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This summer we are travelling up the St Lawrence. A road trip. We’ve been meaning to for a while and this was the year we finally cemented plans and took the leap. Starting out in Ontario and making our way east, we are travelling first to Montreal, then Quebec City, Saguenay, Tadoussac and beyond … 

We have not yet made it out of Quebec yet as I write this. And my time in this beautiful province has not only afforded me rich opportunities to learn about the history and culture and surroundings in each region I visit, but also the language. 

Although I am not bilingual, as an ESL teacher I am very used to using other languages every day … to speak with students, to scaffold learning tasks, to support students as they use and expand their first languages simultaneously with English acquisition and curriculum content. And now I find myself using many of these same strategies during my summer trip.  I am constantly learning new phrases, checking the meaning of unfamiliar words on google translate, using context and gestures to aid communication … and others are doing the same for me. As the days go by, street signs, menus, pit stops, and shopping trips all become unconventional language teachers, bringing about new interactions, inviting in new words.

But one thing, above all others, has provided the most opportunities to communicate and connect with others in French. 

We got a new puppy this year and, perhaps a bit too ambitiously, we decided to bring him along. He is 6 months old now, with floppy ears and the softest black and caramel-coloured fur. He has bright white paws that make him look as though he is wearing mittens. His eyes are a solid ice blue — except for the right one, which has a little brown in it too. He is full of puppy-bright energy, sometimes pulling too hard on the leash, but always on the lookout for cuddles and treats.

He goes everywhere we go on this trip … down centuries-old cobblestone streets; onto sun-warmed patios for slow afternoon meals; down forest trails lined with pine-dotted cliffs on one side, and deep fjord blue on the other. And no matter where we bring him, it is our little puppy that has started the most conversations. I have learned how to answer delighted inquiries in French about his age, what type of dog he is, if he is friendly, and if it is alright to pet him. I somehow managed to have a short conversation about Samoyeds with a woman whose puppy took a liking to ours, both of us moving back and forth between English and French (with a lot of gestures) to communicate. I listened quietly to a lovely couple who approached and told us, using simple French and a little English, that they had just lost their dog, and saw something of him in ours. 

I love the connections that come through embracing other languages, and in using all the tools we have as human beings to communicate. And I love how my world gets a little bigger with every gesture, every sought-after word, every conversation … every time I see someone’s knowledge, personality, and feelings flow with their language — even if I do not understand everything they are saying. Whether it is during the school year when working with students and families, or on long summer trips like this, using different languages and ways to communicate is always a gift. 

As September approaches, these August days remind me at every turn of the importance of using first languages in school …  in learning, in lessons, in the way we move through the day. This fall, may you and your students discover your own new and beautiful words. 

At the end of May, I had the opportunity to attend a “Language Friendly School” conference in Hamilton. It was hosted at Glendale Secondary School, as it is the latest school in Canada to achieve this designation. There are member schools around the globe, however, including The Netherlands, Suriname, China, Germany, the UK, and others. I was particularly excited to attend this conference at Glendale, as it is the eventual destination of many students I support across the system.

I have walked these halls many times, touring with excited grade 8s and their families, and have seen the many ways both teachers and students embrace, use, and celebrate multiple languages in learning. It is not dissimilar to many elementary schools I visit, which are quite “language friendly” themselves!

The official designation of “Language Friendly School”, however, is a distinguished one. According to its website, “the Language Friendly School is both a label and a global network of schools that embrace and value all the languages spoken by their students … they actively foster an environment where these languages thrive within the school community.”

Two guest speakers from this organization presented at our conference, and discussed all the reasons why including multiple languages in schools is critical for student learning and well-being. They were the ones we are all familiar with: that students learn faster and better in their first language; that language is an inseparable part of identity, and to exclude it from the classroom is to in many ways exclude students themselves; that multilingualism benefits everyone, not just students learning English; and that first language maintenance is essential not only for strong English acquisition, but also for the vital connection to family and culture, to say nothing of future education and employment opportunities.

The presentation was full of celebratory speeches, examples of students’ multilingual learning and what a Language Friendly school looks like, as well as a moving multilingual performance by the Glendale school choir. Yet there were somber moments as well. Perhaps one of the most impactful occurred during the slide presentation, when a quote attributed to a former principal at Silver Creek Public School in Mississauga appeared on the screen:

“I went into school with two languages. I left with one. This is the exact opposite of what education should do: it should add things, not take away things.”

And there it is. This statement, in its stark simplicity, is a devastating reminder of what can happen out of sight, out of anyone’s notice, when we use only English in our schools.

Perhaps this is why the Language Friendly Schools website has a similarly brief yet poignant objective:

Language as a resource.

Language as a right.

A right, indeed. Language is who we are. To exclude it, consciously or unconsciously, from the school environment is antithetical to our most sacred duties as teachers.

