Recognize and Report Alberta Teachers: Mrs. Johnson from St. Dominic's Elementary in Cold Lake, Alberta

Thank you Alberta, Canada, Turtle Island and particularly Tasha Gabriel, the sender of our fifth report, who reached out to share her experience with a former Alberta teacher: Mrs Johnson from St. Dominic's Elementary in Cold Lake, Alberta.

I must admit this report was a tear-jerker. I can relate to both Miss Tasha Gabriel and to Mrs. Johnson in this story, and I can only hope that every child gets at least a couple Mrs. Johnsons in their lifetime.

As we enter the third week of September, I look forward to a wonderful 2026-2027 school year where we #RecognizeandReport Alberta Teachers! Please join us every Tuesday on Ashley+Lavender Library Press (LLP) socials for #TattleTaleTuesday, and let's show these Alberta teachers and the Alberta education system some love!

Don't forget to send in your reports, so we can keep it going all year!

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lavenderlibrarypress/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lavenderlibrarypress 

Tik Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@lavenderlibrarypress

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@LavenderLibraryPress

Threads: https://www.threads.com/@lavenderlibrarypress 

Substack: https://substack.com/@lavenderlibrarypress (Coming Soon)

Thank you again, Albertans, Canadians, and Turtle Islanders, for helping build community instead of tearing it down!

See the comments given about Mrs. Johnson at St-Dominic's Elementary School below:

Do you have a story or something you would like to share about this teacher?

"I don't remember every teacher I had growing up.

But I remember Mrs. Johnson.

She was my Grade 2 teacher at St. Dominic's in Cold Lake, Alberta. I remember her having very long fingernails. I remember her being kind.

And I remember something else that, looking back now, means so much more to me than I understood at the time.

I was a very quiet autistic little girl.

I wasn't the child putting up her hand and saying, “I'm bored.”

I wasn't demanding more challenging work.

I wasn't telling anyone that my brain needed something different.

I just sat there. Quietly. And I think that is part of why she noticed me.

Mrs. Johnson realized that I wasn't really being challenged by the work I was being given.

So she started bringing me work from other classrooms. At first, I probably thought it was just extra schoolwork.

But it wasn't. She was giving me Grade 3 work. Then Grade 4. And eventually Grade 5. I was in Grade 2.

She had figured out something that the adults around me hadn't yet figured out: my quietness didn't mean I wasn't capable.

My lack of disruption didn't mean I was engaged. And the fact that I wasn't asking for more didn't mean I didn't need more.

She recognized that my mind was somewhere ahead of the classroom I was sitting in.

And instead of asking me to slow down so that I could fit the classroom, she quietly changed what she was giving me.

That was accommodation. I didn't have that word then. I didn't understand autism the way I understand it now. I certainly didn't have the language to explain what was happening inside my own mind.

But Mrs. Johnson understood something important:

Different doesn't always mean less.

Sometimes a child doesn't need to be brought back to the level of the classroom. Sometimes the classroom needs to reach the child.

Looking back now, I realize Mrs. Johnson may have been the first person in my life who accommodated me without making me feel like I was asking for something unreasonable.

She didn't make a big announcement. She didn't make me explain myself. She didn't tell me I needed to work harder. She simply observed me. She saw that the work wasn't enough.

And she gave me more. That matters. Because when you're a neurodivergent child, especially a quiet one, your needs can become invisible.

People notice the child who is loud. They notice the child who disrupts. They notice the child who refuses the work.

But sometimes the child who needs the most support is the one sitting quietly at their desk, doing exactly what they're told, while their brain is screaming, “Is this all?”

Mrs. Johnson looked beyond the quiet. She saw the child underneath it. She saw my ability. She saw that I needed stimulation, not punishment.

Challenge, not correction. Opportunity, not limitation.

And she gave me something that stayed with me.

She gave me evidence. Evidence that there were adults who could look at a neurodivergent child and see possibility instead of deficiency.

I didn't know it then, but that little Grade 2 classroom was teaching me something I would spend much of my adult life trying to explain to other people:

Accommodation isn't about giving someone an advantage.

It is about recognizing what someone needs in order to access what they are already capable of.

Mrs. Johnson didn't lower the bar for me. She raised it. And I rose to meet it. Decades later, I think about that little girl sitting quietly in her classroom.

She didn't have the words. She didn't know how to advocate for herself. She didn't know she was being accommodated. But someone saw her. And sometimes, that is where inclusion begins. Not with a policy. Not with a diagnosis.

Not with a special program.

It begins with one person paying attention.

Mrs. JOHNSON has passed away. But she will live in my memory for as long as I breathe."

-Tasha Gabriel

---

From what I can gather, Mrs. Johnson probably never even realized just how much that small act of noticing stayed with her student(s).

In this case, she saw a quiet child who wasn't being challenged, and she responded. She scaffolded. She differentiated. She put the student first. And that's what teachers do. And that's what Alberta teachers do.

We adjust. We adapt. We find another way.

We meet students where they are and help them get where they need to go.

Mrs. Johnson has passed away, but her impact clearly hasn't.

Decades later, the lesson Mrs. Johnson taught, that being different doesn't mean being less, is still resonating.

To Mrs. Johnson, and to all the teachers like Mrs. Johnson quietly doing this work every single day: thank you. Your students remember far more than you probably ever realize.

Now, that's something worth reporting on and recognizing in Alberta, Canada, here on Turtle Island! I look forward to hearing from you and sharing another report next Tuesday!

Ciao for now!

Ashley + LLP