Two Young Boys…
A Walk to School
Two young boys, brothers I think, made their lingering journey to school each morning passing under my view and scrutiny as a sit on my balcony on my eighth floor perch. They are not determined travellers as much as curious explorers. They observe and they are tactile, touching what they can, whatever surrounds them as they walk. They pass an old retaining wall. They poke and prod their little fingers into small cracks and crevices and remove small pieces of mortar that they subsequently toss to the sidewalk and half heartedly kick along as if in a pretend game of soccer.
I watch all of this with amusement, in the fine weather, as I drinkmy dark coffee. I wonder if they will ever reach their destination, their school, just a little way up the hill on their right, as they move so slowly, and peacefully, seemly content in each others company. How will their day unfold I often ponder as their destination was my own some 60 years ago when I attended the very same school.
I walked the identical route on that very same sidewalk and likely poked some of those same crevices in the field stone retaining wall that remarkably still stands straight and true after so many decades. My route to school was not all residential as it is today most of that sprawling urbanization below my balcony was once farmland and forest, at least it was in my day. As I left my family century farm house, where my family rented from a retired farmer who lived further up the road. My journey to school first took me past barns and utility sheds and then a pasture of grazing Holstein cattle. On those same spots today a Canadian Tire store now stands, the barn, sheds and house all torn down. I place the approximate location of my bedroom where the paint department is now located.
My walk passed the pastures, took me into thick forested areas where some days after school my friend and I would carelessly hunt for squirrels, not giving and rational thought as to where our 22 caliber bullets would land after we aimed straight up a tall Maple tree to take our shot. It was clearly a time of freedom with no consequences.
At one point during my journey to school I had to cross a stream where today the City has constructed a bridge to an extensive trail system, some of the trails over lapped the same I had pioneered. Going one way after the crossing I would reach my friend’s house, while going the other I would link to a trail connecting me to my school. It was a serene and solitary yet enjoyable walk when left to my adolescent thoughts and my vivid world of imagination on the forest trails, superior to any trip on a noisy crowded school bus.
Upon leaving the woods and entering civilization, my condo had not been built yet, in fact I don’t think condos were even a thingyet. My trail converged with the sidewalk where the two young boys walk today. We then linked our routes and walked in my footsteps the rest of the way to the break in the fence allowing a short cut through the school yard. Likely the similarity may end there in the yard as I imagine my typical school day in 1964 to be radically different from what these two boys experience in 2024.
I wasn’t a particularly apt student in grade 8, but I have to say it was a transformative year for me. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Stockie, had a formidable presence in the classroom and in my life. He always dressed in a dark suit and tie. He was a man in black. He looked the part of an undertaker not a teacher. As students we sat in perfectly straight rows, our books and supplies stacked and aligned neatly in a cage like shelf beneath our desks, our hands politely folded, sitting proud and tall as our teacher entered the room. There was no comment, cough or whisper nor was there humour, or talking out, there was absolute stunning discipline, teaching and learning. I think that year, with the super structure, I started to turn the academic corner and began the route to becoming a worthy student. To this day I’m still not certain if it was my absolute fear, or respect for Mr Stockie that was the initial catalyst, but I do know something in that classroom resonated and clicked in my life and provided the motivation forward.
Social Studies class is where my love for History and Geography initially took root. I was inspired by my teacher Mr Eyler, who happened to be an Ontario weight lifting champion. He was short, and obviously well built. My Eyler, despite his best efforts, due to his muscularity, could not put his arms down by his sides. It was not his strength that so inspired me, it was his kindness, knowledge and understanding that drew me to study with earnest and take real interest in his subjects.
He also kept snakes and reptiles in his classroom. It was through Mr Eyler that I launched my lucrative side business at home of raising hamsters and white mice, in large quantities to feed his boas and other classroom pets, so as it turned out he got me started in my cottage business line. My mother however was never quite pleased with the rows of cages I had built and installed in a back shed, but she never discouraged me either.
School was a pivotal place in my life, at that time. It was where I met some life-long friends, joined school clubs and teams while getting on track with my academics. Now I watch these meandering boys from my retirement condo over-looking my former public school and I wonder with all the changes and challenges how is their school day? Are kids still inspired as I was with excellent teachers, or is that just another out dated corny concept? Are there so many daily distractions with technology with such things as screens, streaming, texting and gaming? Are attention spans shorter and the capacity for discipline diminished? What are their numeracy and literacy skills like? Do they even study Home Economics or Industrial arts? Could they even build a hamster cage if they had to or make their own lunch?
I certainly would like to think, as these two boys I regularly observe, who linger and kick stones across the pavement, that they are in store for an excellent day of education and that their day will at least be something like those that I had enjoyed.
