Pandemic Narrative, part 12: For Crying Out Loud

Do you remember how it started? 

The first news reports, most of them fairly measured, about a new virus emerging on the other sides of the world, moving higher up in priority as the days and weeks of the new year passed on? Casually witnessing from what seemed a safe distance as country after country was added to the roster of the ones affected, the number of cases growing at alarmingly geometric rates in so many different locations, the confirmed deaths growing from sad to tragic to terrifying? 

How did you feel when the NHL and the NBA suspended their seasons? When theaters closed and concerts were cancelled? When it was declared too risky to be in an enclosed space with more than 250 other people, and soon after that number dropped to 10? The jokes about toilet paper and hand sanitizer becoming the currency of the apocalypse? Trying to a package of Lysol wipes or their generic equivalents of any size, something reliably stocked in any retail store from Speedway to Target, then accepting what seemed impossible when the companies that produced them ran out. How quickly did you shift your mindset into rationing however many you still had on hand? 

Did you have a happy Easter this year, while much of the nation was on some version of quarantine? No, it never really was an actual quarantine; it just became convenient to call it that instead of by any of the names different states were using: Sheltering in Place, Safe at Home orders, and so on. We reading social media posts about all the banana bread and sourdough people were trying to make, and saw the Instagram pictures displaying their results. The invention and implementation of societal distance learning came into being, soon followed by memes and videos of how frustrated people were becoming as they struggled to manage their own staying-at-home lives with helping their children learn. Community events became online features — concerts, happy hours, birthdays, proms, graduation ceremonies. All were well-intended but were never substitutes for the real things, the idea of normal from which we felt we were being deprived. That was okay though. We were all in this together.

Everything had happened so quickly and there was still so little we knew about the virus. The safest thing was to keep our heads down and our doors locked. Doctors and nurses and really anyone in the medical profession, particularly the ones working in hospitals where patients were being treated for the virus were held to the same standard of heroism as soldiers putting their lives in jeopardy to protect each other and defend the ideas of our nation. State governments kept us informed about how bad things were, how much worse they were expected to get and by what speculated dates, and what we each needed to do to “flatten the curve.” 

Of course it didn’t last. When you put an ignorant and immeasurably selfish jackass in a position to influence the opinions of far too many people who are more than willing to be influenced, the Kumbaya of it all falls apart with very little prompting. Armed protests at state governments, many of which were at least encouraged by the previously-mentioned ignorant jackass, began demanding a return to normalcy. I understood the frustration at the root of these demonstrations, since so many people have had their economic livelihoods decimated throughout all of this, and desperately needed to return to work. After all, some reasoned, the part of the population most affected was the senior citizens, who were already more at risk due to health-related problems. Other people, convinced by the belief in their own invulnerability, had reached their breaking point. 

A few weeks after that chaos seemed to return to a controlled boil, the country really did get turned upside down. Suddenly we were looking at the probability of our society going through systemic changes that had nothing to do with the virus. 

Here in my state, things are continuing the gradual process of reopening. The current data I’m looking at lists 33,227 cases, with 1,416 deaths. We were in bad shape for a few weeks there, but things have calmed enough for politicians to decide it’s relatively safe to start slipping back into the habits of the old normal, as long as people continue to observe social distancing and wear masks while in public. Which, to no surprise, many people who are either too ignorant or obstinate or believe themselves to be making a political stand by their actions simply don’t. It’s becoming more common for viral videos to show adults throwing honest-to-God R-rated tantrums if employees asks them to wear a mask as they shop.

If we dare to go beyond the borders of my state, things are much worse. The United States has passed the two and a half million benchmark for COVID-19 cases, with, depending on the source, approximately 125,000 deaths. Not only has the virus migrated to states that managed to escape widespread infection in the spring, but its staging comebacks in some that are now having second thoughts about the rate of their openings, and its all happening at rates that put us, as a nation, in the middle of the most aggressive spreading we’ve seen yet. Last night I heard on the news that even here in my state, there’s a been a shift in the affected population: Now the greatest number of new cases is coming from people in their 20s, with clusters of virus spread originating in bars. I guess that invulnerability didn’t work out. 

