Final Version May 5 07

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I spent much of my school years trying to gain my father’s attention by being a
high academic achiever. As disappointing as his blindness to my achievements was, it
had a life-saving benefit. With my achievements largely ignored by my father, I was
usually not the recipient of his manic moments of extreme anger; these he fixated on my
brother. As I watched my father’s behaviour towards my brother, I could see that these
outbursts of venomous tirades became increasingly unbearable for my brother. Although
I found watching this painful and hated my father for being this way, I still longed for my
father’s recognition.
My father’s own path was diverted by his illness; his potential never fulfilled. His
legacy was his passion for knowledge. When his high-voltage energy was directed to
learning, he was brilliant, charismatic, even charming. During these times, he was a great
teacher. I feared my father but loved his brilliance and excitement for learning. I have
reconciled painful memories by focusing on his teaching and learning legacy.
Within each of the intersecting paths of family and school, I encountered
experiences that both allowed for and diminished voice. In my story, there is a connection
between voice and self-image. Who I am as a teacher comes from a place deep within.
Palmer (1998) suggests that the call to teach does not come from external encounters
alone. Any authentic call comes from the teacher within, the voice that invites one to
honour the nature of the true self.
Becoming a parent.
With declining enrolments and a looming teacher surplus, I encountered a
roadblock on the journey to become a teacher. After 4 years of university—one year
before teacher certification—I withdrew from the concurrent education program. Instead