Random thoughts six months in and about RBG...

Six months ago, this felt temporary. “Honestly? If it means being holed up for a couple of weeks while this blows over in order to stem the spread of this virus and protect the more vulnerable among us, then yes,"  I wrote in a blog post on March 12th. "Isn't one of the things that makes us so great as Americans the ability for us to pull together in hard times to do the right thing? Even if it makes us uncomfortable? Is disruption to daily routine annoying and a pain? Sure. But wouldn’t losing loved ones because we didn’t do everything we could to slow this down be a lot worse?” On March 12th, when I wrote that, 38 people in the United States had died. Today, six months later, that number is just under 200,000.

Six months ago, the president of the United States was recorded telling a Pulitzer Prize winning author that this virus was deadly. More deadly than terrible flus. Yet in public press briefings, he downplayed it, saying it was no worse than the flu. I just watched a news story from somewhere in the US where people protesting mandated mask wearing parroted those words, “It’s no worse than the flu,” said a little boy. 

Six months ago, the pandemic poem by Catherine O’Meara, In the Time of Pandemic, was passed around as a relic from a past pandemic, but was actually written at the beginning of this one. The sentiment was lovely, evoking images of pioneer women slowing down, meditating and enjoying the beauty of a slowed down world. It was lovely in March, as the Internet pulled together and people shared and families enjoyed time together and life slowed down for a little while. But now, six months later, for some, that idyllic moment has passed. People want their travel ball back. They want to go to bars. This odd politicization happened and it’s hard to imagine us all finding something in common to pull us together again. But I sure wish we could.

Is it normal to still be in a state of disbelief about where we are right now? I see a commercial on tv for face shields and I have two thoughts: 1) smart, the opening is at the top and not the bottom, and 2) how is it that we’re living in a time where the reality is that there are commercials on tv for devices to protect us from each other? (and I guess 3) how is it that that IS the reality, but roughly 40% of our country doesn’t believe any of this is necessary and refuses to take even the most basic measures to protect anyone?

I don’t like feeling “not okay.” I prefer happy go lucky me. I know now, what I didn’t know six months ago: there isn’t going to be a "new normal." We shouldn’t even want a new normal. Wanting a new normal would be settling. Because the old normal really wasn’t so great for everyone either. In fact, it wasn’t great for many. Systemic problems that were right there always are still there. Wouldn’t it be something if we could actually learn from this period we’re in and really tried to fix things? 

Friday. Friday was a good day at work. Parents had lunch brought in for teachers as a teacher appreciation gift. As I grabbed my boxed lunch to take back to my room to go eat alone, I realized many of my colleagues were out on our patio, safely distanced, eating and chatting with each other, so I went and joined them. People! My extroverted side felt gleeful! Later, we celebrated our seniors as they drove by in a car parade. Again…more people. It felt right, it felt good and I felt happy for a little while.

Until that evening, when news of Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s death broke just as I sat down to watch live-streamed Rosh Hashana services. Utterly devastating. The Rabbi, seeing the news in the Facebook Live chat, didn’t miss a beat, changed the course of his service and talked about her, her legacy, what a hero she was and reminded us all that in our own grief to remember her family was grieving, too. 

As the weekend has unfolded and the battle lines drawn regarding this sudden gift to the president and his supporters and the potential loss and fear for those on the left, I’ve thought a lot about this. How much we have to be thankful to RBG for. Her fierce tenacity. Her fight for equality for women. Her five time fight against cancer. What an unfair burden we placed on her as the one thing that could protect us all by staying alive and holding onto her lifetime seat on the SCOTUS. Yet, of course she couldn't do that. So what happens now? We have an obligation to step up and not let her legacy or fighting spirit go to to waste. Most often, goodness prevails. Will it now? It has to.

I’m not a big fan of suspense novels. I didn’t really like Gone Girl, the Couple Next Door, or the Dinner.  Those kind of stories make me tense and I need to know how it’s going to turn out. And, true confession, if it’s in a book and my chest is tightening too much from the story, then I’ll cheat and read a bit of the last page or so, just to be sure the person I need to know is okay is going to be okay. I feel like we’re living the pages of the most intense suspense novel right now. Only I’m not able to flip to the back of the book or  scroll to the last page to reassure myself that things will be all right.

Donning and Doffing My Mask as a New School Year Begins

This week, like teachers all over, I headed back into school, after leaving at the end of a teacher workday on March 13th and never going back to finish out our year in person. Though I’ve been back in my room a few times since, walking in for the first time this week was a bit of a gut punch. 

