This morning, I found myself in Wilson’s Office Supply.
With a near-identical delivery to Brian in The Fast and the Furious explaining to Harry, “I need NOS. I need NOS. One. No, no, two! And I need them by tonight,” I expressed the need for Expo dry-erase markers with the same type of alarmed demeanour of desperation.
This can only mean one thing.
That’s right. September has arrived again, my friends.
’Tis the season and time of year when learners funnel back into classrooms, principals’ and administrators’ email inboxes begin filling to the max, Microsoft Teams calendars begin to become technicoloured, and we teachers finish prepping our tools of the trade before we go back to the grindstone.
Presentation remote and laser pointer? Check.
Purple Bic highlighters? Check.
AirPods Pro 3? Check.
Gradebook and Brightspace access? Check.
Hendrix had six strings, while some of us have six packages of purple Pilot G2-10s.
Regardless of what small rituals teachers build into their day to centre their focus, there is a reason passionate educators do what we do.
At the end of the day, educators deal in hope.
The beginning of the year is a remarkable feeling.
It’s knowing there are ideas, perspectives, vantage points, and new concepts lingering in the ether like mystic chords of memory.
And the Muse is just.
These ideas descend, move into the mind, and out through the words of those who choose to reach, catch, and carry these new nuances and pearls of perspective.
So here is an acknowledgment, a tribute, to every muse and each educator who helps those who carry the future in all its promise and possibility in their hands.
In some of our classrooms, we welcome those who are the first in their families to anchor their hours to learning.
In some of our classrooms, we are joined by mothers and fathers who are raising their children solo but who have made the choice to cultivate knowledge and more opportunities for their families in the future.
In some, learners who are carrying more of life than we are aware of.
In some, learners who know there is so much more just beyond the horizon.
Years ago, I remember visiting with my brother Dean, and he shared something that has echoed internally since he articulated his point:
Education is the greatest investment one can make to enrich one’s life.
He’s correct.
War can rid us of a terrorist, but knowledge and education can rid us of terrorism.
Politics can promise us brighter futures and somedays, but knowledge and education can conjure them into reality.
Military might can crush an opponent or foe, but knowledge and education can create bridges of common ground and shared aspiration.
Dreams and hopes can help us visualize what kind of lives we wish to lead, but it is through knowledge and education that the roadmap, the tools, and the cutting edge patiently wait to make such a life manifest.
A wise man once said, “It is poetry that will save the world. Not commerce.”
This is a phrase I have dissected, doubted and turned over in my memory for decades, and it is finally starting to make sense.
Of course, we need economics, business, finance, and commerce to build our world, but it is how we learn to see the world, the future, and our opportunities that truly brings a spark of meaning to the soul of the direction in which we move as a community, country, and world.
There is a widely understood, familiar, but sparsely spoken-about moment that every educator lives for.
That silent moment when a learner’s curiosity and intellectual reach finally grasp a concept and you can witness wonder in the learner—a moment when ideas connect.
There is nothing greater.
So here is a nod of respect to the passionate educators.
The ones who watch, from the front row, as learners gradually become the people they were always meant to become.
The ones who encourage, support, and know how to use words and disposition to convince a learner they can do anything.
The ones who help us realize that we get out of life what we put into it.
The ones who know how to say, “I don’t know—but I will find out.”
The ones who understand the difference between knowledge and belief, as well as fact and opinion.
The ones who understand (and share) that learning is a lifelong process.
The ones who teach how to think rather than tell learners what to think.
The ones who say, “I’m proud of you.”
The ones who understand that our societies are still works in progress and that what they share, teach, foster, and support continues the build.
The ones who may teach but understand themselves to be learners (and eternal ones) first.
The ones who help students understand that while education does correlate with opportunities, salary, and careers, its main purpose is to manifest the very best, most promising, and dynamic version of each learner because they are a gem in this world, capable of great things.
The ones who take the time to support time management and imagination.
Remember that what you do matters.
Remember balance and reason.
Remember that self-care isn’t selfish—but necessary.
What you are doing is special and meaningful, and when things get tough, sentiments found in Plato’s Republic hold the following:
Chalepà tà kalá (“Beautiful and noble things are difficult.”)
Best wishes to all this year.
Robert Horton is an educator, author, orator and linguist. He is a member of Rainy River First Nations.
