Scarborough

by Catherine Hernandez

  BING

  O Canada! Our home and native land! ...

  The anthem played, as it always did, each and every single day. Standing before the perforated white square, we heard Celine Dion’s voice, muffled and nasal through the circa 1980s PA system. All of us, our shoulders sagging and sad, let our ears ring with the familiar sound.

  It was the first day back from Christmas holidays. If things were as usual, we would all be wearing our holiday presents. New jeans. New sweaters. New indoor shoes. New hairbands. Instead, we were wearing black ribbons pinned to our lapels. I fingered the sharp edge of my lapel pin with the skin of my thumb, positioning it so that it wouldn’t pierce my chest by accident.

  The microphone was adjusted on the PA system causing feedback.

  “Good morning, Rouge Hill,” said Mrs Rhodes, the coolie hat collector. I could tell by the way her voice was wavering, she was doing that white people thing when tragedy hits. She held the sorrow in her throat, hard and tight. “As many of you know, a sad event occurred during the holidays. Laura Mitkowski, who attended Mrs Landau’s grade one class, is no longer with us.” A long pause. A gulp. The microphone was adjusted again. “Her father, Cory Mitkowski, also perished.” A pause. “Although many of us are sad that the fire that consumed their apartment took them from us, we are very happy that the other children at Rouge Hill who live in the same building survived and are here today attending class.”

  The microphone was adjusted yet again. A bit of a knock was heard on the apparatus. A couple more knocks.

  “Thank you.” It was a different voice now, from the background.

  “Boozhoo,” the voice continued, and it sounded like an old lady. A changing of the guard. We could hear Mrs Rhodes blow her nose. “My name is Elder Fay. Boozhoo means hello in my language, Ojibwa. I wanted to let you know I have come here to be your auntie today. All of you. Today I will be your moms, your aunties, and your grandmothers. I know a lot of us here are very sad about the news of Laura.”

  Sylvie stood beside me, her legs twisting, her shoulders convulsing in sobs.

  “But we will meet today to talk things out, so that we can all know Laura is going to be okay.”

  A pipe ceremony was going to be held in the library. The hallways were foggy with the sweet smell of smudge. In the classrooms, in the locker rooms, in the staff room, winter sun painted the smoke into brush strokes. Our shuffling was solemn and quiet as we made our way to the library. Using their tissue-holding hands, the teachers with their red-eyed faces ushered us into concentric semicircles around Elder Fay. We sat obediently, criss-cross applesauce, on the faded carpet. Shoulders heavy. Faces wet. Even Aiden and Cole were crying, wiping away snot from their faces. Sylvie and I sat next to each other holding hands. Her hands were always sweaty.

  Elder Fay sat quietly and patiently with a quilted blanket draped over her legs, her old eyes blinking away age and nearsightedness. Once everyone was seated, she began.

  “Our friend Laura had seven years in this life. She got to see lots of things. And she got to meet a lot of you and make friends. She was a beautiful girl. But the Creator said it was time to go, and this can be very sad. It’s okay to feel sad.”

  “Now, look what I have here.” Elder Fay took out an eagle feather and put it down on a table next to the burning sage and all of her pipe implements. “I will put our friend the eagle feather here to watch over us and help us in our pipe ceremony.” The non-Indigenous kids moved from side to side to watch. The Indigenous kids stared into the distance, something familiar. She began to put tobacco into the pipe. “I will smoke it for you. And my friend here,” she indicated Levy, from grade six, sitting beside her, “he is going to help me light the pipe.”

  Levy had a brown square poker face and a closely shaven head, save for a braid running down the back of it. Although he was diminutive, he knew the protocol well. He took the matches from Elder Fay’s table. Solemnly and with eyes at half mast, he expertly struck the red-tipped match against the side of the box and placed it over the pipe. Elder Fay drew in the fire, and it became smoke.

  I imagined Laura in her apartment, the smoke filling the room. Trying to wake her father. In Cory’s dreams, he was camping under the stars.

