Now or never13: 44I started my education in residential school. At 58, I finally graduated
Vivian Ketchum was five years old when she was taken to residential school. She reflects on what it means to finally finish high school.
This first-person article is written by Vivian Ketchum, an activist from the Anishinaabe community living in Winnipeg. For more information on CBC first-person stories, see the FAQ.
I am surrounded by various memories as I sit in my living room: gift cards, friends gifts, my late son’s graduation cap. Looking at them brings home the reality of my graduation: at 58, I finally have my diploma. I am a high school graduate! Maybe if I say the words often enough, it will start to feel real.
This red road (a vital journey in the indigenous community) to graduation has been a long one.
My first classroom was in a small blue building at Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School in Kenora, Ont. I was five years old when I was taken out of my beloved family.
I remember the big red pencils with blue lined paper in the rows of small classroom desks. After breakfast, the younger students walked to the blue building. I liked the younger teacher. She smiled a lot and was not scared like the mother of the house. Inside that classroom, I felt safe from the older children and the stay-at-home mom.
Ketchum attended Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School until the school closed in 1976. (CBC)
After the residential school closed in 1976, I was placed in many foster homes. A foster mom bought me an ugly red tracksuit for the gym in high school with a voucher for service clothes for kids and families. Other kids were already making fun of me because I was a thin teenager, with thick glasses and bad teeth. The red tracksuit was just more ammunition to use against me. I only attended a gym class before I left.
Then, when I was 16, I was sent to a group home in southern Ontario. I was in a small village that had only two native children, and I was one of them. My teachers noticed that I rarely did homework, but my grades were good. One of them decided to give me the test.
I was struggling to fit into an almost all-white school: Vivian Ketchum
They found out they weren’t challenging me enough and put me in a special class. This would have worked if he was willing to be challenged. But he was struggling to fit into an almost entirely white school.
I started skipping classes and falling behind on my grades. I fell out with bad people. I started drinking secretly, which didn’t help with my school work. I was 18 and in 9th grade when I grew old without attention. I was boarded on a plane to return home to Kenora to attend my father’s funeral. Relieved to have returned home with my family even though I didn’t finish high school and was coming back for a funeral.
I didn’t even try to continue my education after that as I was too busy trying to survive. I had my son at 20, decided to try to calm down, and went into rehab at a women’s shelter. I learned life skills and moved to a new place.
Then I tried to go back to school, but I failed again due to the demands of being a single mother. We lived on welfare and I struggled to support my son. So I suspended my school dreams until my son grew up.
My son’s needs came first, and I did what I could to make sure Tyler graduated and had a better life than ever. My son was much loved by his friends and the community. Our house was the place to gather your friends and enjoy a homemade meal. Tyler had plans to become a police officer and to continue his education.
Ketchum, left, with her son Tyler in 2010, before dying of a brain tumor. (Submitted by Vivian Ketchum)
In 2010, Tyler was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died when he was 24 years old. I gave up my dream of finishing high school after my son died. I needed time to mourn and heal from my loss.
It was almost a decade until I felt ready to go back to high school. By 2021, he had applied for a great job that paid well. I had everything they wanted in the job application until they asked me to provide a high school transcript. I didn’t have any and the job interview ended with that note.
Being denied that job was discouraging, but it set me on fire inside. I found the Winnipeg Adult Education Center near my home. I came in just to ask a few questions, but the guidance counselor encouraged me to sign up and fill out forms right there. My late son’s words echoed in my mind, “You must go on.” These were the words he shared with me when I was terminally ill with a brain tumor.
Ketchum holds her son’s moccasins in her graduation photos. (Submitted by Vivian Ketchum)
I enrolled as a mature student and was assessed in 11th grade in English and math. Most of the students attended school remotely with the pandemic, so the classes were small and the access to the teacher was fantastic. I discovered that my headphones were canceling distractions and noise in my head. I was able to focus better. If I was frustrated by remote learning, I could always come back later. I was learning at my own pace.
When I finished my last homework, I felt a sense of sadness because this stage of my life was over. It was mixed with relief that I set myself a goal and completed it. And then my friends organized a graduation party for me with a surprise guest, which I didn’t expect to happen.
MIRAR | Musician Ernest Monias surprises Vivian Ketchum at her graduation party:
Look at the surprise of Ernest Monias, graduate Vivian Ketchum
Vivian Ketchum is a residential school survivor who has overcome the challenges of finally finishing high school. Friends gathered to celebrate it with a surprise performance by the ‘King of the North’, Ernest Monias.
From a small blue classroom in a residential school in northern Ontario to a stone-faced building in Winnipeg, my educational journey has been challenging. But I achieved my dream of getting a high school diploma 40 years later. This piece of paper will open doors for me now and in the future. I discovered more than graduation gifts when I graduated; there is a new level of respect on the part of the community.
And I have also fulfilled my son’s wish: I have continued and will continue to move forward.
Vivian Ketchum is an Anishinaabe community activist, writer, survivor of a residential school and, since June 30, a high school graduate.
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