"Compulsory" Extracurricular Activities
© by Mike Keenan
I reside in Niagara-on-the-Lake, one of Canada's most prestigious municipalities. If simply oozes a self-satisfied air of smugness, and, in the process, does not take easily to outsiders. This rarified atmosphere is far different from that of Regent Park, Toronto's infamous inner-city ghetto, a cockroach, silverfish, and drug-infested entity colloquially known as subsidized housing.
Five of my formative young years were spent there, although, at the time, de-formative might have been a better adjective. The chances of my escaping the slums of Regent Park to attend a University and postgraduate school were miniscule at best.
When I think back upon my school days at DeLaSalle, I remember only one academic teacher who made a difference. Brother Mathew taught English and inspired a love of poetry and literature and writing, despite my impoverished background. He also happened to be the staff advisor for the school newspaper, of which I became an editor.
All of the other teachers who made a difference were coaches who volunteered their time to teach me how to play hockey and football. These people gave up countless hours to travel all around Toronto and outlying areas such as Richmond Hill and Aurora to oversee our games. We practiced on weekends and each and every day after school. In me, they invested their most precious asset, their time.
DeLaSalle enjoyed an incredibly rich extracurricular program. In athletics, we were often the city's best. Our school plays were three-day sellouts and our drum and bugle band was frequently the best in the province. There was a tangible pride in the halls. There was a tradition of excellence and commitment. Football double-headers were played on Sundays and attracted thousands of spectators, particularly when we played arch rival St. Mike's.
Football, not literature, was my ticket to higher education. Had I not been well schooled in that sport, I seriously doubt that I would have proceeded much farther. My life would be dramatically different, and I would surely not be living in Niagara-on-the-Lake.
In fact, I was inspired to become a teacher, and during my career, I wanted to give back. I taught seven out of eight classes a day and coached football from 3.30-6.00 with at least another hour back home, drawing up plays and such besides lesson plans for English. It was exhausting, but I was young; I had unlimited energy; and, more important, I was totally committed to learning outside of the classroom.
As I grew older, I moved into wilderness camping and canoe trips with youth, consuming entire weekends in the wild. When the old football knees started to go, I initiated debating teams, and again, the time and energy and commitment were undiminished.
My own children are grown, but when they were in school, that's the kind of teacher that I wanted to coach them. And when teachers volunteer their precious time to act in that fashion, it will produce tremendous results than can dramatically change and inspire young lives.
Mr. Harris declares that he will make coaching extracurricular activities mandatory, the law of the land. Good luck. Can you imagine the results? In Regent Park, I encountered a lot of bullies, people who would readily kick you when you were down. In politics, I discovered that this is never a good idea. The teachers' unions, thanks in part to a lack of coordinated leadership, are at an all-time low. They are down if not broken.
Spending a day or two on separate ski slopes with children from a broken marriage is not the kind of "quality time" that I experienced from my dedicated coaches when I lived in Regent Park. The male hormone, testosterone, does funny things, particularly to those in power. Mike may dye his hair in an attempt to hide what's underneath, but inevitably the true colours will emerge in both word and deed. Throwing $190 million into "the classroom" throughout Ontario for a year, equates with less than a week's take at Casino Niagara.
It seems that the Harris government is provoking yet another crisis. Confrontational politics can only last so long. The winner/loser militaristic dichotomy begins to break down, as we have to step gingerly over increasingly more bodies lying homeless in the street. Public education cannot be treated like subsidized housing in big-city ghettos. I was lucky. Thanks primarily to extracurricular activities, I live in Niagara-on-the-Lake. Many playground friends were not so lucky. They live in subsidized quarters in Kingston. (Kingston, Ontario is the home of several prisons.)