Ode To Dawson College
First off, my mom is okay.
My mom has taught at Dawson for over thirty years. She's given her life to that place, and I practically grew up there. I've spent countless ped-days drawing pictures on her office printer paper, and countless dinner parties have been hosted at my home for Dawson faculty. The two best years of education I've received to date (and the cheapest) were at Dawson. The jobs I've been applying for all term have been at Dawson.
There's not an Anglophone in the city who doesn't know someone working or studying at Dawson. It's truly a community landmark. And it's just got a really funky vibe; people love that place, be it staff or students. I was thinking of this a few days ago as I applied for work there; there's just a positive feng shui there. It just feels fun.
I was in the library when Debbie called me from a cab, telling me there'd been a shooting at our old school. She told me not to worry, that my mom was almost certainly okay, but that I should know about it. I didn't react much - I pictured some minor gang-riff that accidentally opened fire - so I said I'd walk over to Dawson and check up on her. But then when I went outside, and saw the mass of bodies walking along DeMaisonneuve to take refuge at Concordia, I realized that this was one of those things that, like, EVERYONE knew about. It wasn't just Debbie, who'd driven past it in her cab. Like, all of MONTREAL knew about it!!
To me, hearing about a shooting at Dawson is like hearing my mom complain about her new academic Dean. I'm used to hearing the gossip from that place. I've grown up hearing gossip about that place. News of a shooting at Dawson seems like insider community gossip. Something that the Montreal English Community would be talking about for days. To me, this is a community tragedy.
When Stacey called me from Toronto, anxiously concerned about my mom, I was kinda blazé. I was like, "yeah, I heard about that too. There're all these Dawson students at Concordia now. It's pretty insane."
Then Stacey said, "I don't think you realize the magnitude of this." She told me it was on CNN. Then she told me I should go look for my mom. So I got off the phone.
God bless that girl. She called back ten minutes later with a phone number to call to inquire about victims. I told her, "That place is such a huge part of my life." She said, "I feel like it's a huge part of MY life, because I've heard you talk so much about it!" For her to feel that way, this must have meant this was pretty large-scale news.
It often takes a tragedy to strengthen bonds of love. I've gotten phone calls and emails from countless friends, many from Toronto, many from here, calling to cry about our old school. I've gotten phone calls from relatives from New York, San Francisco, New Orleans, and England. Soloman, Stacey, Julia, Debbie, everyone, I love you so much.
Oh Dawson. Oh wonderful Dawson. If I were in Toronto right now, I'd be the one receiving back rubs and hugs from the people I was huddled before the TV with. I'd be the one who was From There. Instead, I'm There. It's a startling re-affirmation of my citizenship to this place. And having identified myself for so long as an ex-pat, it's strange to be on my Native Soil. Strange to be in the line of fire.
My mom has taught at Dawson for over thirty years. She's given her life to that place, and I practically grew up there. I've spent countless ped-days drawing pictures on her office printer paper, and countless dinner parties have been hosted at my home for Dawson faculty. The two best years of education I've received to date (and the cheapest) were at Dawson. The jobs I've been applying for all term have been at Dawson.
There's not an Anglophone in the city who doesn't know someone working or studying at Dawson. It's truly a community landmark. And it's just got a really funky vibe; people love that place, be it staff or students. I was thinking of this a few days ago as I applied for work there; there's just a positive feng shui there. It just feels fun.
I was in the library when Debbie called me from a cab, telling me there'd been a shooting at our old school. She told me not to worry, that my mom was almost certainly okay, but that I should know about it. I didn't react much - I pictured some minor gang-riff that accidentally opened fire - so I said I'd walk over to Dawson and check up on her. But then when I went outside, and saw the mass of bodies walking along DeMaisonneuve to take refuge at Concordia, I realized that this was one of those things that, like, EVERYONE knew about. It wasn't just Debbie, who'd driven past it in her cab. Like, all of MONTREAL knew about it!!
To me, hearing about a shooting at Dawson is like hearing my mom complain about her new academic Dean. I'm used to hearing the gossip from that place. I've grown up hearing gossip about that place. News of a shooting at Dawson seems like insider community gossip. Something that the Montreal English Community would be talking about for days. To me, this is a community tragedy.
When Stacey called me from Toronto, anxiously concerned about my mom, I was kinda blazé. I was like, "yeah, I heard about that too. There're all these Dawson students at Concordia now. It's pretty insane."
Then Stacey said, "I don't think you realize the magnitude of this." She told me it was on CNN. Then she told me I should go look for my mom. So I got off the phone.
God bless that girl. She called back ten minutes later with a phone number to call to inquire about victims. I told her, "That place is such a huge part of my life." She said, "I feel like it's a huge part of MY life, because I've heard you talk so much about it!" For her to feel that way, this must have meant this was pretty large-scale news.
It often takes a tragedy to strengthen bonds of love. I've gotten phone calls and emails from countless friends, many from Toronto, many from here, calling to cry about our old school. I've gotten phone calls from relatives from New York, San Francisco, New Orleans, and England. Soloman, Stacey, Julia, Debbie, everyone, I love you so much.
Oh Dawson. Oh wonderful Dawson. If I were in Toronto right now, I'd be the one receiving back rubs and hugs from the people I was huddled before the TV with. I'd be the one who was From There. Instead, I'm There. It's a startling re-affirmation of my citizenship to this place. And having identified myself for so long as an ex-pat, it's strange to be on my Native Soil. Strange to be in the line of fire.