I started my PhD program last Fall. It was always something I wanted to work towards, but it wasn’t until I was in my undergrad BA program that I honestly thought that I was smart enough to go through with it.
And I also realized that smart is a really subjective term.
I’ve never been the smartest kid in class. I read, I did my work. My best friends were happy nerds, so I was a happy nerd. I read a lot. Reading came easy to me. Through reading, I learned critical thinking and all that fun stuff. I learned to absorb knowledge, to read through the lines. But I always doubted what I knew, or if my opinion on what I knew was valid.
But as I started Post Sec, and it wasn’t as scary and intimidating as I thought it would be, I began to dream a little bigger.
A little higher.
Once my BA was complete, and a MFA was complete, I was like – why not? I remember walking in the Arts Building with my friend, Omeasoo, and asking about her program. She’s a PhD Candidate through the History Department at the UofS here, and she was encouraging and helpful and just told me to go for it. I remember the absolute feeling of gut wrenching nerves I had the first time I made the appointment to meet with a potential advisor to see how the UofS and I would fit. I wanted to study Aboriginal Lit and the UofS has an amazing staff on hand, and it was my only choice.
I remember I cried when I got my acceptance letter.
I grew up on the Rez. I grew up going to a small town school, met my best friends in Kindergarten. I played on dirt roads with my cousins, I got into girl fights over stupid boys. I learned through trial and error what Dene was – how derogative the term Chip was – and what Metis was. I actually had an amazing childhood, and I am lucky. But I remember that feeling of pushing against the stream when I realized what I wanted – to have a PhD, to obtain the highest education I can in my field. To be able to be a leader in my field. I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be that smart and that a girl from the Rez has certain expectations of her. And being called Doctor ain’t one of them.
So I cried when I got my letter. With relief, with happiness. With joy.
With my own little girl on my hip, I was going to do this.
And this past year, it hasn’t been easy. I’ve struggled. I’ve had to balance a sick kid and a required reading due the next day. I’ve had to go on four hours of sleep so I could finish a presentation. I’ve had to read a book when my kid wanted to play. We’ve eaten more fruit and veggies and cheeses and breads then ever before as actually cooking takes way too much time.
But I’ve also seen how Aerie watches me. She’ll play quietly while I read for class, and when I put the book down, she’ll ask, “Park?” and she knows how to wait, how to play independent, so now it’s time for us, and we go to the park. Aerie has walked through campus with me, she has sat in on meetings with thesis advisors and academic peers, and she has started to “read” her own books and mark them up, the way I mark up my books. She is seeing the path I am building, and that in itself makes me proud. Makes me feel blessed that I’ve been given an opportunity to change how she sees potential and goals and opportunity.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s going to be another long 3.5 years to go. I know this. But between Aerie and my family’s support and my own ambition, it’s going to be an amazing adventure.
