Day 74: A Distant Difference

I cried today. 

I legitimately broke down and wept.

In my weekly correspondence with families, I sent a survey asking about preferences around communication.  In Oregon, the digital learning-scape has meant that teachers are contacting families much more frequently than we would have been if we were reporting to a school each day (for better or worse).  We make several phone calls a week, and emails on top of that, and text messages on top of that.  A student enrolled at my building interacts with no fewer than five teachers a day.  So, theoretically, parents could be getting inundated with information from teachers about all manner of coursework, and it could come off as overbearing and overwhelming.  But, if no teachers are reaching out consistently, then this experience could feel even more detached and isolating.  I wanted to decipher how frequently families are being contacted and how to improve this inefficient communication system. 

I read through all of the surveys which were mostly heartwarming to read.  Many families thanked the staff gratuitously for reaching out and helping them, along with providing assistance to their students.  One mother jokingly proclaimed her adoration for our staff by saying, "I love my boys dearly, but I realize now I love them even more when I don't have to see them for six hours of the day."  But, there was one survey that stood out to me.  The parent has simply indicated that times were understandably difficult and they were becoming harder for their family.  She didn't elaborate or give specifics.  But, then, I thought back to last week's assignments and I remembered her daughter turning in her work late...uncharacteristically late.  

Late work means nothing to me in this foreign land of education.  I am not going to penalize a child for submitting quality work after the "due date."  But, an assignment can sometimes be an indicator of how a student is doing.  By this time in the year, I know my students well enough to know that when assignments are getting routinely turned in late, when they were always on time before, that something might be going on.  An assignment right now is proof of life.  It is one of the only ways I am able to determine that another life form exists on the other side of this God-forsaken computer screen.  And, her work had been "late" all week. 

Mom had also indicated that she would prefer that I talk directly to her daughter, so I texted mom to see how I could potentially reach her daughter.  She outright handed me her phone number and said she had no problem with me reaching her daughter that way.  I decided to text the student through my email (a fun trick my husband showed me) and I shot her a text. She texted me back quickly and because we somehow program our children to respond in the same fashion every time we ask them how they're doing, I got back the standard "I'm good!" response.  But, mom had already tipped me off to her daughter's emotional state and hitting a "rough patch" recently, so I tried again.   This time I asked her, how are you REALLY doing?  She texted back:  Honestly, I've been a little down lately.   We proceeded to exchange several text messages back and forth trying to air out her emotions. 

She expressed what several students have expressed.  They report feeling "sad," but add, "not like sad...sad.  Just like, down."  They report feeling worried, asking me, "when will this end?  Will I be able to see my teachers again?  When can we go back to school?"  They feel anxious, wondering, "Will we be starting school in the fall?  How long will this last?  I just want things to go back to how they were...."  They report feeling unfocused and even with a routine and dedicated time to work on school they feel distracted.  They say everything feels overwhelming.  (Gee, it's almost as if they're humans trying to survive in the midst of global trauma.)

At this point, I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with asking her about assignments.  I knew she would assure me she'd get to them because she inherently wants to do well and wants to reassure everyone around her that all will be well, even if that assurance comes at her own peril.  Instead, I tried a different approach.  I asked her when was the last time she felt like she produced something meaningful?  She told me about some music she'd been writing and some art she'd done in the past week, or so.  Her creative soul has delivered on more than one occasion in my class, so I asked her, "Do you think that instead of answering/responding to the question sets for The Outsiders you could try to write one mini-song, maybe a chorus or something that would coincide with each chapter?"  While I was waiting for her response, her mom texted me back to say, "My daughter just squealed with joy over you texting her.  Thank you for bringing a smile back to my daughter's face." 

And, that's when all of the emotion I've been bottling up came pouring out of my eyeballs. 

I cried because my job has become the hardest thing I've done in 13 years.  I cried because I'm scared of what's going to become of the profession I love and I'm worried about the future for all of us.    But, mostly, I cried because I miss the magic of hundreds of genuine connections made within the confines of my classroom walls on a daily basis, especially between the months of March and June. I cried because of all of this.  

Distance Learning is an emotional journey.  Disappointments, frustrations, and irritations abound on the daily.  But this one interaction with this one student cracked the surface of hope.  The hope that powerful connections can still be made.  It's not too late in the game.  Even when we feel as if we're losing our students, our community, ourselves, one student comes along and helps us realize that all is not lost.  We still need our students - more than ever.  Our students still need us.  The relationships we worked so hard to build and maintain are there - even when they’re obfuscated by the layers of screens between us.  Just knowing that, that right there, is a win. 