  “While I am smoking, you can all help by thinking good thoughts about Laura, okay?”

  I closed my eyes, doing as Elder Fay told me to, and thought good thoughts of Laura. I remembered her eating haw flakes with me and Sylvie. I remembered her dancing in her fairy costume. I remembered her at the snack table, eating Cheerios. I remembered her trying to teach me jump rope. I remembered Ms Hina and all of our parents lifting the parachute blanket up high to catch air so we could pretend it was a house or a spaceship. I remembered Laura touching the parachute fabric, laughing and running around me. I remembered her and her dad walking out of the school before the holidays, and her looking back at me and waving. I remembered her well.

  That afternoon, when I came home from school, I snuck into Ma’s dresser drawer to retrieve the Ziploc bag of Pa’s foot tracings. I hid in my room and placed the paper foot outlines on the floor. Size 10, Florsheim shoes. His favourite. I placed my chubby, size-four feet over them, no socks. So much further to go.

  DAILY REPORT

  January 3, 2012

  Facilitator: Hina Hassani

  Location: Rouge Hill Public School

  Attendance:

  Parent/Guardian/Caregiver

  Children (one per line please)

  Marie Beaudoin

  Sylvie Beaudoin Johnny Beaudoin

  Edna Espiritu

  Bernard Espiritu

  Helen McKay

  Finnegan Everson Liam Williams

  Fern Donahue

  Paulo Sanchez Kyle Keegan

  Natalia Angelo

  Marca Angelo

  Notes:

  It was a very sad day here at the centre. I kept looking at the attendance sheet, wishing Cory was going to show up with Laura. I still can’t believe they’re both gone. Had a few tears during circle time, to be honest. All the kids and I were feeling it. I saw Laura every day here at the centre. So we were very close, although she rarely said a word. She just watched me make snacks every day. The funeral is scheduled for this Saturday, and Laura’s teacher, Mrs Landau, and I will be there for support. Since I have not used any of my sick days or mental-health days, I will do so next Monday. I will most definitely need it. I will fill out an official online request, as per protocol.

  Weekly supplies requested:

  2% milk

  three bags, please

  crackers

  one box

  cream cheese

  one tub

  apples

  one bag

  Jane Fulton

  January 4, 2011

  12:00 p.m. (4 hours ago)

  To

  Hi, Hina:

  Thanks so much for letting us know the nature of recent events. I saw the news and couldn’t believe it myself. I mentioned this at your performance review, but perhaps it needs mentioning again: All daily reports need to focus on the details of attendance, outreach actions on our behalf, and activities done with the kids. I know it is tempting to make the notes section personal. If this seems like a challenge, we can discuss over coffee sometime soon. My door is always open. Just let me know when.

  As well, I want to caution you that community members are always in need, and it can be hard to draw a line with them. Try to keep personal lives out of the picture. Remember, your focus is family literacy, not social work. I know there are grey areas, and I appreciate the emotions that you lovingly put into the centre. But if we don’t draw the line, our hearts can be hurt a million times over, and we start to do things such as booking off mental health days. If you need some skill-building to support you, we can chat anytime.

  I have received your request to take Monday off, and I propose that we discuss some strategies for you rather than you t
aking time from the all-important work you do in the community. I will be making my rounds to visit the centres in the east district regions, so I can drop by the centre this Monday, perhaps around 11:00 a.m.

  Take care!

  Jane Fulton, MSW

  Supervisor, Ontario Reads Program

  Reading is a way for me to expand my mind, open my eyes, and fill up my heart.

  —Oprah Winfrey

  Me

  January 4, 2011

  2:00 p.m. (2 hours ago)

  To Jane Fulton

  Jane,

  Thanks for your feedback.

  To be honest with you, I am appalled by your email. One of the children in our centres has died in a house fire. I think there must be people in this community who perhaps only brushed shoulders with the Mitkowski family once or twice who are shedding more tears than you.