As a teacher, my life is filled with three-word directions: Sharpen your pencil. Write your name. Tie your shoes. Wipe your nose. Wash your hands. Lower your voice. All because kids don’t always know to do the right thing on their own. 

Here’s one more for those that haven’t figured it out on their own yet: 

WEAR A MASK.

May 31: Pandemic Summer

I’ve started past summers by covering my refrigerator door in a colorful array of sticky notes, creating a massive list of goals, hobbies, and adventures meant to fill my summer break with experiences and accomplishments. This summer I’m leaving it blank. 

This coming Friday would be Track and Field Day at my school. In a lot of ways, that day is the emotional starting point for the end of the school year. However, because of the coronavirus and distance learning, our Track and Field Day is virtual this year. No sweaty day out in the sun. No kids dumping out their water bottles on each other. No Tug of War, or Fifth Grade All-Stars competition, or dunk tank, or subsequent happy hour which I probably would have gone to this year.

The beginning of summer break is a wonderful time, the launch pad of so much possibility, and so many things to do. Go see a movie in the middle of the afternoon, if you want. Meet up with a few friends for lunch somewhere you usually wouldn’t go and catch up. Enjoy the open time without any immediate responsibility, or at least less of it.

This year though, I don’t know how much it will even feel like a break, at least for me. I haven’t seen my students in nearly three months, and I won’t see them as a group ever again. I’m sure it will feel like summer, with the pounding afternoon sun and the humid air and the occasional storm rolling through. So summer, sure. But a break from what? My work day for the third trimester has meant sitting in front of my computer screen each day, which is what a good chunk of each day will be like as I work (and yeah, it really is WORK) to write one new manuscript and revise another. That was always going to happen. Anything I would have had on the Sticky Note To Do List would have been distractions around it.

But this year, what’s going to happen in the outside world? For the second time in 2020, the world has gone through remarkable change for the worst almost overnight just this past week. George Floyd was killed not even a week ago, and not for the first time we’re finding so much of our lives affected by the actions of one violent ex-cop. Tragically there’s no way everything that followed that won’t lead to a second wave of COVID-19 by July, and my guess is that by then one community demanding justice and another wanting to go up North every weekend won’t eagerly welcome another shelter-in-place order.

So in my little world, there are a lot of things that either I really can’t, or shouldn’t, do, as well as things that would be pointless. There won’t be the traditional countdown to the first day back to school in the fall, because there’s really no telling what the fall will look like. There won’t be any boiling afternoons spent in a dark movie theater to retreat from the excessive heat and the storm watches, because even if the theaters were open there aren’t exactly any movies out for them to show. There won’t be afternoons or evenings, or sometimes even mornings, wandering the aisles of Cub or Target for an hour, only to arrive at the check-out with a cartful of things I don't really need. Live music is pretty much dead at the moment, so the one concert I was excited about attending has been postponed for at least a year, to say nothing of how there wasn’t even a Summer Concert Series at the MN Zoo amphitheater announced. I didn’t even bother trying to pick an Official Driving With the Windows Rolled Down Album of the Summer, both because friggin’ 2020 doesn’t deserve one and because the last time I filled my gas tank was mid-March and it isn’t even half empty yet.

On top of all this — no State Fair. Maybe at least on the Fourth of July I can try to watch the fireworks from that show near my house …maybe they’ll allow that with social distancing…at least on the fourth I can watch the Hot Dog eating con…nope, that’s getting shut down for sure.