April 3, 2020: Day 19 - An Unforgettable Year

Submitted by my nephew, and guest contributor, John Mark, proud member of the graduating class of 2020.  

 To the Class of 2020:

    Graduating has never in history been so easy, yet so hard at the same time. If I had the choice to give another year of my life for the chance to be in a classroom with my fellow classmates of 2020 again, there is no doubt I would take it. It would be easy for me to say I'm glad school is over, and that this has been a huge relief. The honest truth is, I'm not. None of us are. 

 Our senior year was supposed to be about:

    College applications.

Scholarship deadlines.

College visits. 

Our final season of spring sports. 

Pursuing playoffs. 

Making a run for that elusive state championship.

A final chance to perform on stage in the high school’s spring play.  

Prom.

Graduation.

But, this is not how our year played out.  The class of 
2020 has been forced to forfeit the standard 
high school experience.  Instead, we will close out our 
remaining days of high school sequestered in our homes 
dealing with the disappointment that this is how it 
all turned out. 

For those who aren't members of the class of 2020, no matter how many seniors you get the chance to talk to you will never understand the truth. Others in my grade may tell you that, yes, they are sad their senior year was cut short, and they will move on. But, we will not just move on this year will always haunt us.  I know it will haunt me.  

The reality is, high school is the last chapter of childhood.  Our senior year is the culmination of a k-12 public education, and the pinnacle of a four year high school experience. It is the last chapter in a book of magical moments where the world stops when you want it to. High school may very well  be the last place for many to get the chance to live a relatively carefree life. With so many mechanisms in place to protect us, even if, and when, we don't realize them. Even with all the new responsibilities that seniors encounter over the year, they are infinitely small compared to what the world will soon hurl at us. This beautiful time was cut short for all of us.

This year brought the end of sports careers for many athletes. And to all the spring athletes that lost your season, I know the pain. The ending of a career playing sports can be one of the most painful things to witness. One of my earliest memories as a bat boy for the Oregon Institute of Technology, where my father was coaching at the time, was witnessing such an ending.  The team had just finished playing a road game when I saw a grown man, a senior in college, and a player on the team, start to tear up and begin to cry in the corner of the dugout. His teammates tried to comfort him with somber, yet encouraging, remarks, thanking him for being their teammate and telling him what a blessing it was to play with him. My young mind didn't understand what was wrong; he hadn't gotten hurt or kicked off the team. So, I asked my dad why the player was so shaken up. I remember him explaining to me that this was the last baseball game he would play because his college eligibility had run out. I thought nothing of it, then. I was too young to understand. But now I realize that will be me someday. I will one day never put my cleats on to play another game of baseball. The sad thing is, this happened to many, many high school athletes across the country without them even knowing it. They will never again get the chance to compete, in the game they love.

Many of us, including myself, will soon be members of the military. This may be the most abrupt end to a childhood a person can choose. This decision seems more difficult than usual in light of these difficult circumstances because there is a chance they may not get a proper goodbye to the ones they love before they are sent off.  For many, it may be a very long time before they get the next opportunity to see their friends and family again. For others, this unceremonious end to the year might be more anxiety producing because they will be forced to enter the real world, months before they were anticipating having to make that leap. 

It saddens me to the deepest measures of my heart to say I may never see many of my classmates again. Although this letter is very low-spirited, there is a happy ending. When this virus comes to pass, and it will, we will be tougher because of it.  We will know, perhaps better than any other graduating class, that life, truly is not fair. It may not seem like it at the moment but the current situation we are facing will teach us that there are things we cannot control. Learning how to deal with the nature of things we cannot control is one of the greatest skills one can acquire, and will benefit us throughout our futures. 

We also have the potential to learn that nothing 
is promised.  Our entire worlds changed almost overnight.  
Where once we may have complained about the daily grind 
of school, practices, work, and the like, we realize now 
we don’t have any of that to fall back on. The day-to-day 
routine that once seemed like drudgery for some of us, 
has now become something we long for.  That perspective 
is something we ought to carry with us.  

Lastly, we are currently part of something that is far bigger than the abrupt end to high school.  We are witnessing something we’ve seen in our classes, and on our teams, and that is the power of the collective.  When we are all doing our part, big or small as it may be, we can overcome the biggest challenges of our lives. We are each called to participate in this collective action.  Let’s remember the good that can come from everyone working together toward a common end-goal. 

