My education path began in a small French Immersion kindergarten in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. My mother entertained high hopes for us kids, and knew that a background in the French language would be valuable. When she acquired her GED, we moved south to Saskatoon so she could attend university classes—a courageous decision for a young woman who was raising two children mostly on her own, while my dad was forced by his own limited education to work outside the province. I stayed in French Immersion until I was placed in a program for “academically talented” children at the age of ten. The program led to us being funnelled en masse through the high-school equivalent “advanced” stream.

What the “advanced” stream seemed to teach us was that we were gifted in one particular area, and this happened to be the area that was most conducive to ‘success’ later in life. Their definitions of success and of intelligence were, as I now realize, entirely hegemonic, and shaped my thinking in ways that I am still trying to undo and resist. In any case, I thrived in this environment, despite belonging to a minority of Arts kids in a room full of STEM kids, and being the only Aboriginal student in my cohort. It was expected that we would pursue post-secondary education, and I graduated well-equipped for my first year at the University of Saskatchewan.

I initially planned on pursuing a History major with French minor, in the hope of one day teaching at a secondary level. In that first surge of possibility, I even entertained the idea of acquiring a BFA and following the path of my eccentrically lovable Art teacher. This was derailed when I discovered that I truly loved English (and, according to a supportive first-year professor, was quite good at it). Unlike the highly-determined readings given to us in high school, the scholarly world of literature was fertile interpretive ground, empowering to my inner reader and satisfying to my inner writer. Happily, I worked away at my BA, entering the Honours program while working part-time and sharing a tiny duplex with four other people.

There was some upheaval in my life in the final year of my studies, and in a moment of post-teenage recklessness, I pulled the plug on my classes and decided that I would strike out on my own, open a music venue, and discard everything I thought I had known. My professors persuaded me to write my exams, then drop everything. I had only one credit remaining, and at least there would be no blot on my record should I ever decide to continue. That was wise counsel, because I spent about a year and a half living out the unglamorous reality of working contracts for minimum wage before I was fortunate enough to be beckoned back to school by the English grad chair here at the U of S. He was rather persuasive, having contacted me through my blog (in which I mostly ranted about Star Trek). According to this grad chair, I could indeed write about the things I loved most, and they would even be able to furnish me with a modest living. I leapt at the chance.

The one-year MA was truly gruelling, and I haven’t experienced anything quite so stressful to this day. The project that resulted was a scholarly edition of the DEVO song “Jocko Homo,” a bit of a bizarre choice, and certainly non-canonical, but immensely satisfying to complete. My research interests have veered toward cultural studies, and what started as an interest in punk music (springing from my experiences playing guitar and bass in various bands) has taken on a cultural flavour stemming from my Métis background. My current focus is on Indigenous literatures, particularly subcultural productions such as zines and other materials relating to music scenes.

I will mention that I decided to enter the PhD program at the same institution, and made the decision to stay here despite the academic convention of attending multiple universities. This is, after all, my home. I love this place, the people in it, and the family that keeps me here. I have not been certain that academia is the only place for me, and the idea of uprooting for the sake of my career didn’t appeal. As it is, I enjoy earning my current living as a grad student, and have been fortunate enough to be graced with SSHRC funding. These years have been challenging but fulfilling, and the flexibility of my schedule has allowed me to continue pursuing the musical and artistic projects that are integral to my selfhood. There is no small degree of uncertainty in my life, but these next few years will offer some relatively stable employment, which can be seen as its own blessing. If no academic positions are forthcoming after the PhD, at the very least I’ll be able to say that I spent my twenties among truly wonderful people, doing something I love. I’m interested to see the paths of fellow grads, and open up conversations about the future(s) that may await us.

My education path began in a small French Immersion kindergarten in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. My mother entertained high hopes for us kids, and knew that a background in the French language would be valuable. When she acquired her GED, we moved south to Saskatoon so she could attend university classes—a courageous decision for a young woman who was raising two children mostly on her own, while my dad was forced by his own limited education to work outside the province. I stayed in French Immersion until I was placed in a program for “academically talented” children at the age of ten. The program led to us being funnelled en masse through the high-school equivalent “advanced” stream.

What the “advanced” stream seemed to teach us was that we were gifted in one particular area, and this happened to be the area that was most conducive to ‘success’ later in life. Their definitions of success and of intelligence were, as I now realize, entirely hegemonic, and shaped my thinking in ways that I am still trying to undo and resist. In any case, I thrived in this environment, despite belonging to a minority of Arts kids in a room full of STEM kids, and being the only Aboriginal student in my cohort. It was expected that we would pursue post-secondary education, and I graduated well-equipped for my first year at the University of Saskatchewan.

I initially planned on pursuing a History major with French minor, in the hope of one day teaching at a secondary level. In that first surge of possibility, I even entertained the idea of acquiring a BFA and following the path of my eccentrically lovable Art teacher. This was derailed when I discovered that I truly loved English (and, according to a supportive first-year professor, was quite good at it). Unlike the highly-determined readings given to us in high school, the scholarly world of literature was fertile interpretive ground, empowering to my inner reader and satisfying to my inner writer. Happily, I worked away at my BA, entering the Honours program while working part-time and sharing a tiny duplex with four other people.

There was some upheaval in my life in the final year of my studies, and in a moment of post-teenage recklessness, I pulled the plug on my classes and decided that I would strike out on my own, open a music venue, and discard everything I thought I had known. My professors persuaded me to write my exams, then drop everything. I had only one credit remaining, and at least there would be no blot on my record should I ever decide to continue. That was wise counsel, because I spent about a year and a half living out the unglamorous reality of working contracts for minimum wage before I was fortunate enough to be beckoned back to school by the English grad chair here at the U of S. He was rather persuasive, having contacted me through my blog (in which I mostly ranted about Star Trek). According to this grad chair, I could indeed write about the things I loved most, and they would even be able to furnish me with a modest living. I leapt at the chance.

The one-year MA was truly gruelling, and I haven’t experienced anything quite so stressful to this day. The project that resulted was a scholarly edition of the DEVO song “Jocko Homo,” a bit of a bizarre choice, and certainly non-canonical, but immensely satisfying to complete. My research interests have veered toward cultural studies, and what started as an interest in punk music (springing from my experiences playing guitar and bass in various bands) has taken on a cultural flavour stemming from my Métis background. My current focus is on Indigenous literatures, particularly subcultural productions such as zines and other materials relating to music scenes.

I will mention that I decided to enter the PhD program at the same institution, and made the decision to stay here despite the academic convention of attending multiple universities. This is, after all, my home. I love this place, the people in it, and the family that keeps me here. I have not been certain that academia is the only place for me, and the idea of uprooting for the sake of my career didn’t appeal. As it is, I enjoy earning my current living as a grad student, and have been fortunate enough to be graced with SSHRC funding. These years have been challenging but fulfilling, and the flexibility of my schedule has allowed me to continue pursuing the musical and artistic projects that are integral to my selfhood. There is no small degree of uncertainty in my life, but these next few years will offer some relatively stable employment, which can be seen as its own blessing. If no academic positions are forthcoming after the PhD, at the very least I’ll be able to say that I spent my twenties among truly wonderful people, doing something I love. I’m interested to see the paths of fellow grads, and open up conversations about the future(s) that may await us.