North Bay Teachers College - Polaris Yearbook (North Bay, Ontario Canada)

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By Friday Harry seemed especially tense and when the scoldings started to fly I could feel their bite. Frustra- tion rushed through Harry's veins and pressed on his spirits. The anger and humiliation welled up inside, and then one heavy tear fell onto his desk. When Harry raised his head, there was no look of sadness in the lovely eyes: there was defiance. He didn't cower under Mrs. S-.'s heavy hand that afternoon, he twisted and pulled away. His gaze was directed toward the window watching the cars, the trees and the houses, seeming determined to find another world where he would not be subjected to the stings of injustice or humiliation. Now this child sits before me. I don't know what he has become but soon I shall find out. Oh Lord, if it is at all possible help me to right the wrong that's been done, and remind me every day, as I stand here, almost omnipotent before these thirty people entrusted to my care, that it is very difficult to build yet very easy to destroy. Allow me not to mar the chances of one small child, allow me only to increase them, and let there never be a Harry for me. Kari Soucie Form Four. I FIRST TIME OUT Shut your eyes. Do you remember your first week out? Your first lesson? Can you recall that feeling of panic the dry throat, the churning stomach, the last frantic glance at the inadequate plan? Well, I can. What was I going to teach? Oh yes! The Arctic! I was so cold, numb, and beyond reasoning that I might as well have been in the Arctic. In fact, the Arctic looked mighty inviting at that moment. Great Scott! Where do I start? I show a bathing suit. This fascinates them. Good! Now think children. Where would people be wearing this right now? In Africa? He's pointing at the Sahara Desert! Well now, do you really think that this would be a good place to swim? What do we have to have to be able to swim? Water? That's better. He's pointing at the Mediterranean. That's more like it. Remember now, pupil participation. Show me on the map. Now I gingerly produce a fur coat. I ask. Where would people be wearing this right now? This time I am holding my breath. Maybe someone will remember the true north strong and free. Good, a light has snapped on in someone's head. There's a bright one coming to the board. He made it! He's in the North. Maybe he'll even remember who inhabits the North. He did. Let's talk about the Eskimos. What do they eat? What do they wear? Where do they sleep? We are now proceeding at an even pace. We discuss the land. This is the spot where I am to produce the perma-frost. I've spent hours preparing it. OOPS! It collapsed. It's dripping on the floor. I'M so embarrassed, I could die. Well, carry on. , Is the teacher interested? I'll bet she wonders what will happen next. So do I. Here we have more pupil participation. They help to clean up the ghastly mess. So much for the Discovery Method. I seem to be the only one doing any discovering. Now, the Application. We will write a story and sing a song about Eskimos. Will those children remember the perma-frost? I will, for the rest of my life. I sit down. My knees collapse. It's over. Did you ever feel this way? Ina Hutchison Form One. 95

