Walking Stories

Just a few thoughts on inclusion and what it really means to me as a teacher.

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1. Walking Story

She enters the room
Rose coloured glasses carefully in place
She sits, timidly awaiting life.
A screen hums to life in front of her,
Scenes of passion, emotion, helplessness and calculated hatred Flash before her eyes.
Her rose coloured glasses turn to dust
She sees ‘different’ everywhere she looks
Her hands are those of a conqueror
Her past is a curriculum of hatred.
She trudges up hill, towards the top
There are cracks in the path
where many have fallen before her.
A shout reaches her ears
‘a trained monkey can do this’.
The shout echoes in her mind.
As the knapsack gets heavier
Her steps begin to falter
She falls towards a crack
Someone pulls her by the hand
Back to the path.


The stranger opens the knapsack
And carefully examines the contents
‘Did you know’, said the stranger,
‘you have a set of wings here?’
The stranger carefully attached
The wings to the backpack
And with a gentle nudge
Sent her soaring towards the top.
She could fly, her perception changed once more.
Instead of wanting to reach the top
She turned to help those stepping out of the screen room.
Some had wings, like her,
Others had snowshoes and still others had water skis.
She helped them get to where they could use what was in their knapsacks. She was soaring in reality and in her heart,
Finally making a difference.


The door opens once more
Out comes a boy holding a broken feather.
The feather drops as he looks up towards her.
‘I am ready miss’, he whispered,

‘I left my culture at the door.’
Her feet touched the ground as her wings faltered.
She thought he must have wings,
But when she looked he had no knapsack.
‘Where did you come from?’ she asked the boy.
‘I don’t know’ the boy said, patting his clothing for the answer.

‘I was left dancing around the ashes of a fire,
and I did not know why.’
Her wings sagged behind her as she searched for what to do.

All the others had knapsacks
But this boy was truly alone.
Eager to help him, she turned to what she knew,
She helped him towards the top
But was frustrated by his need to
Connect to the journey.
She can only see through the lens of her culture.
The boy suddenly stopped
‘I have nothing but the nature surrounding me’
he turned to her and smiled sadly,
‘I cannot learn from you, although you mean well,
the path you are giving me is not my own.’
She started back down the path,
with every step she lost more of her wings
she could no longer soar with bare bones.
A fire sprung up before her
And she fell to the ground.
A voice called her attention,
She looked up into the eyes of the boy, surrounded by flame,

Now a man with a crown of feathers
‘There will be moments when you fall
but you are stronger than you feel now.’
He reached down and placed a feather of fire
On her forgotten wings.
Like a spark to dry kindling,
Her wings exploded with light and flame.
‘Be as you are’ the man said,
‘your story is not yet over’
Walking or soaring they are a part of everyone’s story,
For she is education
And he is culture and respect.

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