Two Young Boys…
A Walk to School
Two young boys, brothers I think, made their lingering journey to school each morning passing under my view and scrutiny as a sit on my balcony on my eighth floor perch. They are not determined travellers as much as curious explorers. They observe and they are tactile, touching what they can, whatever surrounds them as they walk. They pass an old retaining wall. They poke and prod their little fingers into small cracks and crevices and remove small pieces of mortar that they subsequently toss to the sidewalk and half heartedly kick along as if in a pretend game of soccer.
I watch all of this with amusement, in the fine weather, as I drinkmy dark coffee. I wonder if they will ever reach their destination, their school, just a little way up the hill on their right, as they move so slowly, and peacefully, seemly content in each others company. How will their day unfold I often ponder as their destination was my own some 60 years ago when I attended the very same school.
I walked the identical route on that very same sidewalk and likely poked some of those same crevices in the field stone retaining wall that remarkably still stands straight and true after so many decades. My route to school was not all residential as it is today most of that sprawling urbanization below my balcony was once farmland and forest, at least it was in my day. As I left my family century farm house, where my family rented from a retired farmer who lived further up the road. My journey to school first took me past barns and utility sheds and then a pasture of grazing Holstein cattle. On those same spots today a Canadian Tire store now stands, the barn, sheds and house all torn down. I place the approximate location of my bedroom where the paint department is now located.
My walk passed the pastures, took me into thick forested areas where some days after school my friend and I would carelessly hunt for squirrels, not giving and rational thought as to where our 22 caliber bullets would land after we aimed straight up a tall Maple tree to take our shot. It was clearly a time of freedom with no consequences.
At one point during my journey to school I had to cross a stream where today the City has constructed a bridge to an extensive trail system, some of the trails over lapped the same I had pioneered. Going one way after the crossing I would reach my friend’s house, while going the other I would link to a trail connecting me to my school. It was a serene and solitary yet enjoyable walk when left to my adolescent thoughts and my vivid world of imagination on the forest trails, superior to any trip on a noisy crowded school bus.
Upon leaving the woods and entering civilization, my condo had not been built yet, in fact I don’t think condos were even a thingyet. My trail converged with the sidewalk where the two young boys walk today. We then linked our routes and walked in my footsteps the rest of the way to the break in the fence allowing a short cut through the school yard. Likely the similarity may end there in the yard as I imagine my typical school day in 1964 to be radically different from what these two boys experience in 2024.
I wasn’t a particularly apt student in grade 8, but I have to say it was a transformative year for me. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Stockie, had a formidable presence in the classroom and in my life. He always dressed in a dark suit and tie. He was a man in black. He looked the part of an undertaker not a teacher. As students we sat in perfectly straight rows, our books and supplies stacked and aligned neatly in a cage like shelf beneath our desks, our hands politely folded, sitting proud and tall as our teacher entered the room. There was no comment, cough or whisper nor was there humour, or talking out, there was absolute stunning discipline, teaching and learning. I think that year, with the super structure, I started to turn the academic corner and began the route to becoming a worthy student. To this day I’m still not certain if it was my absolute fear, or respect for Mr Stockie that was the initial catalyst, but I do know something in that classroom resonated and clicked in my life and provided the motivation forward.
Social Studies class is where my love for History and Geography initially took root. I was inspired by my teacher Mr Eyler, who happened to be an Ontario weight lifting champion. He was short, and obviously well built. My Eyler, despite his best efforts, due to his muscularity, could not put his arms down by his sides. It was not his strength that so inspired me, it was his kindness, knowledge and understanding that drew me to study with earnest and take real interest in his subjects.
He also kept snakes and reptiles in his classroom. It was through Mr Eyler that I launched my lucrative side business at home of raising hamsters and white mice, in large quantities to feed his boas and other classroom pets, so as it turned out he got me started in my cottage business line. My mother however was never quite pleased with the rows of cages I had built and installed in a back shed, but she never discouraged me either.
School was a pivotal place in my life, at that time. It was where I met some life-long friends, joined school clubs and teams while getting on track with my academics. Now I watch these meandering boys from my retirement condo over-looking my former public school and I wonder with all the changes and challenges how is their school day? Are kids still inspired as I was with excellent teachers, or is that just another out dated corny concept? Are there so many daily distractions with technology with such things as screens, streaming, texting and gaming? Are attention spans shorter and the capacity for discipline diminished? What are their numeracy and literacy skills like? Do they even study Home Economics or Industrial arts? Could they even build a hamster cage if they had to or make their own lunch?
I certainly would like to think, as these two boys I regularly observe, who linger and kick stones across the pavement, that they are in store for an excellent day of education and that their day will at least be something like those that I had enjoyed.
