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Len Ramsey
My wife and I appeared on the front page of our local newspaper a couple of months ago standing behind a cart filled with groceries and beside the owner of the IGA and the president of "Success Dance Studio." My wife had purchased a winning ticket for a $500 shopping spree from a five-year-old dancer. "I couldn't resist her," my wife had said. "She was so sweet."
I am not from a small town, I grew up within the anonymous confines of the city. I didn't dress up for Halloween for fear of drawing attention to myself. Now, I see my mug splashed across the cover of the local paper because she won a shopping spree. Was this a prize or was it punishment?
The other day I went downtown with my 10-year-old daughter. As we walked down the street, many of the passers waved a greeting or a friendly "Hi, Mr. Ramsey."
"Do you know everyone in this town?" my daughter asked me.
"Well . . . . " I replied. I had been the high school guidance counsellor for the public school for more than 10 years. I had seen a lot of students graduate over that time period and if you divide the number of students plus their parents by the population of the town, I probably would know 40 or 50 percent of the population.
A number of years ago, a young man, who was a former student of mine, broke into our home. Unfortunately, he had been injured trying to break into another residence and was lying bleeding on the floor of our kitchen. The local constabulary had followed the culprit's tracks through the wet grass and broke down our back door, which was necessitated by our absence. When we were asked by the investigating officers if there had been any damage to our property not originally reported after the break-in, I said that a board on our back fence had been broken.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ramsey," said another former student dressed in full RCMP garb. "That was me. The fence just broke away under my foot."
"That's okay," I replied. "The board was rotten."
I wanted to say, "It's okay, Constable Gordon, you're not in trouble. I'm not mad. Just be more careful next time."
Then there was the time a few of us went out for drinks at the local pub after graduation exercises. One of the graduates approached me as I was standing next to the bar and offered to buy me a drink.
"What?" I replied. This was not the kind of young man who gravitated toward teachers or who would rather talk to me than have a healthy dialogue with his peers or the attractive young woman he'd brought to the exercises.
"What are you drinking?" he repeated. "I want to buy you a drink." He paused and we looked at each other. "You know," he continued, "I've always felt badly about what I said to you in the hall."
"That's okay," I said. "You don't have to buy me a drink." I didn't want to disappoint him and tell him that I hadn't the foggiest idea what he was talking about.
"No, no, Mr. Ramsey, I really want to buy you a drink."
At least he knows my name, I thought. "All right," I said, and that was the end of it. He bought me a drink and went away, leaving me wondering.
Your students are everywhere when you teach in a small town. They pump your gas. They serve your meals. They bag your groceries. They mow your lawn in the summer. They watch while you and your wife run like maniacs to buy $500 worth of groceries in two minutes. They break into the neighbour's house and lie down to die on your kitchen floor. They rescue a fellow schoolmate who has lost all hope and desire to live. And they buy you a drink for reasons unknown except perhaps that you were their teacher and they want you to think well of them.
Len Ramsey is the high school guidance counsellor at Roland Michener Secondary School in Slave Lake.