  This is a tragic loss. And I am deeply saddened by it. I have a right to feel those feelings and to take a mental health day. And no, I will not discuss these feelings with you over coffee during my free time.

  In future, I will reserve my notes for logistical, statistical, cold-hearted information for your funding and development officer, but today is a different day, and I hope you understand.

  Laura was not a news item to me, Jane. She was a child. And we failed her. We all failed her. And you are failing her again by asking me to feel nothing.

  Sincerely,

  Hina Hassani, Facilitator

  Ontario Reads Program, Rouge Hill Public School

  Ryan Hoffman

  January 6 2011 8:35 a.m. (2 hours ago)

  To

  Hina Hassani,

  Thank you for your call to our union and for your email message. I apologize for not getting back to you yesterday, as my family and I had just returned from our trip to New Orleans.

  As your union representative, I have reviewed the series of messages between you and your supervisor, Jane Fulton, and there is definitely cause for concern. We do have a pretty strong case re: Islamaphobic comments about your hijab and re: breaking contract rules by expecting you to do outreach beyond your work week and not granting you a mental health day following the death of one of the centre’s children.

  Can you give me a shout at the office? I have a district union meeting at 3 p.m., but it should be done in an hour. We can talk in detail and perhaps set up a meeting with your management to talk about recourse.

  In the meantime, please draft me a basic timeline of your interactions with Ms. Fulton. I would like further details about her criticism of your attendance at the child’s funeral. Please know that attending the funeral of one of your students is not, by any means, crossing a line. In fact, I am certain that management did not follow protocol re: trauma to its staff, which would include a student death.

  Anyway, please give me a call this afternoon, and we can chat more.

  Ryan Hoffman, District 10 Representative United Teacher’s Union of Ontario

  PART 3

  SPRING

  The sound of ice cracking and rivers flowing. The Rouge conservation area is alive again. Three fawns travel like secrets through the forest at sunset.

  At the corner of Markham Road and Lawrence Avenue

  Elders are finally able to brave the slightly warmer weather to showcase their wares. Expansive hooked rugs with images of lions on them. Bed sheets dedicated to the memory of Bob Marley. Who buys them? No one knows.

  On Starspray Boulevard

  Ravinder Kaur happily puts a sold sticker on a sale sign. Another house sold to another brown family in an otherwise white neighbourhood.

  Evalyn Chau

  February 12 2011 9:40am (4 hours ago)

  To

  Hello, Hina:

  My name is Evalyn Chau, and I am the successor to Mrs Jane Fulton, your former supervisor. I want to extend a warm greeting to you as I enter my new position. I am aware of the unfortunate circumstances in which Mrs Fulton was dismissed and the details re: the disagreement between you. I want to express my heartfelt sadness that such discrimination would take place. I also want to get to know you and to ensure that we start our relationship as supervisor-facilitator off on the right foot!

  I have read in great detail the numerous letters sent to the union in response to the situation with Mrs Fulton. As you may know, community members living in the Kingston/Galloway area who you have served at the centre this school year wrote letters in support of your character and your positive effect on their lives. I was moved to tears.

  I have seen numerous signed petitions in support of a change in policy. But the fully written letters in support of your case against Mrs Fulton are noteworthy.

  One letter in particular had my attention with every word.

  To Whom It May Concern:

  My name is Marie Beaudoin and I, along with my children Sylvie and Johnny, attend the literacy centre regularly. This centre is located within the Rouge Hill Public School.

  I could tell you that we attend the centre because I need a place for my youngest, Johnny, to play, especially since he has developmental issues.

  But truthfully, we use it as a place to be normal and to have something to eat, mainly breakfast, so that my Sylvie can attend class with a full stomach.

  When I met Ms Hina the first time, I was scared she may judge me for having these two hungry kids. But she never has.

  Sylvie’s favourite breakfast is Crispix cereal, and Ms Hina always ensures she’s stocked up for us.

