First, the numbers. Cases in the United States: 5.97 million. That’s a number greater than the population of thirty different states. Deaths: Just over 183,000. In Minnesota, that’s more than the population of any city other than Minneapolis or St. Paul.
School for the staff in our district begins tomorrow. The meetings and training sessions will be held virtually this year, with an extra week of planning and organizing built into the calendar. Students will be welcomed back after that one-week delay, with hybrid learning in the elementary schools and distance learning for secondary, with the intention that the secondary schools will transition to a hybrid model two weeks later. However, any families who were hesitant about sending their children back were given the option to have them continue with distance learning, at least for the first trimester. Enough people chose this at our school that one teacher from each grade has been designated a distance learning teacher.
These teachers will still collaborate with both their grade level teammates and each other, and most of them will be working in the building with the rest of the staff. Most, but not all. One was granted an accommodation by the school district because they’re carrying around Covid-19 underlying health conditions, so working in a public building puts them at a greater risk. That walking risk factor? That would be me.
Maybe this is a surprise to you. It has been to a lot of people so far. If that’s the case, it’s probably because I decided it isn’t your concern and I’ve chosen not to share it with you. Don’t take it personally, since that describes most people. We all have aspects of our lives we choose to keep to ourselves, and since this is one for me, I’d rather we all just accept it as a truth and move forward without making an issue of it. In other words, mind your business, and have a nice day.
So why bring it up in the first place, you might be wondering? It would be pretty impossible to write this post without giving you at least that much context. So, context established — let’s move on.
I stopped at school this past Friday, for an hour or so, just to pick up whatever personal or curricular items I would need before my classroom is turned into a day care center for the next x number of weeks or months. There had already been at least one email sent out from our principal by then that would make it clear to anyone paying attention I won’t be roaming the hallways for this year, or at least for some of it. It was good to see some of my grade level team and a few other friends and colleagues in the short time I was there, because I know the separation from all of them will absolutely be the hardest thing about teaching remotely for me.
Don’t get me wrong: I know how lucky I am to have gotten this accommodation. With the number of morons in the general public either ignoring, disregarding, or not taking mitigation guidelines as seriously as they should, it seems likely that eventually some student or staff member is going to let a little Covid nugget piggyback into the school. Not ideal, but we’re talking about a virus that spreads aggressively, which means that old brick schoolhouse that’s welcomed me back for the past twenty-eight school years is not the place for me to be right now.
So, where does that leave me? As far as the job goes, eh, it’s not really a big deal for my part. I’ve done distance learning before. I’m not getting the whole thing dropped on me out of nowhere like the big ugly surprise it was in March. I had a trimester to find out what works and what doesn’t. I’ve learned a lot about the tech. Not everything will go right, but most of it will. The families I’ll be working with chose that model, which makes me hopeful they’re at least on board with the idea. There will be things about it that are difficult, but there are going to be difficult things about the hybrid model I won’t be doing, so it should mostly be a wash in the end.
I’m not expecting the job to be too much of a problem. In fact, I’m actually looking forward to taking on some of the challenges. So I’m ready for the job. I’m anxious to teach again, even like this. I’m more worried about all the other things.
I won’t see my team. Online? Sure. Group messaging? Constant. But will I be there to laugh at the knock-off Pringles? The Asimov quiz at lunch? The hallway decompression after another day in the psychedelic monkey house? No. But they will. And they’ll have each other. And they will build bonds based around the shared experiences unique to this school year that I will only ever know about as second hand, at best.
I won’t see my friends. I don't suspect I’ll be missing out on many happy hours or game nights or team building events on the weekends, but: Our staff shifted hard last year. There were seismic changes in the district with new schools opening, and a lot of my long-time friends left, as a whole bunch of strangers came in to take their places. In many ways, I started last year feeling barely tethered to what my school had always been to me. As time went on, I slowly got to know a lot of these brand-new people, and developed stronger relationships with some of the others I’d work with for years but had never known well. This kind of relationship building happens gradually, collecting the momentary experiences that occur and letting them grow. Sometimes relationships organically occur, and sometimes you have to decide to put in the work needed to foster them. This year there are going to be more brand new people walking our halls. Most of them I haven’t even met. They’ll be nothing to me but names on a Google Meet tile, and I won’t be much more to them than a ghost or a rumor. They’ll build relationships with my friends and colleagues, and I could be a year behind everyone else by the time I get my chance to know them half as well.
I’ll still have my role in the greater purpose, but I won’t have anyone to share it with in the crucial moments. Everyone in a school knows which kids are the challenges in which homerooms and which grades. We all have our people we can safely vent to when it’s necessary. We have the running jokes that keep us sane. Being a part of a school staff is very much a “We’re all in this together” feel, in a way people who haven’t experienced it themselves could not appreciate. This year, I suspect that feeling is going to be even stronger and more connecting for the people there. And then there will be me, the virtual one, the afterthought, the asterisk. We’re all in this together, and, ooh, that’s right. Someone needs to remember to tell him, too.
I selfishly hope distance learning does start for everyone, which is counterintuitive since the only thing that would make that happen would be an even wider and more aggressive spread of the virus through the community. But if things do get bad, I want my friends and colleagues and my students and their families off the front lines. I want to know they’re all safe, and I want to know that when I rejoin the world, someday, it will still be somewhat familiar.
It’s daunting to consider how it’s inevitable the world is going to move on, and that the school, and the school community I return to, is going to be very different than the one I’m sidestepping away from so I can stay alive. It’s also daunting to think about how the experience at my end of it will change me as well.
There’s nothing any of us can do but survive and wait to see what’s next.
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