Two Young Boys…
A Walk to School
Two young boys, brothers I think, made their lingering journey to school each morning passing under my view and scrutiny as a sit on my balcony on my eighth floor perch. They are not determined travellers as much as curious explorers. They observe and they are tactile, touching what they can, whatever surrounds them as they walk. They pass an old retaining wall. They poke and prod their little fingers into small cracks and crevices and remove small pieces of mortar that they subsequently toss to the sidewalk and half heartedly kick along as if in a pretend game of soccer.
I watch all of this with amusement, in the fine weather, as I drinkmy dark coffee. I wonder if they will ever reach their destination, their school, just a little way up the hill on their right, as they move so slowly, and peacefully, seemly content in each others company. How will their day unfold I often ponder as their destination was my own some 60 years ago when I attended the very same school.
I walked the identical route on that very same sidewalk and likely poked some of those same crevices in the field stone retaining wall that remarkably still stands straight and true after so many decades. My route to school was not all residential as it is today most of that sprawling urbanization below my balcony was once farmland and forest, at least it was in my day. As I left my family century farm house, where my family rented from a retired farmer who lived further up the road. My journey to school first took me past barns and utility sheds and then a pasture of grazing Holstein cattle. On those same spots today a Canadian Tire store now stands, the barn, sheds and house all torn down. I place the approximate location of my bedroom where the paint department is now located.
My walk passed the pastures, took me into thick forested areas where some days after school my friend and I would carelessly hunt for squirrels, not giving and rational thought as to where our 22 caliber bullets would land after we aimed straight up a tall Maple tree to take our shot. It was clearly a time of freedom with no consequences.
At one point during my journey to school I had to cross a stream where today the City has constructed a bridge to an extensive trail system, some of the trails over lapped the same I had pioneered. Going one way after the crossing I would reach my friend’s house, while going the other I would link to a trail connecting me to my school. It was a serene and solitary yet enjoyable walk when left to my adolescent thoughts and my vivid world of imagination on the forest trails, superior to any trip on a noisy crowded school bus.
Upon leaving the woods and entering civilization, my condo had not been built yet, in fact I don’t think condos were even a thingyet. My trail converged with the sidewalk where the two young boys walk today. We then linked our routes and walked in my footsteps the rest of the way to the break in the fence allowing a short cut through the school yard. Likely the similarity may end there in the yard as I imagine my typical school day in 1964 to be radically different from what these two boys experience in 2024.
I wasn’t a particularly apt student in grade 8, but I have to say it was a transformative year for me. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Stockie, had a formidable presence in the classroom and in my life. He always dressed in a dark suit and tie. He was a man in black. He looked the part of an undertaker not a teacher. As students we sat in perfectly straight rows, our books and supplies stacked and aligned neatly in a cage like shelf beneath our desks, our hands politely folded, sitting proud and tall as our teacher entered the room. There was no comment, cough or whisper nor was there humour, or talking out, there was absolute stunning discipline, teaching and learning. I think that year, with the super structure, I started to turn the academic corner and began the route to becoming a worthy student. To this day I’m still not certain if it was my absolute fear, or respect for Mr Stockie that was the initial catalyst, but I do know something in that classroom resonated and clicked in my life and provided the motivation forward.
Social Studies class is where my love for History and Geography initially took root. I was inspired by my teacher Mr Eyler, who happened to be an Ontario weight lifting champion. He was short, and obviously well built. My Eyler, despite his best efforts, due to his muscularity, could not put his arms down by his sides. It was not his strength that so inspired me, it was his kindness, knowledge and understanding that drew me to study with earnest and take real interest in his subjects.
He also kept snakes and reptiles in his classroom. It was through Mr Eyler that I launched my lucrative side business at home of raising hamsters and white mice, in large quantities to feed his boas and other classroom pets, so as it turned out he got me started in my cottage business line. My mother however was never quite pleased with the rows of cages I had built and installed in a back shed, but she never discouraged me either.
School was a pivotal place in my life, at that time. It was where I met some life-long friends, joined school clubs and teams while getting on track with my academics. Now I watch these meandering boys from my retirement condo over-looking my former public school and I wonder with all the changes and challenges how is their school day? Are kids still inspired as I was with excellent teachers, or is that just another out dated corny concept? Are there so many daily distractions with technology with such things as screens, streaming, texting and gaming? Are attention spans shorter and the capacity for discipline diminished? What are their numeracy and literacy skills like? Do they even study Home Economics or Industrial arts? Could they even build a hamster cage if they had to or make their own lunch?
I certainly would like to think, as these two boys I regularly observe, who linger and kick stones across the pavement, that they are in store for an excellent day of education and that their day will at least be something like those that I had enjoyed.
