A month ago, I started a blog entry. It struggled to figure out where it was going, so it's been sitting in DRAFT mode since then. For perspective, I offer you the beginning of that entry.
Friday in any high school usually has a sense of both exhaustion and optimism radiating throughout the hallways. This week was particularly long -- maybe it was the full moon, the impending pandemic, or the fact that (unlucky?) 13 was falling on Friday. Additional exhaustion for a large portion of the student body this week could be credited to the final week of preparation for Seussical, the Musical!, which was scheduled to open to packed audiences that night.
The only way to describe the vibe accurately was that underlying feeling that you know that a blizzard is coming, and that the teacher-gut is whispering "Pack your bags, we won't be here on Monday."
By 2 pm, we had received an email from the superintendent that we were closing for a week.
By 2:50, the closing doubled to two weeks, by order of the governor.
By 3:30, we were warned to take home plants and animals, as there are plans for heavy-duty substances that will be sprayed to disinfect our classrooms.
I've watched a lot of coverage, and talked to people across the state who are educators. While cable news casually mentions "moving to online learning," the realities for that are much more complicated. Administrators across the country are scrambling to figure out what to do, and how to do it with fidelity. Teachers are hoping that the accountability tests like PSSAs and Keystones, that usually disrupt the schedule for more than two weeks in April will be suspended this year, and allow an opportunity for face to face instruction once again. Parents are trying to figure out childcare, entertainment at home, and, in many homes, how to feed hungry and bored kids on a fixed, or significantly reduced income.
The sense of unknown is the most unsettling.
The first few days seemed a bit like a really big snowstorm. No reason to go anywhere, and pajamas all day long. By Thursday of the first week, I found myself having panic attacks that woke me up in the middle of the night. I'd go out in the driveway and stare at the stars, looking for reassurance that the world was not, as I had dreamed, closing in on me at warp speed. The sense of unknown was now unsettling my usual Fitbit Sleep Score that hovers in the mid 80s.
Within the first week, a friend reached out and asked if I could make masks for the local nursing homes, so they could donate their supplies of PPE to the frontline hospital workers. I obliged, until I ran out of elastic, which coincided with the startup of school and my new job as a virtual learning instructor.
Meanwhile, my octogenarian mother had organized a virtual army network of mask-makers, who
have, I can only assume, been purchasing elastic on the black market. (Last count was over 750 masks made and distributed.)
Teaching online is absolutely nothing like teaching in a brick and mortar classroom. I'm not sure that society understands that the current models of delivery for most districts are being designed minute-by-minute, with the warp speed feeling from my dreams that first week. What I've come to realize, is how both modes of instruction foster relationships between teachers and students, and while I'm struggling to feel like this current content looks anything at all like the last time I taught it, I'm finding surprises in what I originally perceived as adversity.
Several students who I felt incredibly disconnected to in the normal classroom, are sharing and engaging with me, and asking me questions that cause me to think critically, and then push out new ideas to classmates. One such experience was a student who shared a quote from literature, trying to explain how the pandemic felt to him. I posted the question to my classes, and got more than 30 contributions quoting everyone from Voltaire to Nicholas Sparks, which also served as a great way to check in on the students who posted particularly depressing quotes.
Where am I going with this rambling? Well, two things. First, it is obvious to me that like my mother, I need to keep engaged and busy. This is helping me to continue to push off that retirement date that I am asked about on a weekly basis. The second thing resonates with my Key Club members who are at home making cards for veterans, working on one of our ongoing projects, that I/we need a sense of purpose to get through each day.
And my eighty-three year old mother? Well, she continues to manage the sweatshops of a network of seamstresses, sharing elastic in a no contact dropbox on her front porch, distributing them as quickly as they are collected. Last evening, she spoke with enthusiasm about her involvement, and commented,
"I haven't felt this giddy since I was hit by a truck!"
For a full explanation of the adversity she faced in December, 2014, click the link. And, much like our current situation, read the good that came out of her experience, when she bought the farm.
Flexibility, Understanding, and Patience. The mantra for teachers shared by our administrative team.
Truly, CLOSING of school has become an OPENING of my mind in what is truly important when connecting with students. They'll learn something during this time, and what they do learn, will be a life lesson to share for generations to come, and adults will have a new perspective, and, with any luck, a new sense of purpose to share.