Yes, our time as seniors has come to an unanticipated end.  We didn’t get the opportunity to play the full game, and we will forever mourn that.  We have a lot of unfinished business that we’ll have to sort out for ourselves and that will undoubtedly take some time.   And, we’re having to learn some unquestionably hard life lessons early on in our relatively short lives. But, in the end, we will undeniably be stronger for having lived through a truly unforgettable year.   

April 4, 2020: Day 20 - Taking Tango to Church

As we set up the internet link, and settled ourselves into the living room, I called Tango over.  I looked him in the eye and said, "Tango.  This is a big day.  We're going to have church now, and ordinarily you wouldn't be able to go to church with us, but today, because of our situation, you get to come to church with us - right here.  In our living room."  He stared at me.  I stared back at him, as if to say, this would be the time for you to settle down.  It would be best if you would fall asleep now.  My mother watched the whole conversation and said to me, "You sound like a nutcase."

Palm Sunday mass was to be celebrated with no palms.  Palm Sunday tends to be one of my favorite masses because I adore watching all the children playing with the palms, and watching their exasperated parents take the palms away from them.

Father Gary presided.  The Liturgy of the Word began, notably one of the longest of the year, and Tango started to pace.

Valiantly, Tom tried to placate the little dog.  But, the little dog was not to be placated.

First, Tango tipped over his toy box.

Next, he dragged all of his toys all over the living room floor.

Meanwhile, we continued to listen and watch - one eye on the screen, one eye on the dog.

Then, he started gnawing on the furniture.

Then, Tom got on the ground to play with him.  He loves attention.  That should do it.  But...no.

Tango capitalized on all the attention and started biting anything and everything within sight.  Shoes, hands, pillows, carpet, blankets.  Don't worry - no toys, toys specially designed for a dog to bite and chew on, were utilized in this wild display of jawline power.

Then,  Tango launched into biting his toy box.  The tearing and ripping becoming the main event, as church played on in the background.  He shredded his toy box into a million tiny little cardboard pieces, then scattered them like confetti all around the living room.

Father Gary's homily was spot on - from what I could gather.  His point was that we should not make light of the times we are in.  These times are serious, there's no doubt about it.  But, he encouraged us to cope through finding joyful moments and laughter throughout our days; not to diminish what we're going through, but to sustain us through it. 

And, lo and behold, here we were trying to take in the serious, reflective, meditative tone that is involved in a Catholic mass, with our dog terrorizing the living room.  I couldn't help but laugh.  It seemed to me that this was akin to the new parents taking a toddler to church.  The parents trying to contain the little one's energy and the little one having a very different agenda, indeed.

In our living-room church today, we sang.  We prayed.  We worshiped together.  And, we watched our dog destroy everything he possibly could within a one hour time frame with three adults looking on.  Yes, the joy and humor were alive and well in our residence tonight.  And, like any good Catholic parent, we will not be deterred by one mass of misbehavior.  We will be sure to take Tango to church again next week - this time, we'll bring extra treats.

April 7, 2020: Day 23 - Earning Our Pay

I had a feeling this day would come.

For several weeks, since the closures of our school doors, we've seen hilarious tweets and posts joking about the typical American parent attempting to work their own job, while simultaneously teaching their student, under the guise of "homeschooling."  We saw parents whose patience was tried to the breaking point.  We saw parents humorously joking about suspending or expelling their student.  We saw parents making light of a dark situation.  And, it was appreciated.  Teachers the world over were lifted with these laughs and our hearts went out to these parents because we know - WE KNOW - what they are dealing with.  For a moment in time, it seemed that our society was finally feeling the weight of what a teacher carries everyday.  We felt the kindred camaraderie form between parents to teachers, and we were grateful. 

Now, the tide is turning.  I can feel the demonizing of public education starting to rear it's ugly head once again.

There seems to be a recurring question posed to myself and colleagues from the parents we are working with.  I cannot speak to the intent or the motivation behind the question, but I can attempt to answer it.  The question is this:  "Why are teachers still getting paid?"

First of all, we're in an agreement with our district that says that if we're meeting the conditions of the agreements we are to get paid.  It's called a contract.

Second of all, please don't act like we asked for this.  We didn't.  This was as unexpected to us as it was to anyone else.  There was nothing we could do to prevent school closures from happening.  This is a government mandate that we are following.  Teachers witness the power of the collective on a daily basis, so perhaps we are more equipped to do our part for the greater good, but that doesn't mean we had any more indication of what was to come of the landscape of education. 