(On happier note, the above school, Silver Creek Elementary in Mississauga, is also designated a Language Friendly School.)

I look forward to detailing in subsequent blogs all the ways in which the elementary schools I support are language friendly. For now I will leave you with a quote that was lovingly scrawled in colourful chalk in one of the classrooms at Glendale:

Language is the blood of the soul, into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.

– Oliver Wendell Holmes

If you’ve ever had the chance to listen to Dr. Vidya Shah speak, you’ll know why she’s one of my favourite activist educators. As an associate professor at York University’s Faculty of Education, her commitment to racial justice and equity is clear every time I listen to her speak about her research in leadership, schools, and community.
Recently, I was able to hear her speak at an ETFO event and she referenced The Tragic Gap, something Parker Palmer, an American author and educator, explores. Imagine holding two separate ways of knowing – the idealist who dreams about the possibilities of all change and how the world should be. On the opposing side is the cynic who is skeptical and possibly defeatist; they are only able to see the negative reality of a situation without seeing any possibilities.
I’ve been standing on both of these sides at different points in education. I have dreamt about the possibilities of how my ideal classroom and school would look, sound, and feel like. I have dreamt of the resources that would be available for students, families, and schools. But I’ve also found myself on the cynical side, wondering if there will ever be enough time to make all of those dreams a reality. I imagine these viewpoints as physically standing on two different cliffs, overlooking the same landscape and interpreting two different ways of understanding what I see. On the idealist side, I would see the beauty of nature, tall, lush trees and rolling waters. On the cynic side, I would see challenging mountains to climb and dangerous rapids.
What is interesting about these seemingly opposing viewpoints is that they are both actually creating inaction and dishonesty. Simply dreaming and imagining the ideal without a plan creates a place of inaction. Just as being cynical and only seeing impassable obstacles fosters disengagement; we will never be able to climb higher or move fast enough to avoid the dangers and pitfalls.
However, there is a third way of seeing and knowing. The space of learning and activism is where we hold the tension between these two spaces in order to stand upright and maintain our balance. This is The Tragic Gap. It’s acknowledging the reality of the obstacles we face while striving toward our idealist goals. The Tragic Gap is the mindset of honesty and reality balanced with a vision for creating a better space. In this tension of opposites, we don’t get caught up in idealist visions without action and we also don’t leave space for ourselves to become so cynical that we are paralysed with inaction.
What does all this theory look like in the classroom? Why is it important for teachers to stand in the gap?
I’ve been doing a lot of dreaming this year – radically dreaming and reimagining education. I’ve dreamt of relationships based on trust and partnership, spaces where students feel safe to be their authentic selves, and school as purposeful communities. I’ve spent time thinking about what culturally sustaining means to me and all of the necessary components that allow children to also define who they are without fear of judgment. So many radical dreams this year!
However, in this journey I have also learned that dreams can be a lofty goal. They sometimes seem impossible to achieve and that can lead me to only see the barriers. Of course we all want students to see themselves through books in the classroom and libraries, but books are expensive and libraries need weeding and new books need purchasing…. It takes time and resources to make all of these radical dreams a reality.
Coming to the end of this year, I’m reflecting on what those dreams are and how I have moved toward making them a reality. Educators are always a reflective bunch; it’s hard not to be in a job where assessment and next steps are built into every day. What I have learned this year is that it’s the small actions that will keep me grounded. Intentionally using one book to draw out conversation and emphasize depth of learning, to hold myself accountable to create connections with students, notice who needs to be centered and who always is, to find joyful moments together that build our community to be as safe as possible – and to know what to do when it isn’t.
The end of the school year doesn’t signify the end of my radical dreams for education. Rather, I can stand in the gap between my dreams and reality holding onto that space of learning and growth to continue learning and growing as an educator. This will likely continue happening for the rest of my career – and likely beyond. And I bet the view from this tragic gap will be beautiful.

Having a supporting role in equity, inclusion and anti-racism, I am often involved in supporting anti-bias conversations. Working with kindergarten teachers this year, was such a joyful learning experience. Using picture books, we decided that we want to make space to challenge biases and stereotypes while also remembering that students are children. Their views and thoughts are shaped by the world around them, including systems of oppression that they can’t yet recognize through their daily interactions with media, social media, conversations, books, and even the way the clothing section is organized where they shop. Our goal in having these conversations isn’t to create discomfort, it is to create a safe space where we can learn about and celebrate all identities in a respectful way.

I’ve learned through this process that things don’t always go as planned. At times, even as young as kindergarten, we have to have some difficult conversations with students. As educators and adults in the room, our responses to these difficult conversations and statements can set the tone of safety in the classroom. It’s challenging!

