[Style libre] Heads up

Last spring, I had the privilege of being writer-in-residence in a Montreal elementary school, as part of a program set up by Communication-Jeunesse and A Montreal School for All. From February to April, I visited classes of fifth and sixth graders every week.

I was feverish, a little nervous at the idea of ​​going to meet these 10-11 year olds. I had placed the residency under the sign of “celebrating our differences”, because I am working on a story inspired by it, with my illustrator friend VIGG. In his book My head house, he takes us inside the head of a little boy with attention deficit disorder. The right to be different, the praise of what distinguishes us from each other, seen through a neuro-atypical lens, seemed promising to me.

I was in a so-called “disadvantaged” school, among students who were mostly born outside Quebec and spoke a language other than French at home. Their relationship to words, to the French language and to the imagination was not the one I had known during my childhood spent in a hopelessly uniform suburb.

When we first met, I invited them to greet me in their mother tongue. Suddenly, accents, sounds and small clear voices rang out from both sides of the class to say hello to me in Punjabi, Creole, Arabic, Spanish, Tamil, etc.

From week to week, we got to know each other. A bit disconcerted, the students agreed to take up challenges that would be neither graded nor evaluated, which asked them to indulge a little and to welcome the vertigo of creation.

Thus, I learned that this little boy with long eyelashes was sometimes embarrassed to have lunches not like those of the others, but that it was too good for it to bother him; that this tall girl found her size annoying because she was often given a few years too much, but that was very practical in basketball; that this veiled young girl with her gentle gaze knew how, while chatting with others, to ensure that her veil did not act as a brake on forging ties. I found them brilliant and open-minded… Perhaps they didn’t need to tackle the theme of difference as much as I did.

One morning, I announced that there would be a writing contest. In trios, they would have to create a character, write a scene and illustrate it. Their teachers and the remedial teacher were of great help in this adventure. It must be said, the students started from afar, but there were prizes at stake, honor and also medals. “Will there be a single medal for the winning team or a medal for each student on the team? By asking this question, a little soccer player told me that he wanted to be able to feel pride, that it was a detail that was valuable to him.

With the help of the director and the physical education teacher, I organized a mini-gala. My mother unearthed a bag of jumbled medals at a flea market, which she painted by hand, one by one, in gold, silver and bronze. We made blue ones for the students who distinguished themselves by their talent, leadership, team spirit, motivation, involvement. There were also participation prizes to be won.

On a gray and chilly morning in April, in the gym of a so-called underprivileged school, a small celebration was held that I was looking forward to as much as they were. The students had written amazing stories, deployed rich and exploded imaginations, I read there their empathy, their effort, the surprise. There was a lot of excitement in the air, and I saw that morning pride light up a hundred little faces. The necks decorated with medals, the head raised… It was beautiful, it was great.

Welcome back to all students, teachers, school staff! Be proud of the small miracles you will accomplish, of the challenges you will overcome. Be honored with the path you will travel.

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