I don’t know. I mean, I fully expect the Second Wave to hit like a tsunami, but maybe before it does I’m being too cautious. A lot of people are getting sick, but a lot aren’t. NO, that’s the kind of magical thinking that ends up with people in the ICU. I’m not taking any risks I don’t have to, and if that means more time in the designated pick up spots in the Target parking lot instead of in the store, so be it. I’m walking around with an underlying condition or two here. I’m not taking any risks I absolutely don’t have to. 

Besides, there are still a lot of things I can do. There are dozens of books to read in my house, along with the two of my own I’ll be working on. In fact, I’m halfway through the new Stephen King right now and have an older John Sandford mystery I still haven’t read on deck. I’ve got miles and miles of summer dog walks ahead of me, along with sunny afternoons we’ll spend in our chairs on the patio. There are all of those shows on Netflix people talk about, and I’ll probably take the final technology dive into Disney+ at some point, to anesthetize myself with Marvel movies. I’m also taking on the summer project of catching up on classic movies I’ve never seen; I think “From Here to Eternity” is actually recording as I sit here and write this. I have a well-worn copy of Fallout: New Vegas at the ready for any night I can’t fall asleep, now that I don’t have to worry so much about waking up to “go to work” anymore. And as far as shopping? I can get pretty much whatever I need delivered to my house. To paraphrase one of my students from an assignment they wrote about living through a pandemic, there’s a difference between the things you want and the things you need.

Whatever happens, the summer of 2020 promises to be both quiet (personally) and dramatic (publicly). Let’s just hope there’s still a world left out there when it’s time to start school again in the fall. 

May 30: Reflections on Distance Learning

The distance learning experiment began two months ago today. Teachers, students, and parents all had to learn how to make it work along the way. Some things worked, some didn’t. The district staff who slapped the original plan together all in a matter of weeks may be all intelligent and experienced, but they are only people and are subject to the same limitations as the rest of us. 

After two months of teaching from my home office, I feel I’ve got some of the distance learning process figured out. Here are a few things I’ll be keeping in mind for if/when we eventually fall back into the same routine at some point in the coming school year.

*Be flexible with your time. Office hours mean there are times you’re expected to be available, but not every child or every family will be able to align with that schedule. 

*Stay in touch with the families. Some families will roll with it all fairly well. Some will be anxious and confused. Some will not be very involved at all. 

*Make your directions abundantly clear. Sooner or later, you’re going to explain the directions to an assignment in a way that aren’t as straightforward as you intended or believed them to be. In a classroom, you can monitor and adjust. You can’t online. There likely will be times when the best thing to do will be to accept it didn’t work and move on. Video or audio instructions are very helpful. Some kids still won’t watch them and will do everything wrong.

*Understand that sometimes things will not go the way you want and there won’t be much you can do about it. It’s hard to find a balance between the rigor of assignments being too easy and too difficult. Sometimes you’ll thread that needle, sometimes you won’t.

*Some kids who are used to trash talking through their gaming and texting online will think that kind of discourse will carry over into their school work. If they aren’t going to show simple respect online, you probably have the capability to limit their interaction in the digital classroom setting. Use it. I did, once. I had to put up with a temper tantrum in an email later, but it worked. 

*If there’s a kid in your class who never shows their work, never hands things in, complains constantly about what they need to do (and there is at least one kid like that in your class), you’re going to have to monitor their participation very closely. If you have ways to stay in contact with them, use those to remind them about what they need to do. If they aren’t getting their jobs done, let the families know. With some families, that works brilliantly and you’ll see immediate results. With others, you’ll at least some improvement, either overall or in spurts. With a very small number of exceptions, it won’t make any difference at all. 

*Realize when you have video chats that sometimes the kids are only there because they want to see their classmates, and they couldn’t care less about what you’re trying to teach them. 

*Your email inbox is going to get ridiculous. Whatever tools you have, keep the important messages tagged because they’ll disappear in the crowd five minutes after you first see them. 

*Be flexible in your expectations because you don’t know what anyone is going through, but hold them accountable for what they’re expected to do. The day is going to come when they need that skill for real.