Childhood means simplicity. Look at the world with the child's eye-it is very beautiful.
K. Satyarthi
Guest Blogger- Acquired Brain Injury Creative Writing Class Participant - Shelly J.
Sitting on my steps putting on my walking shoes. My mind was full of thoughts, since my stroke two years ago… I wondered Who Am I? What is my purpose in life? What am I going to do now? Decided to go walking on this nice warm day instead of going to the walking track. The grass is green, leaves are out, sun shining nice and bright, children everywhere, in yards and playgrounds, it is the little ones who don’t yet have cell phones or I Pads that are out and about. It got me thinking in my already filled mind, how times have changed. Made me smile watching the children of all races playing together, laughing and playing games.
Memories crop up of my childhood, living in a small town back in the 60’s and 70’s as I walk. All the children played together while the older children were in school. We did not care about skin color, race, or culture. We just had fun.
I knew that people spoke a different language. My parents and grandparents spoke both Cree and English. I never thought much of why they spoke a different language or why my grandmother was dark and my grandfather white looking. Nor did I even think why they spoke only English to my siblings and me. I thought it was just normal. I was told I was Metis, but in a 5-year-old child’s mind, I did not comprehend that we were of a different race, or that the children I played with spoke a different language as well. All that mattered was that having good friends and laughing playing games.
Entering school was an exciting time for all the 6-year-olds. (We did not have kindergarten back then). We were all so excited just walking to school and meeting up with all your friends in new clothes, and books. We all met up at the path leading to the school. When we got to the school, buses came along from out of town, and from the Reserve. Some were scared, some happy, and others stood by themselves, unsure of where to go. So many different emotions. Bell rang and we were told to go inside.
Once inside the school, it was scary and exciting at the same time. We were told where to go. Once in the grade one classroom. We all took a desk. When the teacher came in, she introduced herself. Then she said for everyone to stand up. She then separated all the children and read out names as to where everyone would go and sit.
I remember feeling sad because my best friend and I could not sit close together. She sat up front. And I in a row near the back. I remember wondering why and asked the teacher if I could sit in the front. She said no that I was not a White. I wondered what she meant by that. Once everyone was seated, I looked to see if any of my friends were near me. They were all spread out. The teacher had separated all the children into rows according to their race. I noticed that the First Nations children all sitting in the back of the class, and all the white children in front and the few who were of Metis sat towards the back in a separate row. I had no idea what was going on, and just accepted everything the teacher said. “She was the teacher and knew everything, was what went through my mind.”
Recess time came, and we were lead outside and told where to play. We were not allowed on the Southside of the school, only the white children were. The First Nation children were told to play in the soccer field and the few of us who were Metis played in a corner by the school.
As a grade one child, I could not understand why we could not play with each other. As the years went by we all grew, and the friends we had as 5-year-old children were no longer our friends.
The older kids would bully each other, fights would break out amongst the different races. There would be name calling. White children and the First Nations would fight, or the First Nations would pick on the Metis. Metis would pick on the whites or First Nations. Teachers would come out and send the First Nations and Metis to the principal’s office, we would all get the strap.
I started hating school and would find every excuse to stay home. As I got older, it got harder and I wished I could be five again.
I never did finish school there. My parents moved away, and it was the same thing in the new schools. By then it was the norm that I was inferior to the white children and not wanted by the First Nation children or the White children. We would get made fun of by both groups of children. Saying things like, you’re not White or First Nations, you’re a “Halfbreed.” I and my siblings stuck together and played together. We had no idea what they meant by halfbreed until a few years later in older grades.
That’s when I started learning about racism and segregation.
As an adult, I went on to become a teacher and an Assistant Director in a Multicultural Daycare. I made a point of pairing up children in groups no matter the race or culture, and have them talk about their culture. I did not want anyone feeling bad about who they were. Parents appreciated it and became involved. We would have cultural days twice a year. You could see how proud these children were by their smiling eyes, and grins, when they spoke about their culture.
As I go for my walk, I see these children and feel good to see them have fun. At any age now. It makes my heart sing to see how everyone should treat each other. The Children of this world are the smart ones. They see only another person and don’t judge, that’s what adults should be learning from our children.
I look at the sky, grass, trees, listen to the birds, children’s voices as they yell in glee. I give thanks that my grandchildren have the choice and opportunity to be who they want to be without getting that slap on the hand for being proud of who they are!
I Keep walking with a new fresh mind, I learned more today on this walk than I did yesterday on my walk at the track. Bless our children!
Shelly J.