to write about something else that matters deeply to me, teachers.

Throughout this learning journey over the past few weeks, I’ve heard from many kind people telling me how much they appreciate the work Julie and I do, how much we support kids and the community. We love it. I’ve also heard people say that we’re not the norm, that not all teachers are like us.

We have the unfortunate circumstance of not being able to have kids. At first, it was a real struggle. Teaching and celebrating our students filled a bit of that void. We have extra time, and that’s how we choose to use it. But that doesn’t mean other teachers are any less dedicated to their students or any less determined to give them the education they deserve. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own teachers lately and the impact they’ve had on me.

I still remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Breitkreutz, and our old classroom at Hillside. I remember when Baker Bob visited. My Grade 2 teacher was Mrs. Anderson. I wanted her for Grade 1, but she moved to Grade 2 that year. My Grade 3 teacher was Mrs. Friesen (I might have spelled that wrong). She was so kind. Once, she called my mom to say I had been kind to a new student. It was the first time I felt proud of something I had done that a teacher had noticed. She didn’t have to make that call, but that’s what teachers do.

My Grade 4 teacher was Mr. Armstrong. It was a split class of Grade 3 and 4. I remember the desks being divided, one side for each grade. We did a science lesson on pollution, and Mr. Armstrong set it up like a trial with a judge and jury. I was the foreman. I felt so powerful, haha. My Grade 5 teachers were Mrs. Fast and Mrs. Ness. They meant business, and I loved that class. Mrs. Shipley was my Grade 6 teacher. It’s odd to think about, but I often wonder if she’d be proud of the work I do now. She was an expert teacher. Our class had been together for most of elementary school, and I still remember the tears that last day of Grade 6.

Junior high was tricky. I had many teachers, but only one really stands out: Mr. Soetaert. He was a first-year teacher who started halfway through the year. We were terrible to him at first. He was my homeroom teacher, and as the year went on, we realized how hard he was trying. He became the teacher I think about when I wonder, on tough days, why I do this work. He was the teacher I wanted to visit again, the one I asked to help me freeze a frog so we could amputate its broken leg and bring it back to life, the one we thought was dating another teacher (they got married, so we were right). He made learning fun, and 30 years later, I still remember his classes.

I’ve had so many teachers who’ve touched my life for good. High school was kind of a blur, haha. I had a teacher we were certain was a witch, and my dad’s best friend was my English teacher. I skipped a lot and made friends with the attendance secretary. My dad was my vice principal. I don’t have many memories from those years, maybe because flip phones with cameras were just becoming a thing. Biology class was probably the most memorable, and not all teacher memories are good ones.

In college, I was taught to think. Connie Korpan and Bruce Galenza are still teachers I talk about with my students for inspiring me and helping me grow as a thinker and writer. Shout out to then Grande Prairie College for having the greatest psych department of all time.

University brought the greatness that is Carla Peck into my life, a friend and mentor. I sat in awe watching her speak for teachers at the rally last week. A force for education and a protector of democracy, I’ll always be grateful for her guidance, especially the time she talked me off the edge of fighting someone from ethics class all those years ago.

I’ve continued to have incredible teachers in my life since starting my own career. Whether it’s my dear friend Mary Howard, who taught me to use my voice; mentors like Donalyn Miller, who is not only an amazing advocate for reading but also a great Disneyland partner; or my dear mentor and friend Kylene Beers, who passed away this year—all have had incredible impacts on my journey as an educator.

I could list a hundred more, but none have influenced my career more than my own father. He has always modeled learning and sacrifice. A servant leader in the truest sense, he taught me that together, teachers have the power to make an incredible difference.

I am deeply grateful for all the teachers who have guided and nurtured my learning journey. These last few weeks have been really tough. They’ve been made even harder by the voices of a small but loud minority who believe teachers are greedy, or that there are “two sides” to a conversation that devalues the work we do.

I’m choosing to focus on the good, on the lasting impact of those who dedicate their lives to creating something better. Today I am grateful for teachers. Tomorrow I will be too.