Violet St . Clair

But the memories of a student shaping and changing a teacher are even more precious and sometimes entirely unexpected .

Near the end of my career , I taught Grade 2 . It was there that I met a charming little girl who helped me heal from an old wound .

Years before , as a student in Grade 4 in Toronto , I had been taught important events occuring in Europe . I listened to a favourite teacher , Mr . Aaron , describing the tragedies and despair of the two World Wars . To my young ears , it seemed that Germany had been the cause of much misery . In that wooden desk , as Mr . Aaron pulled down the multicoloured map of Europe , I decided never to admit to anyone that I had been born in that country . That year , I became a Canadian . Period . English only .

Decades down the road , I was again sitting in a classroom . Mine . A little girl was patiently waiting while I got all my papers ready for my next lesson . She was blithely rattling on about the coming weekend . “ She ’ s coming on Saturday !” “ Who is ?” I was distracted by sheets of jumbled paper . “ My Oma from Germany ! Do you have an

Oma , Miss St . Clair ?”

I froze . All the old ghosts swooshed in , blinking and gathering together . Fortunately , she was bubbly and chatty and intent on practising her counting skills in German . She counted with great concentration and pride . At “ eight ,” she stumbled . “ Acht .” My eyes widened . Where had that come from ? “ Danke .” She smiled . A small group formed . “ Miss St . Clair is helping me practice German .

My Oma is coming to visit !” Such animation . Such untroubled delight . Oma couldn ’ t arrive fast enough ! “ Can we learn , too ?” “ Okay ! It ’ ll be fun ! Let ’ s count together . Ready , Miss St . Clair ?” The student had become the teacher . I was enchanted as the next twenty minutes were filled with words and phrases , spoken with love and excitement in preparation for a muchanticipated visit from a beloved Oma .

When the bell rang , we lined up for gym . I could feel the dark ghosts shuffling .

“ Can we say Guten Morgen tomorrow , Miss

St . Clair ?” I smiled , “ Ja !” And the ghosts shut the door on their way to obscurity . Danke , indeed .

Violet St . Clair , of Edmonton , continues to take great pleasure in meeting former students and chatting about where life has taken them . She has met them in restaurants , in parks , on the stage , on planes , and on the streets of Vancouver . They are everywhere !

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