The love/hate relationship we have with our teacher aides

I was seven when I started connecting the dots. My life was a little peculiar. I wondered why I was the only child at an optometrist office.

I was starting to understand that I had a visual impairment. At school, I received an ugly blue desk that was meant to help with my posture. I hated this desk because it made me stand out; I was the only student with one and it slanted upwards awkwardly, revealing its contents. I then noticed the presence of a strange adult in my orbit. This person had been assigned as my teacher aide.

I always thought they were referred to as a ‘Teacher's Aid’ as in a ‘medical aid’. Since I was seeing an eye doctor frequently, I thought I needed ‘aid’ from these adults or even a ‘bandage’ for my learning skills. I thought this person’s job was to fix aspects of my education. However, according to the Ministry of Education: "... a teacher's aide can help with medicines, feeding, toileting, moving about the school, using specialised equipment.” These aspects have nothing to do with education, but for a student with a disability to assimilate into a classroom. Parents are given pamphlets detailing this, but I wonder if there was ever a resource for the student or for the classroom.

The presence of a teacher aide made the other kids notice; they figured out they were sitting next to someone with a disability. Many of us will remember being taken out class for one on one sessions with a teacher aide. My speculation at the time was the teacher would cover the curriculum faster with the abled students without my presence. We’d usually cover the same thing the class was doing, but when a larger copy or a different resource would be presented to me, I became defiant. When I rejoined the class, they encouraged me to use my bulky magnifying equipment, which I hated because everyone could see my work and I feared my peers' judgement. As I got older and the subjects became harder, my school engagement wavered.

The teacher aides then took concern beyond my vision impairment. They nagged me to slip, slop, slap and wrap, but weren’t telling other students to put on sunblock at lunchtime. Plus, wasn’t lunchtime for everyone to take a break? I also adopted a strategy which was to take artsy subjects as these classes had minimal whiteboard time and my teacher aide was not required. Why was I the only one needing educational aide? I had become a rather cheeky student resistant to their support. 

However, it's also true that our teacher aides were probably some of the first people, aside from our parents, who saw potential in our future. When self-doubt crept in, my teacher aides believed I was capable. It was unmeasurable how much my focus and enjoyment for learning improved all because someone was dictating words from a whiteboard when we sat in class. They encouraged me to touch type and got me a laptop while everyone was working on their pen licences. Another time, my maths improved so much, my teacher aide was leading a small advanced group separate to the class. This made elements of the school experience feel, for the first time, a little bit normal. 

My teacher aides also looked out for me beyond my disability needs. In my final year of school, I lost my group of friends. Observing I was often alone, my teacher aide at the time set up a meeting for me with the school counsellor. This person saw me as a human being with complex struggles, disability was secondary. My teacher aides had my back.

My teacher aides were unassuming allies and unlikely friends throughout school. They gave me the motivation to keep learning, even when I was reluctant to. This adult - who I initially resented in my orbit - improved aspects of my school life and altered my experience becoming an adult myself for the better. My only regret now is that I can't go back and tell seven year-old Semi that it was all going to be okay. 

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