  Being First Nations, we have enjoyed that there are at least three books in Ojibwa on the shelf. This is not our language, as I am Mi’kmaq, but it really matters to me that there are some books my kids can relate to.

  We live in a shelter. This means it never feels right to put anything anywhere, because it’s not home yet.

  But at the centre, Ms Hina always makes sure Sylvie can put her paintings up, and she’s welcome to the toys like they’re hers.

  I know the disagreement between Ms Hina and her manager was because she felt Ms Hina was getting too personal with the folks here.

  The truth is you can’t NOT get too personal with us. And let me tell you, there is DRAMA! Can’t help it. It’s Scarborough (lol).

  Ms Hina is a very kind person who loves her job. Most importantly, she is honoured to do her job. Heck, I’m not honoured to be a parent sometimes. But Ms Hina is honoured to know us. Hardly anyone out here is honoured to know us folks. Most of us are dirt poor, and our parents are embarrassed by us. But Ms Hina is different.

  I want to tell you to call me if you have any questions, but I don’t have a phone (lol). I guess you can see me at the centre if you want to discuss this letter with me.

  Sincerely,

  Marie Beaudoin

  Hina, I applaud you for earning such a letter and for cultivating such meaningful relationships. You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.

  I see that you are attending the workshop re: introverted and extroverted children at the Professional Development Day next Friday. Can I treat you to lunch that day?

  Great job, and bye for now.

  Sincerely,

  Evalyn

  BING

  School was closed for the day, which meant I got to spend my time with Ma at the nail salon. Usually this excites me because it means I’m in charge of disinfecting all the implements. All the estheticians hand me their dishes filled with nail clippers and files. I wash them, imagining I’m a surgeon rescuing a man with a bullet wound to the chest.

  “Forceps!” I say to myself and pass the cuticle cutter from latex-gloved hand to latex-gloved hand.

  This day, however, was different. I put the tools into the mildew-stained tool oven to kill off the germs and waited for the timer to go off, my head heavy on my palm. I didn’t even want to go out back to say hello to Ivana.


  “Anak!” Ma called from the salon. I came out obediently to find Miss Peaches. “Look who’s here! Say hello.”

  Miss Peaches is a buxom, voluptuous Trini woman whose hair looks different each time she visits us to get her acrylics filled. She is one of Ma’s regulars. Her usual monologues about the pressure for her to get married and have a baby are silenced under Ma’s foot massages. Miss Peaches is the only client Ma doesn’t rush. No bad energy, Ma explained to me one day.

  Miss Peaches beckoned me to her, as she often does. I took off my tsinelas and stepped up on the tiled platform to meet her, eye to eye, as she sat in the pedicure chair, its back massager whirring.

  “Hello, my little man.” She took both my hands in hers, rubbing the tops of them with bejewelled thumbnails. Tender, loving. “How you be?”

  “Monday is his test for the gifted program. The teacher knows how smart he is.” Ma ran her fingers through my hair, brushing my overgrown tresses to the side. She then put on her latex gloves and got to work on Miss Peaches’ feet.

  “Of course you are. You are so smart.”

  I wilted and looked at the tiles. I didn’t feel like smiling.

  “Hey. Look at me.” Miss Peaches took her index nail and tilted my head up to peer into my eyes. Behind all the adornment, I knew she was magic. “You are a special boy. You see how hard your mommy is working?”

  Ma peered up for a second behind her mask. Her eyes met mine for a moment, then she looked down to continue her work, exfoliating and filing.

  “You have to work very hard so that your mommy doesn’t have to work that hard anymore. You will show them how smart you are. You just be you. When you show everyone how special you are, your life will change. For you. For your mommy. Always take care of your mommy.”

  Ma looked up at me, her eyes moist above her mask. “Bing took care of me already.” I knew what she was saying. She remembered that day we left Daddy, and it was me who held her hand when we left Moss Park.