The Vienna wall calendar my son gave me as a gift, still turned to its March page. Words on my white board, never erased: “Once upon a time…suddenly…fortunately…” (a reminder to use them in my never given next day’s planned lesson on storytelling through video). The bulletin board on the wall above my desk with trinkets and drawings from kids over the years, pictures of past advisory groups, all exactly as I’d left them. Tears may have fallen as the heaviness of this year came rushing back as it so often does.

I worked a bit on my room, moving furniture out of the way and putting tables into place so that it adheres to the new lower capacity of the space in preparation for that time in the future when we may have kids back in our building. I donned my mask and left my room and waved to old friends from a distance. I had my temperature checked, worried when it measured high, sighed with relief when the next try didn’t and answered the health questions with "no's." I took part in Zoom meetings, had Zoom conferences with parents. 

I sat down and looked at my MacBook to start putting all the ideas I’ve had swirling in my head the past two months into actual lessons for next week’s first week of remote virtual school, using the different apps we’ve had professional development for and training on all summer. I stalled a little and then stalled a little more and then finally got to work. For real. Creating lessons, activities and assignments for students to work through on their own in their own homes. Asking myself, “Is this engaging enough? Is it too much work? Not enough?” Recording screencasts, stuttering and stumbling through words for an embarrassing too many seconds, hitting stop, delete and starting over wondering, “Am I too energetic? Not energetic enough? Will they get my personality or humor over video? Talking too fast?” (more than likely yes to that last one!). Thinking about how to best use synchronous Zoom sessions to build relationships and start creating awesome content this year.

I’m pretty sure some version of that scenario played out in classrooms not just on my campus, but in campuses across the country this week. And you know what I think people need to know? Particularly the ones who don’t teach children for a living? Or the ones who think teachers are lazy and don’t want to work because they expressed concern about scary rates of transmission and percent positive Covid numbers and worry for their lives and those of their family members? Or the ones who feel the need to protest impossible decisions forced upon school administrators in a country plagued by an unrelenting pandemic, yet don’t want to do the hard work to help make it go away because of a misguided political agenda? Or the ones who call themselves “pro life” but at the same time publicly express, “Well, some live and some die, that’s how life goes?” The ones who hold elected office and are insisting schools open for in-person instruction, even while their own children will be attending school virtually this fall? 

They need to know that virtual school is absolutely real school. And it is an incredible amount of work to pull off and do well. They need to know that teachers everywhere would give anything to be with their full classes and do things the way they used to. That the safety protocols, while important and necessary, aren’t fun and will make school feel less like the “real school” some politicians are demanding when kids do finally come back. That they’re also all coming off a summer that wasn’t really a summer, where they’ve worked and learned and opened their minds to new ways of doing things, all in the service of doing what’s best for children and their learning, while also being aware that they need to be there to help with their social emotional needs, too. 

If they’re like me, they’re scared and excited all at the same time. Scared of the unknown, scared of the uncertainty. Excited for new opportunities and learning and growth. When I recorded one of my course introduction videos, I told my students what a college professor I had in a summer course a few years ago said: “If we always do things the way we’ve always done them, then we always do things the way we’ve always done them.” What a weird but necessary gift we’ve been handed to try something new and see if this can bring education into a more modern era. That instead of technology for technology's sake in the name of "21st Century Skills," using technology purposefully and gaining true skills 20 years into the 21st Century.

Doffing my mask as I got in my car after finishing a week of work at school for the first time in five months, I got home feeling that Friday night exhaustion that used to feel so familiar. I scrolled through my Facebook page, reading post after post from teacher friends (at my school, across the state, around the country), all mirroring what I was feeling. That prepping for in-person school is easier than prepping for virtual. That they’re doing what teachers do. They’re thinking about how to make learning fun and engaging for children. Different this year, to be sure, but finding ways to give them the best of themselves that they can. 

And so, here’s to the beginning of Year 17 for me, which is so different from how I started any of the previous 16.

Halftime for 2020

December 31, 2019. I was all about celebrating the “lasts” of the decade, reminiscing about the tremendous amount of change we’d undergone through the 2010’s and looking forward to 2020 and the “firsts” that a new decade had in store. Little could I have imagined. 

Today, we are six months into 2020 and if someone had given me a hint of what was to come, I’d have laughed at the sheer audacity one would have to make some of this stuff up. It wasn’t like there was a gradual…let’s make this year a test of the average person’s strength and meddle…thing that happened. No. We jumped right in and everything changed on the first night of the year as we were thrust into a new world of scary medical stuff. And before I go any further, I am incredibly thankful for the emergency medical people at our local hospital, as well as the cardiac care staff at the big city hospital where we went. Things could have taken  a drastically different turn that night and I will forever be grateful that they didn’t. I know too many who have undergone extreme pain and loss and sorrow in the past six months and I think about them every single day.