Spending time with teachers anticipating and preparing for these conversations was helpful. We anticipated what might be said and just as importantly we prepared our responses. We recognized how we feel in the moment and reminded ourselves the intention is to maintain the safety and integrity of the space. It’s important to interrupt harmful language and statements – every time we see or hear them – both for those who are saying hurtful things and for those affected or hurt by them. However, we also want to make sure that we don’t leave it at interrupting or correction. Ideally, we want to engage in conversation with the children, explicitly equip them with skills on how to come back from mistakes, and help to explain why it was harmful. A tall order for early learners!

A resource we found that was really helpful is a text named Start Here, Start Now: A Guide to Antibias and Antiracist Work In Your School Community by Liz Kleinrock. This text addresses many of the questions and challenges educators have about getting started with antibias and antiracist work, using a framework for tackling perceived barriers from a proactive stance and was invaluable in helping us to frame our response to difficult conversations.

On pages 44-45, Kleinrock addresses the question, “How can I hold space for difficult conversations in my class?” She describes three possible ways the educator could react when engaged in difficult conversations, a knee jerk reaction, an interrupting strategy, or a call in conversation. A knee jerk reaction is the reaction we first give from a place of shock or emotion while an interrupting strategy stops the harm from happening in the moment. A call-in conversation is one that invites students to reflect on the impact of their words and works collaboratively to determine how to do better. As an educator, I could relate to all three of these reactions and reflecting on these possible ways to respond really helped us to centre ourselves in the intention of the moment.

For example, one of our conversations was about the story “The Sandwich Swap.**” When planning with this book, we anticipated that students might say something like, “Ew! I hate stinky foods, too!” In fact, we acknowledged that we had heard students saying something similar at the nutrition table in the past. How were we preparing to respond? How did those types of comments make us feel and make the other children in the class feel? How did the other students in the class react – did anyone join in and agree or empower those comments or did someone call out those comments? And we had to acknowledge how we’ve already responded to those types of comments in the learning space.

Using Kleinrock’s framework, we recognized the following types of possible reactions:

Knee jerk reaction: “Don’t say that! That’s mean!”
Interrupting strategy: “Lots of people like different foods. It’s not okay to put down what other people enjoy.”
Call in conversation: “I understand that people like different things. When we say things like “Ew! Or Gross!” It’s hurtful to others and can make them feel sad or embarrassed about foods that are special to them. What is something we can do or say that can help to lift people up instead of putting people down?”

This framework helped us to determine which of these responses made most sense for us. We could feel more confident entering that conversation understanding our purpose: making space for students to learn how to navigate their emotions, words, and impact on others.

My biggest learning from this experience was how valuable it is to prepare for conversations. Taking the time to think about what to say in the moment helped me to feel ready to engage in “call in conversations” rather than be overwhelmed and unprepared resulting in a knee jerk reaction. While it’s hard to find the time to prepare for every conversation, remember the necessity of interrupting in the moment. Revisiting conversations later with the individual or as a whole class can re-open that call-in conversation in a meaningful way.

**The Sandwich Swap by Rania Al Abdullah and Kelly DiPucchio. In this story, best friends Lily and Salma always eat lunch together; Lily eats peanut butter and Salma eats hummus. After saying some hurtful things about each others’ lunches that were lovingly made by their parents, their friendship is at risk.

Our days are filled with chatter. I know mine is. And it begins the moment I open my eyes … all the usual half-awake exchanges as the kids get ready for school and dawdle through breakfast, my words becoming more alert and urgent as I shoo them out the door to catch the school bus. Then it’s the radio host spieling off the hourly news as I drive to my first school, words coming out at a clip. And when I arrive for yard duty, welcoming students and families, their greetings are morning-bright and plentiful. As the day progresses, multiple text-to-speech messages to beloved colleagues usually occur, about an unexpected event, confirming a procedure, or maybe just seeing how they are doing … and in return characters pop up on my screen, gifts of script that are my support and comfort as I navigate my role.  And finally, the classroom itself, filled to the brim and bustling with nearly six and half hours of language each day.

Our world and our classrooms can be predominantly verbal linguistic in nature. Life is encoded in language, and as an ESL teacher, I have become acutely aware of the isolation and exhaustion that can occur if a student is just beginning to learn that language. Everything is a challenge, everything takes time. As peers effortlessly receive and toss back messages, multilingual language learners continually try to deduce meaning, search for context, and cross-translate in order to understand and respond.

As I have noted many times in this blog, I know countless teachers who are exceptional at making the language of instruction accessible to MLLs.  They use visuals as they speak during lessons, they pre-teach vocabulary before tasks, they provide sentence stems before speaking in groups, they activate prior knowledge in first language … again, I could fill a page with the strategies I have seen.

