Love Letters from Heather

Dear Steve,

I was 11 years into my career when I put in for a transfer from a tiny rural school just outside Alliston to join forces at the brand-new educational establishment in Alcona. The idea of being part of something fresh and exciting piqued my interest.

I remember meeting you in the parking lot, flitting about, chatting with various people, obviously dealing with a million different things all at once, khaki shorts and a white golf shirt, solid build with wispy blondish hair.

Hi, I’m Steve Barker.” Outstretched hand for a strong shake.

“Heather Down,” I answered.

You have always been a straight shooter, which was evident even from the moment we met when you led with, “I was hoping to get so-and-so because they taught instrumental music. I really wanted to have a band teacher.”

I was confused. I guess I got the position due to seniority. But you wanted someone else instead? This was news to me. My brain tried to process quickly. Will I always be that teacher who took the place of the teacher you DID want?

What you didn’t realize was that I had applied for this position because the job posting had mentioned instrumental band teacher. And that was what I was. The idea of starting a music program in a new school was a great opportunity for me that I relished.

“Um, actually, I teach music,” I ventured.

“Band?” you answered.

“Yes. I don’t have a degree in music, but I have taught intermediate band for grades 7 and 8 students on and off for years. I played flute in my university orchestra, and then in the Huronia Symphony.”

“Oh.” Slight pause. “That is FANTASTIC.” And you hugged me. It was in that moment I realized you didn’t have a problem with me, you just wanted the best programming for your students—and that included arts.

Teaching grade 8 students who were displaced their graduating year from their previous schools was, at times, challenging. I also had a few students who kept me on my toes. And you realized this and were always supportive You taught me the meaning of always having someone’s back more than any other human being. I could count on you for support, even if I had screwed up.

Besides calling it like you saw it, you had a great sense of humour. I can still hear your voice calling teachers by their last names, like a quintessential sports coach who everyone wanted to please: “Hey, Menzies…what’s up, Maltby…”

You loved and cared for the students, almost like they were your own. I say “almost” because it was obvious from the way you talked about your wife and daughters that that level of adoration was reserved for your family.

There was a “pair” of students who were of particular challenge to you, and when, at Christmas, you graced the school with the gift of reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, I couldn’t help but secretly (in my head) replace the names of the book’s characters with these two students, making an already funny book downright hilarious.

One memory that sticks out is a day when you had already left the school. You phoned the office from your car and got transferred to my room.

“Heather.”

“Yes?” I queried.

“Can you straighten your blinds? I was driving by and they look like hell.”

I almost laughed out loud. “Sure thing.”

The plastic vertical blinds in my second-story classroom windows sat all askew, sticking out in a variety of directions. I guess it bothered you to see the chaos from the road.

Teaching music was a highlight. The extracurricular band competed at Kiwanis, taking home a first-place plaque for every category entered! What a joy to watch these kids take pride in self-expression. But you already knew the value of the program.

I regretted putting my full effort into that program later, when I was at another school, teaching music. I and my new students went to Kiwanis only to witness my former music students do their thing and clean the clocks of my existing band. It was hard not to be really proud of them, though.

Do you remember forming a staff band of sorts and performing James Taylor’s “The Way You Look Tonight?” That kid—Adam, I think—could play drums like he was 18. I don’t know where he learned to do that, but he was incredible for someone his age.

You had a lot of report cards to proofread! I didn’t envy that job. I hope I made your day a little brighter when I included the imaginary student “Justin Tyme,” the comments sporting uncensored things we teachers REALLY wanted to say about some of our students.

My classroom phone rang. “Justin Tyme,” you began. “I was reading and thought, We don’t have a Justin Tyme at this school. Good one.”

I was only at your school for two years. I moved on quickly, and then two years later quit teaching altogether. I am not sure if I have seen you since. Maybe once in passing at the board office. I know you went on to become a superintendent before retiring.

But we were able to catch up by phone a few weeks ago. What a treat to learn what your daughters and now grandkids are up to! You sounded like the same Mr. Barker, the principal I knew 20 years ago.

You taught me so much in a short space of time:

True leadership leads through example.

Call it like you see it.

Reaching for a high standard is important.

Understanding the whole child is as critical as academics.

Take responsibility (even for the state of your blinds).

Remember to have each other’s backs.

Happy Valentine’s Day, sir!

Heather

PS. It should be duly noted that it was my diligence that helped bust “the phantom pooper.”

~

Love Letters from Heather is a series. If you enjoyed this, here are some other instalments:

To my son, Jason

To my middle daughter, Candice

To my daughter, Charity

To my former student, Brady

To my mother

To my father

To the woman I yelled at in the grocery store parking lot

To my oldest brother, Dave

To my brother, Doug