Third of all, we are in just as uncomfortable a position as other occupations might be.  By nature, teachers are a planning people.  We have contingencies for contingencies in the classroom, and we prepare for every possible situation we can fathom.  Schools closing overnight was not something we ever could have prepared for.  To speak from my personal experience, my colleagues and I had two brief after-school meetings with building administration prior to the closures of our schools, and the entire premise of a shutdown was treated as a long-shot hypothetical scenario.  With one day's notice, we had to change our entire methodologies of teaching. We have been called upon to force everything we know about sound teaching into an electronic format; or, even worse, a piece of paper.  We are navigating waters through which we have never before had to swim, and we are doing it while simultaneously teaching ourselves <I>how</I> to swim.

With those three things in mind, please acquaint yourself with what teachers are doing during these moments when our school buildings our closed.

-We are calling approximately 20 families per week to check in, ask ridiculous mandated questions about technology, and provide information on the next steps.
-We are reaching out to students who we know might be having a difficult time right now, and are trying to connect them with the necessary resources they need to make it through this trauma. Under normal circumstances, we make every effort to serve as points of stability and consistency in our students' lives; as far as we're concerned, that duty doesn't evaporate due to unforeseen circumstances!
-We are in weekly staff meetings, trying to wrap our heads around the plans that the state and our district has determined for us.
-We are in weekly content meetings, trying to come up with ways to best deliver instruction to every child.
-We are fielding texts and phone calls from families and students any hour of the day.
-We are creating materials from the ground up.
-We are providing materials for students in a format that is completely foreign to most of us.
-We are in virtual classroom training for how to use technology we have rarely been exposed to, and are now expected to master within six hours.
-We are teaching ourselves how to use technological platforms because the district is funded for one person to teach educators how to use those platforms, and that individual simply doesn't have enough time to teach every teacher what they need to know to be successful in coming weeks.
-We are responding to emails hourly.
-We are trying to establish social media platforms to stay connected to our students, many of which none of us have ever used before.
-We are trying to maintain our own family lives, our marriages, our kids, while devoting the vast majority of our day to our chosen profession.

Let me be clear: our hearts are broken.  They break a million different ways, a million times a day.  From worrying about our kids who we know are stuck at home - not safe at home - to anticipating the next obstacle that will be hurled at us.  We are frustrated.  We are anxious.  We are concerned and confused, too. We are trying to solve problems that we have never had to solve before - indeed, challenges that are literally without precedent. And, we will solve them. We will continue to wake up and figure out inventive ways to keep learning happening.  We will continue to fight for what we know is best for our students.  We will continue to trim our sails, time after time, to meet whatever squalls that are sure to come our way. We will do what is reasonably asked, what is <I>unreasonably</I> asked, and then some.  Because, that's what we do.

Yes, our school buildings are closed, but our teachers are not.  They are working hard for our students, your student(s), every day of the week, despite - and sometimes in spite of - the implications that we aren't doing anything because there's no building in which to report. Our proverbial plates are just as full working from home as they were during every normal school every day of every typical year.  So, why are teachers still receiving pay? Because the location has changed, but the work has not.  I assure you; we are earning our pay.

April 2, 2020: Day 18 - Tango Knows Best

The routine around here has shifted quite a bit in the past three weeks.

Where once we had a rushed, frenzied morning getting ready in an hour or less - is now long and drawn out and, to be honest, doesn't include "getting ready" at all.  Tom takes the early shift with Tango, feeding him around 5:30 am everyday and then snuggling in the chair until about 8 am.  Tom and Tango (T-squared) usually fall back asleep and then at 8, Tom starts actually getting ready for his day.

That is usually when my turn with Tango kicks in.  I try to rest with him or keep him occupied until it's time for our walk around 9.  On this particular day, I had a phone call at 10:30 that I had to be available for, so we were making sure that we were out the door at 9.  We usually walk for about 35 minutes, but with Tango, you never know what he has on his agenda and I like to build in a little extra time in case I have to go chasing him around.

Tom's work meeting started at 8:30 and I was trying to get myself ready - and get Tango ready.  This includes getting dressed while the dog is nipping at my feet and ankles while I'm trying to get my shoes on, filling my pockets with treats, AND finding the leash.  This was the one thing I could not find.  Tom had walked Tango last the day before, and I didn't want to interrupt Tom at his work meeting, but I did want to get this little monster out of the house.

