Autobiographical Paper
Leanne C. Matthes – 196 504 008
Faculty of Education, University of Regina
ECS 101-010
Fatima Pirbhai-Illich
Date Due: September 28, 2020
I am a result of all I have been taught. I am a cumulation of all the people who I’ve observed throughout my life, whether they arrived along my path for a reason, a season or a lifetime. Thankfully, I have come to the realization of my responsibility in this world, as I too am impacting others by my actions and behaviours. I am a mother. Thus, even without a degree I am a teacher. Recognizing the potential impact I can have on my daughter and others is what prompted me to return to my original calling after a 20 year hiatus. Taking the time to pause, and really reflect on why I am so certain that this is where I am meant to be has been an emotional journey. Let me share with you some of my earliest, most vivid, and cherished memories which relate directly to my choice to become a professional educator.
Born in ’76 to a young, middle class white couple who had two older daughters, I was cherished by my mom. My older sisters adored me. They thrived at school after coming home daily to teach me their lessons as I sat captivated in the antique desk in our unfinished basement. We were a picturesque family, until one day we were not. Like many families in the early ‘80’s my parents struggled with finances. Our family home transformed as though covered by a grey cloud, with several bouts of thunder and nearly constant rain.
Escaping to the school was a luxury I was terrified of, until I met her. Teacher. She was like a fairy, the way she flitted about always with a smile on her face. In reflection, I see now that she was in that space some call joy or bliss, but to a much younger version of me she was simply magical. In this calm and orderly space, and with only kind words, Teacher became my most revered hero. In grade two, when I broke my arm on the ice hill at recess it was Teacher who helped me understand that sometimes it is ok to step off of the mat with our snowy boots on. In grade three Teacher rewarded our class with a field trip to her house for the end of the year party, allowing me a glimpse into the very classy world of a teacher. While others were fascinated with the laundry chutes and unique features of Teacher’s historic home, I was enamored with her books and the padded rocking chair near the fireplace. Teacher taught my grade five class the magic of closing our eyes and listening to a story with all of our senses. Teacher was confident and kind, in all shapes and sizes, ages and colours, and oh, how I wanted to be her.
My parents’ marriage failed, coincidentally at the same time that a significant number of new students, mostly Indigenous children were being introduced to our school. Socially, I was entrenched in my white circle of friends. My sisters and I were encouraged by our mother to forge relationships with these new kids, and to be kind. Some of the new families lived transient lifestyles, their homes were reflective of poverty, alcoholism, and violence. My mother’s compassion coupled with my sister’s popularity made it inevitable that our house became a haven for all my sister’s friends. A revolving door resulted, and we never knew who we were going to find on the couch or on the floor in the morning. In spite of our own struggles my mother taught us to give love, and to this day we continue to be rewarded because of this kindness.
My mother got into a relationship with an Indigenous fellow who had five children, they quickly moved into our home with chaos on their heels. There was a lot of stress introduced, including addiction, poverty, prostitution, abuse and violence. Suicide was a new word for me, as were terms like ‘residential schools’ and ‘mônîyâskwew.’ My family was threatened with black magic and then protected by an elder with sage. Racism became personal when the attacks were coming from family, friends and the neighbours in our community.
Memories of teachers from my middle years exist, however they are not inspiring. There is a mist over those memories, caused by an external cloud of tension rubbing against the internal turmoil that is female adolescence. What is certain, a positive female presence outside of my family was absent. The dream of becoming a teacher and my hopes of saving the planet were replaced with chaos and confusion. My middle years are a mess of emotional memories.
I moved forward through my life following the path that emerged rather than forging my own, and my life has been filled with love. My daughter started in the Education program at the University of Regina in September 2019. Soon afterward we began engaging in conversation about Indigenous people and the decolonization efforts she was learning about. The passion that she spoke with, coupled with the information she was sharing with me was astounding. Having lived in an Indigenous household as a youth, followed by a year living on the Sunchild Reservation in Alberta, I felt confident I had a good understanding of the challenges the Indigenous people face. The stories I was hearing, the learning that I was engaging in second hand through my daughter’s perspective was heartbreaking. How could I not already know these things? The devastation caused by colonization was somehow hidden, even from me. Through my daughter, I have learned there are several ways to influence change in this world. Thus, I chose to surrender my career and return to university to learn, and then build the life I choose. I shall forge a noteworthy path, littered with love.