Dear Boundless Families:
I was watching your kids trudging through the heavy snowfall this morning on their way to English class. This is a workout all on its own. Lift those knees high and squint to keep the frozen water molecules from stinging your eyes.
I had to restrain my impulse to scream, like all crusty old people, “When I was your age I had to hike 90kms to school, without breakfast, coat-less, and after 10 hours of chores.”
Jimmy, their teacher, told the kids that I just gaze out the window all day by a cozy fire.
This teasing, already rampant among the ninety percent of kids returning from the Autumn, is an insight into how things go here.
I can only imagine how the new kids are processing all this novelty. What are they thinking when they see a teacher make fun of his boss? Or when they witness the ghastly sight of a group of boys trying to physically assault Spencer, their black belted Mentor. Or the exquisite cacophony of fashion, hair colour, tattoos and cultures that give new meaning to the term “diverse ecosystem.”
Indeed, there is much for the new kids to behold. On opening night, the returnees spent the evening introducing the school to the freshies. They spoke eloquently. Softly. Thoughtfully. Carefully choosing every word to paint this place in a most favourable light.
Perhaps they thought I had slipped everyone a twenty.
But, still, this trust that the new students must have observed, underlying everything that evening like cosmic background radiation, must have shocked them.
I have found that trust is an energetic commodity that you can literally feel in your hands. Its absence sullies everything. Its bounty brings exquisite cohesion.
This place has the latter. Which means the new kids are settling in so very quickly. In just a few days, they’ll own this place. Just like everyone else.
Until next time,
Steven
