H E A D W A T E R S
N E S T
a Time for Listening BY BETHANY LEE
Indigenous Culture in Dufferin Dufferin County Cultural Resource Circle is an Indigenous-led, not-for-profit organization that aims to create a safe space for the restoration and revival of traditional Indigenous culture in the county. dufferincountyculturalresourcecircle.org —
Honouring Indigenous Children In honour of Indigenous children found buried at former residential schools, the DCCRC invites you to visit the Mino Kamik Medicine Wheel Garden for reflection. When you visit, you may see chalk outlines of feet — these outlines represent children found and the many others lost in residential schools — and you are welcome to add your own. You can leave a pair of children’s shoes or moccasins in commemoration, or contribute stones painted orange as you reflect with your children at this site. Did you know that medicines in the garden may be harvested responsibly for free to use for smudging? This is a special site and worth a visit. The medicine wheel garden is located in Bravery Park behind the Alder Rec Centre in Orangeville.
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ILLUS TR ATION BY SHEL AGH ARMS TRONG
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ometimes we describe our eyesight as “laser-focused.” Lately, I’ve been finding it’s my ears that are laser-focused. It started during the pandemic. Perhaps it was the need to really take in as much as I could from the person on the screen, who was just 14 inches from my face, but 70 kilometres away. I needed more information to understand the context of their words than ever before. I was finding it hard to tell if someone stiffened up in response to what I was saying, or if their legs were shaking under the table because they were nervous. Were they sweaty and rushed because they’d been chasing their kids or dog, or tending to an elderly parent, just before they came on screen? Or because they were uncertain about how to get through the mountain of sometimes traumatic work ahead of them? I couldn’t tell. Many people keep their cameras off. Can we blame them?
In our controlled, pre-pandemic office environ ment, communications were more predictable. Mostly everyone was calm. When they were happy and excited, it stood out, same when if someone was even slightly agitated – and all of it was in the context of work. Someone rushing to my desk meant they had important work-related news and we had a problem to solve. How someone walked into a room revealed a lot. I knew what was up. Like us, kids have experienced a disconnect with the move to online schooling. How do they know if they’re doing a good job? When is the teacher leaning in on a certain subject, forcing their marker across the whiteboard with skippy squeaks of excitement? There haven’t been the small, individual nods of approval during the past year and a half, or conversely the ability for a teacher to spot red-faced anxiety and hold someone after class for a chat. Students’ screens were mostly nulled, teachers exasperated, and kids
lost in the in-between internet ether. It’s hard to grasp the full meaning of what is being “said” when we aren’t face to face. When I see the ALL CAPS MESSAGES sent to my son, Adrian, from his teacher, they “sound” like shouting – not really acceptable communication no matter how frustrating the situation. “That frustration is about the entire system, the entire class being disengaged behind their screens,” explains the teacher when I ask him what the text exchanges are all about. “I’m at my wits’ end,” he admits. I’m sure Adrian has missed much of the opportunity to learn from his smart and capable teachers by literally not having the full picture. During the pandemic he’s gravitated to in-person learning when he’s been able, albeit from the far back corner. It’s who he is. A listener and an observer. On the other hand, juxtaposed with the lack of holistic information and the ability to read the room,
