Many students present a challenge when I first meet them. Their reticence to engage intrigues me. It’s silly but those are the kids I want to work with most – not the ones who come up and introduce themselves, already primed for what’s ahead. I am fascinated by the indifferent and unsure. The one’s who doubt and question – why is this guy talking to me? Why does he want me to join his team? I hope it’s not purely narcissism, though some of it probably is. I’d rather like to believe it’s more about wanting to invite a kid into a boisterous and energetic community. Helping them lift their head up and becoming a part of something dynamic and meaningful. Watching them recognize their inner talents. Seeing them dispatch with their former steely veneer and accepting recognition, respect and admiration. Eliot Scott was just such a kid. I don’t think Eliot trusted me too much when I first met her. Maybe I moved too quick or talked too much. She looked kind of dazed whenever I drew near. I could tell she was pretty shy and I’m not a total jerk, so I did try to back off, make her laugh, give her some social space to reduce the tension. Didn’t really work but I thought I’d give it time. This was at the end of her grade 10 year. I wanted her to run marathons with the team. She thought that was weird. She said she wasn’t a runner. I told her, basically nobody on the team is. The team is more about doing something together. Punching above our weight. Doing things that most other kids or schools can’t do. Cheering each other when they cross the finish line. She didn’t believe me, but I think she was taken that I thought she had what it took. A few weeks later she ran her first half marathon with very little training other than the inner resolve to prove people wrong. I never really care what a kid’s motivation is – as long as they push themselves and accomplish their goals, whatever inspires them – so be it. She smiled when they put that medal around her neck. I smiled, too.

At the start of her grade 11 year, she agreed to run cross country. She said she’d train but wouldn’t compete. For the next few weeks, she trained diligently. Basically, by herself, but she trained. She ran angry – many do – but hers was different. There seemed to be a pain she wanted to inflict on herself rather than on others. We started to talk more. She opened up a bit. Eventually I convinced her that competing against other kids was kind of the point of the whole team thing. She reluctantly agreed and ran her first race at Killarney. She did great. Our top female. She was unimpressed. Words of deprecation and disappointment came forth. Nothing I could say was going to change her perspective. But she did run with a BRIT singlet. She did join a team as a stranger. She did talk to me. We were getting somewhere. There was promise. From that one meet, Eliot transformed in front of me. She was probably always this kid, to those she trusted and allowed in, like Mitra and Megan, but for me it was exciting. She entered into my life and reluctantly but earnestly, granted me her trust. It was an unwritten partnership, but the rules were evident – respect me; follow through with what you say and most importantly be kind.

Over the next school year, out of the hundreds of students I work with, Eliot and I became the closest. She came out to everything I offered – she joined the ultimate team; she joined the marathon team; she tried out for the Street2Peak Team that was going to Newfoundland. We
threw the frisbee at lunch. She started hanging out at Streetfront. Introducing herself to our new students. Attending Streetfront field trips that she wasn’t supposed to attend. I ended up teaching
her Grade 11 English because she was so frustrated with her class being taught by a revolving door of substitute teachers. She started to bring her friends along and they entered my life – Magfira, Angela, Linda, Ann – all of these students followed Eliot. Eliot put in a good word. In a few months she was our top cross-country runner, she made the Street2Peak Team and travelled with us to Newfoundland, she came to Seattle and Victoria to run their marathons. She played on the Senior ultimate and Senior basketball teams.

She was a peer mentor in the high school. She volunteered every time Streetfront needed her. She started training with adult run groups outside of school time in the hopes of qualifying for the Boston Marathon. But maybe most importantly to me, she laughs a lot. She smiles a lot. She walks into Streetfront and introduces herself. She walks up to shy and quiet kids and asks their name, asks if they would like to join cross country, join the marathon team, join the ultimate team. She goes forward instead of backwards. She finds the light outside of the shadows. She asks for help. Right now, there is no student I am closer to.
There is no student I’ve shared more conversations or laughs with, than her. Time has no compassion, it doesn’t care. It just moves and we are victims to its inertia.

I write this knowing that I only have 9 months left with Eliot as a high school student and that makes me sad. It’s not just my own expanding age or thoughts of moving onto other challenges, rather, it’s the calculus of knowing that I don’t have that much time left to be with my friend. I’m going to savour the final months with Eliot. Watch her be excellent. Be warmed by her determination and commitment. Finding a special place for my memories with her and excited about what she’ll become. The perks of being a teacher.