The path from rain jackets to former students

The collection

I have four rain jackets.  Why does anyone need four rain jackets? Well, no one does. I bought the first one to replace a Goretex jacket that didn't breathe anymore so I ended up cold and damp inside it. When we were headed for the Chilkoot Pass four years ago I was lucky enough to get a green waterproof breathable on sale.

The third one I bought in Gros Morne National Park in Newfoundland.  It was the same kind of jacket the park staff wore and I thought it would be a very practical souvenir. It's quite heavy and it's black with yellow trim. I don't wear it much because it is often too hot for what I need. This one was not on sale and I keep it partly because I paid so much for it I'd feel guilty giving it away.

The fourth one I bought recently on a trip of the West Coast. Some of my friends laugh at my habit for constantly making lists. For this trip, I made a list of what I wanted to take with me including the clothes I needed to pack and the ones I intended to put in the car for easy access on the road.  Often I lay the car clothes out near the back door the night before. This time I didn't but rain jacket number 2 was on my list. The morning I left we were both in a hurry and Richard helped me by carrying stuff to the car so I could load it in. On my last trip into the house I grabbed my messenger bag and headed back out to the car.  Richard followed with his water bottle and asked if I was through in the house. I said I was, forgetting completely about the list or taking any kind of jacket.

As I passed Banff it began to pour and I realized I had no jacket. I could probably do without one although I might get a little wet. I'm not sugar. I won't melt. As the rain continued I became anxious about not having a jacket. I hardly go anywhere without at least a wind shell. I don't like being cold and I think being cold with a wind cutting through my clothing is more than just a physical discomfort. When I'm wearing a jacket that cuts the wind I somehow feel safer.  I stopped at the visitors' centre in Lake Louise and beside it is a sports store. I went in just to have a look. I really would feel a lot better if I had a rain jacket. I looked through the racks and most of the jackets were way more than I wanted to spend. There was one rack of sale jackets and on that rack was one jacket in an orangish colour. I didn't particularly care for the colour and the jacket was too big; nevertheless, it was the least expensive jacket in the store and I bought it. As I continued driving and the wipers cleared rain from the windshield, I felt much more comfortable knowing I now had a rain jacket even if it didn't go with any of my other clothes.

The second rain jacket, the one I was going to take, didn't really go with many of my clothes either. I bought  it to replace a favourite waterproof breathable I wore for years. When the zipper broke and I had it replaced. Eventually the jacket no longer shed water no matter how carefully I washed it or what kind of water repellent treatment I applied to it. Rain jacket number 2  is my go-to, everyday jacket when the sky is grey and brooding and it looks like I might get wet on my way from A to B. It was also on sale and is bright fuchsia.  My turquoise and grey messenger bag absolutely clashes with it.

I guess I care more than I like to admit about whether the colours I wear go together. If I'm around home or in the shop it really doesn't matter but as I grow older I'm more conscious of looking like the weird old ladies I used to stay away from when I was a kid.  They wore too much make-up and the oddest collection of colours. I wondered if they were blind or crazy. It didn't enter my head that perhaps they were beyond worrying about what other people thought of them.

I'm also reminded of a former student who was on the autistic spectrum.  She, too, had a less than conventional colour sense. Her backpack was covered with small stuffed-animal keychains and she talked to herself or did calculations on her paper after she was finished her writing. She told me doing the math problems helped her to feel calmer. The rest of the class pretty much avoided her until one day I read out one of her pieces.

She was in an English Language Arts course for students whose plans did not include university. She seemed to like writing and had a keen eye for detail. It was a small class and when I finished reading one of the boys turned to her and asked, "Did you write that?" She nodded. He looked at her wide-eyed and asked, "What are you doing in this class?" She didn't answer but a slight smile traced her lips. The other kids chimed in. "That was really good." "That was cool." "I loved the part about the cat chasing the ball of wool."

I don't think her life changed as a result of that piece but the attitude of the other kids did.  She still sat off by herself and did math problems. When she talked to herself under her breath the other kids gave her no more than a cursory glance. Sometimes during discussions one of the others would ask her for her opinion and when she spoke they listened.

I taught thousands of students and have forgotten many of them even as they have forgotten me. Occasionally something like the number of rain jackets I own will trigger a memory and I send out good wishes to those students wherever they are.