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Today puts us more than six months since we’ve had kiddos in the school building in Fairfax County. The world changed for us on March 13, 2020, exactly six months ago. It was the first day students, teachers, administrators, librarians, assistants, coaches, bus drivers and specialists were told to stay home, even though there was power in all the buildings and the weather was fine.
What we thought then was that if we could use the three weeks of snow days we had built up to get us to spring break, things would be fine.
What we know now is very different. There are certain things that teachers know now, there are things that teachers have always known that the rest of the world is learning as well. (And for reference, when I mention teachers for the next little while, I mean, all those kinds of people who work in schools I mentioned earlier.)Teachers know that learning a student’s name is important and being able to call that kiddo by that name in class, in the hall, as they enter the room, when they see them in the cafeteria is necessary. Teachers know there’s power in knowing your students by name--and that’s harder now. It’s hard for teachers to not feel connected to their students and to not see them all, simultaneously, in front of them. It’s hard to build connections when you’re working with all speeds of internet connection and a platform that isn’t conducive to putting a face with a name. But teachers know it’s necessary so they’re figuring out ways to do it anyway.
Teachers know that school is about far more than time spent in class (though, obviously, that’s important). They know that it’s also a place where there is food--both in the cafeteria and in certain rooms or with certain adults--and there is safety. There is a warm, quiet, place for you to call your own and concentrate when you’re taking a test when you can come into a school building, and we know that we can’t guarantee that anywhere else. Teachers know that every student needs someone to be their safe person, their soft place to land, their home away from home. We know that we can give students resources like notebooks and novels, pencils and markers, granola bars and gatorade when they come to classrooms, and that we can’t be certain of those things when we go digital. So we do the best we can to make public where the food pick up sites are and we hand out laptops and internet connections, and we try to do the best we can. But we know it isn’t enough, and so we ache and we worry, and try tofigure out what else we can do because we know it isn’t the same and if it wasn’t enough a year ago, it certainly isn’t now.
Teachers know that what would be best for students and learning, for our professional selves, really, is to be back at school. The deepest desire of every teacher I’ve talked to and met is
to be back with our colleagues and our kiddos because few, if any, of us, got into this to talk to a computer screen for eight hours a day, praying the internet connection holds and we can find something quickly enough in Google Classroom.
But we’re dealing with a highly contagious, potentially deadly infection with unknown long term consequences in a country which has become divided and politicized about how to best protect ourselves from it. We know that while kids will do their best, they, like all of us, miss being around people, and we can’t promise that we will always manage to keep them six feet apart. We can’t promise that they will all wear a mask all the time and not take a break from that to sneak a kiss in the hallway or show off a smile void of braces for the first time in years. We know that one infection could be be like a spark that lights a fire and we know that some of our most vulnerable populations--the ones who lives with multiple generations in one small space, who have had to go back into work (or who never left) in crowded areas, exposed to many people--are the ones who might pay for that decision to bring kids back first.
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Teachers know that school cannot be anything but a mass gathering, and we’ve seen time and again that this may not lead to safety for students, adults, and everyone they interact with once they leave. Teachers know that while you can say “eat in classrooms” or “change that gym into a large classroom” this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the logistical issues that bringing kids back will present. We know this, from being in the trenches everyday. And we know that people who have not been in a school in years, will try to make decisions for and about us. We know that we have been weaponized by all sorts of powerful people and ridiculed by many who, quite simply, do not understand. We know that there isn’t yet a way that guarantees our students will be safe in our buildings and we know that we cannot pretend they are all safe at home either.
And to step outside, just a little, because I am not a classroom teacher anymore, let me tell you what Instructional Coaches know. Or at least, what this one knows. What I know from countless meetings, emails, texts, and phone calls from teachers not only in my county, but across the world.
I know that what teachers are being asked to do is incredibly unfair and unbelievably hard. The lift that’s required to take a curriculum that you may be incredibly familiar with or completely new to and figure out a way to deliver it entirely digitally is heavy. It is unfairly heavy. To be without the resources you would normally depend upon, to be without things that fill your cup like smiling, eager faces, to be without casual colleague conversation and still, still transform it into something engaging and enjoyable and meaningful is harder than anyone outside can realize. To rethink and reimagine everything, to change what it means to assess what students know and commit to avoiding homework and any practice that would require additional screen time is really only the first layer or two of what teachers are doing. That teachers haven’t slept well or taken a waking hour off, that teachers work weekends and have absolutely no concept of work life balance is only the beginning. And then, to be told by some parents, or politicians, or just people with an opinion, that it’s not enough, that they shouldn’t be paid nearly as much, that students are suffering because they’re selfish and afraid, could be the crushing blow.
But I know that teachers are stronger than you realize. They’re not in it for short hours and ten weeks off at summer. Or if they were, they certainly aren’t now. They’re in it because they want what’s best for kids and to try to make even just a drop of a difference. So they approach the task, and they lift the heavy thing. Again and again and again.
And sometimes they get tired. Sometimes they get cranky and annoyed and frustrated because it’s heavy and they’re told that they should be lifting more.
Because they want to be able to lift more.
Even when I know they shouldn’t have to.
Teachers know that their students can do it--the good ones know it deep down in their soul.
I know that our teachers can do it too--they do hard things all the time and so even though this feels like one that they shouldn’t have to, I know they can. And they will.
So to plagiarize a late night talk show host, and in the interest of getting us all back into the building as quickly and safely as possible: stay safe, wash your hands, wear a mask. I love you. (P.S. It's super hard to include any pictures from school where there aren't students. So you get this cropped shot of our cafeteria!)
