Letter From Toronto By Opiyo Oloya

Once A Teacher, Always A Teacher -- We often do not realise the impact we have on students until years later when they have grown up and moved out into the world AS teachers, we often do not appreciate the impact we have on children until many years later when they have grown up and moved out into the world. Occasionally, I hear from former students who have entered university and colleges and are working hard toward their dream career. This week, I had a strange call from the past. It was not from a former pupil, but from the mother of a student I taught six or seven years ago. The pupil, a Greek by descent, now an eighteen year old woman, had just graduated from high school, the mother said. She was planning to pursue a career in early childhood education or social work. I remembered the student well; though quiet, she was a very hard working pupil who scored good grades in my class. Naturally, I congratulated the proud mother on her daughter's success. However, the mother intimated that there had been some family disagreement around the daughter's choice of boyfriend. According to the mother, the daughter's boyfriend is a very shady character, likely a drug peddler with criminal records. When I asked whether the family had met the boyfriend, she said there was no need to do that-the man was no good. The daughter had run away from home, but had recently come back. As I sat there wondering what my role was in all of this, the mother asked if I could talk some sense into her daughter. "My daughter really respects you Mr. Oloya, and if anybody can help, you can", she said between sobs. Now, I was not about to turn my back on a former student, so I asked the mother whether it was possible to arrange for the daughter to drop by my office for a chat. She said she would make the arrangement, thanked me many times and we hung up. In the midst of a busy life as school principal, I quickly forgot the conversation with the distraught mother until yesterday afternoon.It was the end of the day, and I was supervising the loading of children onto the school buses to get them home, when young, pretty woman walked up to me and gave me a big hug. It took me a fraction of a second to realise this was my former student whose mother had called earlier. She had blossomed into a tall beautiful woman with an extremely intelligent and confident demeanour. When we finally sat down to talk, I could not help thinking how knowledgeable, candid and very open my former student was. After exchanging some pleasantries, I decided to go directly to the issue at hand. Her mother had spoken to me a few days earlier, I told her. I wanted to know what was going on. My former student did not bat an eyelid as she told me her life story. She had met a young man two years her senior while working in downtown Toronto. She loved the young man, and they are going steady. She was aware that her mother had painted a very bleak picture of the man as a drug-dealer, but in fact the man was being misjudged by the way he dresses. She only left home because her brother was constantly looking for a physical fight with her over her boyfriend, and had on numerous occasions tried to beat up the young man too. She was back home now, but she was prepared to leave again if that's what it would take to be with her love. It was an extremely frank exchange, no holds-barred with all issues on the table including birth control. Yet, I felt that the girl was holding out something from me, though I could not put my finger on it. Finally, after a one-hour discussion, I asked the former pupil what colour her boyfriend was. She was completely taken aback for a moment. Finally, she blurted it out-He is black. As she said it, a tiny wicked smile played on the corner of her mouth, and I knew what she was thinking. When she was my student many years ago, we had often openly talked about racial barriers, racism and all the stereotypes attached to blacks. I recalled one particular lesson in which she acted out the part of a white girl dating a black boy, and who had to face the wrath of her parents. As a character in the play, she had to convince her racist parents that there was nothing wrong with dating a black person. Well, here she was many years later facing the same issue, only this time very real. I also smiled back and nodded quietly. If anybody could handle this problem, she was the one to do it. She promised to bring her boyfriend to meet me so that I can give her my best opinion. Meanwhile, I have to call a distraught mother and tell her that her daughter, my former pupil, will do just fine if they will leave her alone. It may not be the message the parents are hoping for, but it will be the most honest message. Once a teacher, always a teacher. Ends