Chapter 1 - The painting and the chair
The air is cool as I hurry to meet my volunteering colleagues at the school’s entrance. The calendar says it’s the middle of spring, but the signs I love about the season, and can’t wait to see soon after the first snow of winter, are faint. I wear a wool blazer to ward off the chill. Winter, it seems, is not ready to let go.
My colleagues smile as I approach.
“What lovely morning sunshine,” says the first one.
“Much appreciated,” says the second. “I’m tired of winter, and this year it seems to be dragging on.”
I pull my blazer tighter around me. I don’t want to button it and make it look like I’m freezing, which I am. My colleagues clearly value the extra time in the sunshine before our appointment with the principal. I don’t want to rush them on my account.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say. “I got a bit delayed.” The rural school is squeezed between a forest and a narrow lane, which has a ditch on the other side that’s too deep for my liking. The parking lot is a gravel strip between the school and the lane. Saying I got delayed is a face-saving version of the truth; I took an embarrassing amount of time trying to avoid tipping into the ditch as I inched my car into a parking spot.
The buzzer rings, opening the always-locked doors to the school. The school is small. All its pupils—junior kindergarten through Grade 8—could fit into a single school bus.
We walk through the double doors. The principal waves to us from the other end of the short hallway. He’s walking with a student, a girl about seven years old. She stops. He waits patiently beside her. We wave back to the principal, motioning that we’ll stay at the entrance until he’s ready to meet. School has been underway for an hour, and the hallway is empty save for the principal and student. I wonder why she’s not in class.
I take this time to look around. I see three classroom doors to my right. I peek through the window of one of them. Beyond are four students, all about 10 years old, sitting at tables arranged in a semi-circle facing the teacher. The students are on chairs that look like big bouncy balls. I make a mental note to ask the principal about them.
On the other side of the hallway are bathrooms for the students, a very small storage room and what appears to be an equally small office. Brightly coloured and animated drawings by students line the walls, along with the traditional framed photograph of the most recent graduating class. All the students in the photograph sport huge grins. I smile instinctively, well remembering the great sense of joy and relief at graduation.
The little student starts walking toward us, moving slowly from one side of the hallway to the other. The principal follows. The child stops again, a few steps from us. The principal stops too. The child gazes at some of her schoolmates’ paintings on the wall.
“Look,” she says to the principal, pointing to one of the paintings. The principal comments on the picture. He’s trying to draw her out, I notice, asking the child what the painting makes her think about, and what she likes about it. The child smiles shyly.
The child’s classroom is opposite the painting. The principal gently invites her to go in.
“Thank you for waiting,” he says to us, closing the door behind her. We shake hands as we introduce ourselves.
“Please come in,” he says, ushering us into the small office next to the small storage room. I can see that the storage room isn’t big enough; the principal’s office has taken in the overflow.
We start with a few pleasantries, finding out that the principal lives in a village near me. He enjoys the commute, he says. It’s a good time to plan and reflect on the workday.
One of my colleagues outlines ideas for volunteer support during the school year starting in the fall, such as art workshops or reading books to students. The principal nods. The volunteer group has been a big help to his school, and others in nearby communities, for several years. Everyone is looking forward to continuing the partnership.
“What options would you like to start with?” my colleague asks.
The principal opens a folder and starts speaking quickly. I’m the notetaker for my colleagues, and my pen flies across my notebook as I try to keep up.
The one-on-one learning time between a volunteer and student is very useful, the principal says. Some students miss a fair bit of school, so the individual support helps them keep up.
Other students relish the extra attention. Education is not always a priority with the students’ parents, the principal says. The children treasure this one-on-one learning time with an adult.
A third volunteer will soon fill me in on the challenges some parents face in supporting their children’s education.
The principal continues. The school has one special education teacher and a few education assistants. It can be hard to find supply teachers when extra hands are needed. A small budget is one roadblock. Finding educators available to help is another. The school can always use more volunteers.
Volunteers are in high demand at several schools, though. Can we backfill with the education assistants when volunteers aren’t available, we ask. That really isn’t an option, the principal replies. The education assistants spend a lot of their time helping students overcome behavioural issues. They don’t have much to spare after that.
I’m reminded of the little girl walking slowly down the hallway. The principal nods. Students outside their classrooms aren’t left alone, he says. Wandering off is a risk.
What about the bouncy-style chairs I saw in one of the classrooms, I ask.
Wiggle seats, the principal tells us. They help restless students release pent-up energy so they can focus as much as possible on their schoolwork.
Our discussion turns to how we can help with funding. The students’ families, the principal says, don’t have the resources to help pay for school activities or supplies, so our support is welcome. I make a list of specific items to help purchase, putting art supplies at the top.
We wrap up our meeting. The principal, I observed, had kept checking his cellphone for messages. He’s always on call, so we don’t want to take up any more of his time. We thank him for meeting with us.
My colleagues and I start planning our next steps as we walk to our cars. There are other principals we should meet, says one. My second colleague suggests a few names.
I tell them I’m going to talk with a third volunteering colleague who has been helping in local schools for many years. Her insight and knowledge are enormously impressive, and there’s a lot I need to learn.
I ease my car out of the parking spot, carefully negotiating the side of the ditch, and head toward the big town. I’m meeting the third volunteer at a café there. What she tells me will provide important context to what I learned this morning and become a driving force behind the Robins Hollow Charity Fund. Please join us here.
Missy
When families struggle, children struggle too
Statistics Canada shows that children living with socio-economic hardship are more likely to experience inattention, hyperactivity and behavioural challenges that make learning difficult. Creative experiences in music, art and writing help build confidence, improve focus and support emotional well-being — powerful tools for children facing adversity.
Creativity changes lives. Your donation to the Robins Hollow Charity Fund helps children and youth discover their potential and grow in confidence, hope and success.
Please give generously.
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