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"The teacher who changed my life didn’t get a bottle of Riesling or a gift card from the neighbourhood coffee franchise. I don’t believe my mother even sent a thank-you card. Such tokens of gratitude weren’t standard in the mid-1980s.
I thought of Mr. Doyle (like all my teachers, he had no known first name) as I joined a crowd of frazzled mothers in the greeting-card aisle at the drug store the night before the last day of school. He was my Grade 6 teacher. My school experience in rural Nova Scotia until that point had been dispiriting.
One of my first report cards noted I would be a better student if I spent as much time on my studies as I did toying with my hair and chatting with my classmates. This advice still applies..."