But as the news ramped up in those first few weeks of this year, stories of raging brush fires in Australia, insect infestations, blizzards and then tornadoes were only part of it. Because when that new virus showed up on the news, it didn’t really register as a real threat for most of us. Until it did. And by then, it was pretty much too late. 

March 13, 2020, a Friday the 13th, by the way, if you’re a superstitious type. To me, this is the day that will live on as the one where everything changed. When I left work that day knowing that school was going to be shut down for the next few weeks, I never would have imagined that “the next few weeks” would last until the end of the school year and into the summer and in some way into the next year. 

In the weeks and months that’ve followed, the thing I wonder most is, “What would I have done differently if I’d known I wouldn’t see my students or the majority of my friends and coworkers in person again?” I’m not a terribly “huggy” person, but I would have hugged my friends goodbye. Tightly, like the kind of hug where you might hold on for just an awkward second too long. I would have looked them in the eyes as they spoke to me in those last few days and listened. Hard. And been more present. I was working on a big deadline that week, and was in my head a lot of the time. Knowing what I know right now, I’d have gotten out of my head and enjoyed the exact moments that I was running around trying to document to meet that deadline.

Back then, I wrote in a post that if Ma Ingalls could manage life on a prairie and tend to people with yellow fever and still manage her farm chores, then I could certainly handle what was to come in my suburban town. And I can. And I have, but it sure hasn’t been easy. Don’t get me wrong…there are parts of this that I’ve actually loved. The slowed down lifestyle, the time with my immediate family. In what other recent time has empty nester parents suddenly been given back their kids for a little while? This time with our kids has been a great gift. But I also know that it’s hard on them and they want…they need…to move on and into their actual adult lives.The emotional ups and downs have been hard on everyone.  

The world has changed in so many unimaginable ways in this new decade. In April, I wrote about how I hoped we could take the good parts of our quarantine lives and leave behind the bad as part of our “new normal.” But that was before the term “new normal” was hijacked and turned into something ugly and weaponized. We’ve moved from the quiet, peaceful part of quarantine to the restless, angry part of it. We’ve watched in horror as 126,000 of our fellow Americans have died from this virus, and yet some of us haven’t been willing to do the simple things needed to help slow the spread. Wear a mask, stay home when possible, keep our distance from others. The Internet is filled with awful pictures and video of people behaving horribly in the name of “their rights” while at the same time disregarding the rights of others. Stop looking for conspiracies where there are none and just do the right thing.

But here’s the other thing. In the midst of this pandemic and all that has gone with it, we’ve finally been forced to take a long, hard look at our racial past and the awful mistakes that were made along the way that today still impact the lives of fellow human beings and Americans. And when I say things like, “I just wish we could get back to the way things used to be,” I recognize the privilege that lies behind a statement like that. My “the way things used to be” is another person’s time of fear, anger or sadness over a lifetime of mistreatment or a history told wrong. And we have so much work to do to find a way to come together and make things right.

20, 30, or even 50 years from now. What will they say about this period in history? What will today’s kids tell their own kids or grandkids about the “Year of the Pandemic?” Will they look at us and marvel at our strength and courage during a really scary time? Will they look at us with scorn because half of us refused to do even the bare minimum to help make things better as part of a political game of wills? Will they change the story to make us look better or worse than we do right now? The first half of the first year of the decade of the 20’s is over. But the second half starts today and that story hasn’t been written yet. We all have the power to control and write the story that should be written. Let’s get to it.

My Heart Aches Tonight

This evening, as I was coming back from a walk, I stopped to say hi to a neighbor and we talked about what was going on in our country right now. She pointed down to her 5-year-old daughter and said that she’s asking questions and how do you explain this to a young child? As I walked away, I said, “I have to go home and cry now,” and we both gave a small, sad laugh.

And my heart aches tonight. 

It aches for the families of George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor and so many that came before them.

It aches for people of color who have been held down for too long by systems designed to hold them down and beyond which they have no real power.

It aches for Black parents who live in a sort of fear I’ve never really known that their kids might be the next story on the news.

It aches for the Black community for their pain and anger and for feeling so unheard and unhelped for so long.

It aches for the almost 107,000 dead from Covid-19, which though it’s not gone, it is all but currently sort of, but not really, forgotten.

My heart aches tonight. 

It aches for our country, which feels like it’s falling apart as we stand by wringing our hands in horror because no one in Washington has the courage (or maybe desire) to throw water on the Wicked Witch of the West by standing up to the man who could have chosen to lead our country with compassion and strength and worked to unite us, but instead chose the exact opposite, using loaded, incendiary language designed to hurt and divide.