After wildly flailing my arms to get Tom's attention, mouthing, "WHERE.  IS.  THE.  LEASH?" complete with homemdae hand-gestures that probably looked more like, 'Get me the spaghetti noose!!'  Tom attempts gesturing back and quickly realizes I'm not listening because I'm frantically searching.  Oh, and NOW Tango is chewing on some black plastic at the bottom of the dryer in the laundry room.  GREAT.  I'm really starting to freak - we have to get him OUT of here before he starts destroying EVERYTHING.

I look in the cupboard where we keep most Tango supplies.  No leash.  I look in the laundry room.  No sign of it.  I look in the garage - which is where I remembered seeing it last.  Not there.  I looked in the front entry way, where T-squared had come through upon returning from their walk the day before.  Not there, either.  Now I was just getting frustrated.  Where is the flipping leash!?!?

I storm into the living room ready to blow up Tom's meeting if I have to.  I'm working on trying to recognize that small things are not five-alarm emergencies, but clearly, I'm not 'there' yet.  I say firmly, "Where is the leash?  We need to go...like...now."  Tom says, "Look in the shower."

Now, I was really confused.  The shower?  Yeah, I definitely wouldn't have looked there.  That would probably be the last place I looked. Plus, I had showered that morning, and definitely didn't remember seeing a leash.  But...okay...I'll go look in the shower.

Tom follows me into our bathroom, explaining that after Tango had played with our neighbor dog, Lily, in the wetlands, he'd given him a shower.  But, none of this was adding up to me because I thought the dog had played with Lily two days prior, not just yesterday.  But, then, I started to question myself because I have very little notion of what day it is.  Once in the bathroom, it was plain to see:  No.  Leash.

OMG!  Where is the leash!?

Then, Tom says, "Well the last place I had it was in the laundry room  - I think.  I hung it over the bar above the washer and dryer."  And, I'm thinking - well if that's where it was, I obviously would have seen that.  We march into the laundry room and sure enough, the leash is not hanging on the bar.  However, it had fallen down between the washer and dryer.

It turns out, the little piece of black plastic that Tango had been chewing on, was not part of the dryer afterall.  It was part of his collar that was attached to the leash.  It seems that Tango knew where his leash was the entire time.  Had I stopped to see what he was actually chewing, instead of angrily shouting at him to STOP CHEWING things, I would have found the leash about 5 minutes faster than I did.  Maybe this dog will teach me a thing or two, yet.

April 1, 2020: Day 17 - Fools Rush In

Today is April Fool's Day.  The current situation I have found myself in doesn't necessarily lend itself to a day of tom-foolery.  After a week of Zoom meetings, and the creation of our first on-line, yet printable and deliverable, materials, I felt conflicted about the current state of education.

We can't leave our students with nothing.  But, are we rushing into this "new way" too fast?

On the one hand, we can't leave our students waiting forever.  I have kids who are checking in weekly, begging for me to post assignments.  Not only are some of my students floundering without grade level appropriate material to be reading, writing and thinking about.  They are lacking the stability and the structure of our weekly systems.  They want both, the routine and the assignment.  They need both.  They deserve to have both.

And, now, I can't provide both.

My natural tendency is to move.  Move fast and move forward.  Make a plan and move to it.  But, I also feel a tug holding me back.  There's something that just doesn't feel right to me to be in a frenzied state right now.  I can't quite put my finger on it.  But, it feels like stillness will protect me right now.

So, I'm trying to remember, "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."  It's okay to take time.  It's okay to slow down.  It's okay to be still and wait. 

March 31, 2020: Day 16 - Back to Work

I went back to work today.  It doesn't even feel like I stopped working for the past two weeks because I've been writing about so may work-related topics.  I also have continued working by sending virtual "check ins" to my students.  Not all of them can access these due to limited computer access, but it is nice to hear from those that can access these forms. Nonetheless, the past two weeks really haven't felt like "time off."

My first back to work agenda item was to attend a virtual Zoom meeting with our school administration and my coworkers.  It was nice to see everyone's faces!  It was clear that we don't quite feel comfortable with this format yet, and everyone had some adjusting to do.

Next, we learned that we'd have to contact all of our families - we split up the students, and I ended up talking to 20 families over the course of 2 hours.  It was nice to talk to people on the outside, but it was very tiring.  It kind of felt like conferences - just the pace of talking and getting to the next thing.  It was really a lot, but I felt like I acquired the necessary information I was asked to acquire.

And, here, I thought I might get a nap.  No such luck.  But, technically I'm still on the clock, and I can always find something to do.

This blog is an excellent example of how much mental energy I expend when I'm working.  I don't have enough brain power to do my actual job, and then come up with something clever to write.  I'm spent.  Totally spent.  

Back to the grind tomorrow...