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THE REBELS You've seen him, on the streets, Or in the classroom, occasionally, or at the corner store, And some of you see him daily in your homes, His hair too long, his clothes unkept, Chanting, Make love, not war, You shake your head in disgustg If he's your son, you tell your friends I don't know what happened to him, And if you haven't a son like him, you're gladg ll WHEN? When will my ship come in? When you man it my son. When will I be a man? When you apply yourself my son. When will I know love? You'll know when you feel it my son. Brian A. Vezina Form Four. You tell everyone that this waste is pitiful, This wasted generation, today's youth, What is going to happen to this world? But what's even more pitiful is, That your scorn has caused it all, And your understanding could have changed it. Barbara Gravelle Form Six. A POEM OF BEAUTIFUL WORDS Lupine, peace, soft, treasure Tinsel, love, early, pleasure Twinkle, life, gentle, palm Flower, spring, heaven, calm Pond, trillium, dawn, swirl Blue, whip-poor-will, whiff, pearl Glow, demure, lazy, kiss Faith, cradle, dreamy, bliss Heather Iohnsto n Form Three . LET THERE NEVER BE A HARRY Once again, the first day of school has come and here I sit alone at my desk watching thirty new faces filing into my classroom. I am about to meet the many little people with whom I will spend the greater part of the next ten months and I find myself wondering what that delicate girl who just sidled in the door will be like or that vivacious young man who bounded in so eagerly. Down in the back corner I see one face that looks vaguely familiar. It's little Harry. Oh, how could I ever forget Harry ? I had met this child almost four years ago. I was at Teachers' College at that time, and it was the practice then for the students to spend a week in certain classrooms in the area to observe and teach an occasional lesson during the orientation period. This particular class was a Grade One, taught by a very efficient lady by the name of Mrs. S-. She was a lovely person I recallg neat grey hair, warm blue eyes, a friendly smile and a charming motherly nature, but it was not long before I realized that there was something very wrong in the relationship between Mrs. S- and poor Harry. Ten minutes never seemed to pass when Mrs. S-did not reprimand Harry for some trivial thing. Harry, sit up straight! Harry, take your pencil out of your mouth! Harry, be quiet! Harry, get busy! Poor sweet Harry with his sad little eyes would squint nervously and cower in his desk. But it was not these words that made the deepest impression on me. It was when she marched down to his desk, placed her heavy hand on the top of his head, and turned it. Somehow it seemed so degrading. In my chair at the back, I would shiver for poor Harry and watch him flinch under the steady grip. 94

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MOTHERS Our mothers depart from us, gently depart. Will not save their souls nor ours. O11 IipIO6. They move further away, But we Sleep soundly Oll. Keep moving away, Sfuffed with food. Roused from our sleep, And fail to notice this dread hour. We stretch towards them, Our mothers do not leave us suddenly. But our hand strikes the air, No, it only seems so sudden. A wall of glass has grown up thereg Slowly they depart and strangely, We were too late, Taking short steps down the stairs of life. The dead hour has struck, 0116 year. nervously remembering, Supressing tears we watch our mothers, We make a fuss to mark their birthday. Pillars austere and grill But il'1lS belated zeal, Depaftilqg ffgm us. Al Scinto Form One. THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM Somewhere across this broad land of Canada to-night there is a lost and desperate man trying to find the smallest needle in the largest haystack in the world. He is one of the best journalists in the business. He has covered important stories in countless countries but this assignment has stumped him. His assignment is to discover, analyse and spread on paper for the public the inner meaning of Canadian life. What I have to find, he cried out in his agony, is the Canadian character ..... 1 I wish this journalist had come to see me before starting this long impossible search. Physically Canada is a country composed of ten provinces and two territories. Culturally, Canada cannot and never will be so easily divided. Within this confederation of provinces are housed enough different nationalities to probably fill half of the World Book Encyclopedia. Canada is the home for people of French, Italian, British, Scandanavian, North, South, East and Western European backgrounds not forgetting the Orient. In a country of such variation the discovering and spreading on paper of the Canadian character is truly trying to find the smallest needle in the largest haystack in the world . To take this argument from a generalization to specifics let me recount a personal experience which demonstrated this point to me. The story starts in September 1965. It was on the tenth day of that month, that ticket in hand I boarded an Air Canada flight bound from Sault Ste. Marie to Ottawa. Ottawa was to be my home for the next few years. Of course I was l'lOI going to forget the Sault as I planned on returning when school breaks were long enough, but Ottawa was going to be my place of residence for most of the academic year. In leaving the Sault I knew I was leaving many friends, and a warm, hospitable city. It seemed that every- one in the Sault always had a good word for everyone else whether he was a resident or not. They also had their disagreements over politics both provincial, federal, and municipal but on the whole they kept their politics to themselves. Now the Sault, as you know, is an area of mixed culture with a large Italian factor so by going to Ottawa I was merely exchanging the Italian populace for the French and consequently I had no apprehension of what lay ahead. The Canadian Personality Bruce Hutchinson 1948 . 96 i