But sometimes, sometimes there is a time for quiet. Where we remove words and language from the learning task altogether. And in these moments, when I observe MLLs, I see the tense expression slowly ebb from their faces, worry dissolving. Suddenly, everyone is on an even playing field. Suddenly the labour of navigating English gives way to flowing visual creations, construction, movement, silent collaboration.

Here are a few of my favorites …

Sequencing games in which students must line up in a particular order (by birthday month starting at January, for example) but must figure out the order silently, using nonverbal cues to convey information.

Tableaux and interpretive movement, in which students explore character and emotion and story development through motion and physicality. No one speaks. The room is simply filled with still-life scenes, expression, and silent, unified observation.

Math games with pattern blocks, in which one student at a time views a secret shape constructed by the teacher, and then returns to their table group to try to recreate that multicoloured shape from memory with their own set of blocks. As students each take a turn viewing the teacher’s shape, one by one, they return to their group members and help each other adjust and finish the shape accurately. The catch? No talking.

These are just a couple of options, but there are countless ways to engage students in rich learning, in momentary quiet. Just a little bit of time, for the cognitive load to ease.  And I suspect it is not only MLLs that benefit from the occasional learning task in which language is removed. The introverted child, who prefers to contemplate before speaking, has ample time to do so during silent drama tableaux. The student with language output challenges, their sharp minds usually frustrated by the inability to pull words out quickly … suddenly their insights and ideas flow unimpeded. And sometimes … sometimes everyone benefits from a little solitude, a slowing of the day’s frenetic pace into soundlessness.

Hoping you and your students, from time to time, find togetherness in this most wonderful kind of quiet.

Writing has become a hot topic for Ontario educators, with the new language curriculum emphasizing the importance of explicitly teaching specific language conventions to boost the written communication skills of students.

What I fear that has been lost in the race toward implementing structured literacy is the joy that comes with writing creatively. While it is undeniably important to know morphology, complex sentences, conjunctions, and all the different conventions of writing, what has always “hooked” me and many students I have taught is the ways in which we can use writing for artistic self expression.

The team of ESL/ELD educators I work with decided to plan a writing project that would explore the possibilities written expression across languages. Funded by the Council of Ontario Directors of Education (CODE), we selected several classes across the board to participate in a learning cycle that would culminate in an exhibition of student work. For the purpose of gauging impact and effect, we chose middle school classes from French Immersion, mainstream, and English language learner contexts. One group was exclusively students in English language development programs, meaning that they had significant interruptions to their formal schooling.

Learning and Working with Living Hyphen

To lead the workshops, we brought in Living Hyphen, a Toronto-based arts organization dedicated to empowering the voices of diverse communities through writing. Living Hyphen’s website is an exciting place, filled with dates of upcoming sessions and opportunities to purchase their books and magazines.

I first learned about Living Hyphen with the provincial group of educators I work with in the field of language acquisition,  ESL/ELD Resource Group of Ontario (ERGO). At a meeting last year, Justine Abigail Yu, the founder, delivered a presentation and writing workshop on supporting multilingual students in sharing their own lived experiences through creative writing.

We invited her to lead workshops for a project we wanted to organize for several classes in my board. In her relaxed, engaging, and unique workshops, students explored multiple writing prompts that brought out the nuances of their home language, the complexity of their identities, and their personal connections with place.

Some of the writing prompts included:

Tell me where you’re from without telling me where you’re from.

What brings you comfort?

While these prompts seem simple, they were powerful ways to get kids writing. I was actually surprised how engaged kids could be with just a pen and a notebook – a radical shift from the world of technological tools, graphic organizers, and multi-step activities we often work so hard to plan for classes.

Perhaps most importantly, students were excited to write and engaged with the work. While it does always help to have someone new in your classroom, Justine brought her skills of relationship building and her unique perspective as a writer and activist to motivate students toward producing amazing ideas to build upon later.

And yes, every student in the class could participate and find their entry point into the writing. Of course, you may need to provide scaffolds for students – translators, scribing, and additional prompting – but by the end every student produced something new.

By the end of the workshop, students had a notebook full of brainstorms and ideas they could evolve into longer, polished pieces.

After the Workshop

When the workshops were finished, we were tasked with the very “teacherly” task of motivating students to develop their brainstorms into a polished piece of written work and a piece of art. To add a sense of purpose, we decided to create an anthology of student writing just as Living Hyphen had done with their writers.

We also teamed up with our Empowering Modern Learners team, who went to each class and provided a workshop on how to use different tech tools to create video and digital art to compliment their writing. Students were excited to learn about the features of Adobe Express: students can easily make narrated videos with their slides.

Finally, we brought in a variety of art supplies for students to experiment with. Students created paintings and sculptures to display alongside their poems.

The final and most exciting step is to take the students to the Peel Archive and Museum of Art to exhibit their work to their families. There is an existing exhibit that parallels the student’s work, done by adults, so we will be contributing art and work across generations.