It aches for the US Constitution, particularly the First Amendment, which protects people’s right to protest peacefully, while some were fired on by tear gas as the President called himself the “ally of peaceful protestors.” 

I don’t know how a parent explains 400 years of systemic racism that ends in terrifying images on a TV screen to young children. I don’t know how to reassure my own adult children that we will see better days. Honestly? Right now, I don’t know how to reassure myself the same thing. 

What I do know is this: We have so much work to do. We have to do more than post memes and platitudes and hashtags. We have to read and learn and figure out what it means to be anti-racist. We have to speak up and help out when we see injustice happen. We have to have compassion. We have to be kind.

#ArmMeWith...and More Thoughts About the Past Week

Here we are, just over a week since the news broke with the school shooting in South Florida. 17 dead. 14 wounded. They could have been you or me or yours and mine. Since then, the news cycle has followed the predictable path that tends to follow these awful events: shock and horror, thoughts and prayers, blame on everything with the exception of the actual instrument that is capable of shooting over 100 rounds in a single minute and is designed to do nothing but kill.

I have wanted to write about this for the past week, but didn’t know what there was left to say that hadn’t been said by others already. So many eloquent voices (from people I know personally, to ones I’ve just stumbled upon) speaking calmly and reasonably about viable things that can and should happen to help prevent more carnage like that school experienced last week.

I thought at first that I wanted to focus my writing on this question: How is it possible that this is an issue that has more than one side? How is this a partisan issue? Because it shouldn’t be. Right? There should only be one side. The side that values human life.

But then today I realized exactly what I want, and need, to write about.

I heard the head of the NRA’s vitriolic speech, where he stated firmly that the only thing that will stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun. But what he forgot to add was, except for when the good guy can’t get to his gun, or misfires his gun and hits an innocent person, or his gun is stolen. No, the only thing that will stop a bad guy with a gun is for the bad guy not to have access to the gun in the first place. That’s just one of a slew of talking points that have been debunked solidly in many articles, including this one. Additionally, it was revealed that the armed deputy on campus at Marjory Douglas Stone High school failed to respond to the shooting happening inside. So the good guy with a gun failed to stop the bad guy with the gun in this instance.

Then, the presidential suggestion via Twitter that paying bonuses to teachers to carry guns at school might be the answer. I think, after this week, I can imagine better what it must be like to live in a dystopian novel, because the sort of talk that is coming from Washington just doesn’t have a place in the America I know. A place where the words of our Founding Fathers are misconstrued by some to justify their need to have all sorts of guns, whether that “right” infringes on others’ rights or not.

Put simply, adding guns to school campuses is just a horrible idea. Where would the funds come from to pay for such “bonuses?’ Government doesn’t fund basic supplies in a school, the state makes laws mandating class size, but doesn't offer funds to cover new teachers...yet, funds will magically appear to pay for all this stuff? If there’s surplus money floating around, then why not pay teachers a fair salary? The #armmewith hashtag has done a great job of stating what teachers really need in their classrooms and schools to help students. More resources to meet the needs of students with mental illness, more opportunities to allow teachers to develop deep, meaningful relationships with all children in their buildings, so the “lonewolf” doesn’t fly under the radar, unseen. Needed supplies so that teachers don’t have to stock their classrooms out of their own pockets or beg parents for them. Fund reasonable class sizes. Get up to date technology in classrooms. And so much more.

What arming teachers does do, though, is put money into the pockets of gun manufacturers, retailers and shooting ranges, which would be clamoring for lucrative school board contracts. But at what cost? I can assure you, the day they mandate arming teachers, or allow conceal carry on a school campus is the last day I work in a school and I know for a fact that I am not the only teacher who feels that way.

Arming teachers and many of these other "solutions" being tossed around are non-answers, designed to lull people into a false sense of security. "If you lock schools up really tight, then a gunman can't get in." But what about recess? Are we expected to keep children inside their fortress-like school in case a shooter decides to aim at the playground instead? Or for that matter, a person with a gun who wants to get into a locked building can use their gun to shoot their way in and go through the building just as quickly as they could have if they’d walked in. Band aid solutions and fear mongering may give people a sense of security or even hope, but they are mostly a false hope, as they don’t address the core issues.

I’ve read that there has been anywhere from 5 to 18 mass shootings on school campuses since the beginning of 2018. The number doesn’t really matter, does it? ANY mass shooting on a school ground...at a concert...in a church...in a synagogue...in a mosque...at a mall...in a movie theater...is ONE TOO MANY. Are we so broken that we really can’t come together in a moment of anguish and tragedy and have the courage to do the right thing?

And yet, through all of this, I feel a slight glimmer of hope. I’ve watched the surviving students from Parkland and listened to how articulately they discussed this incident and their strong desire to make history as the “last mass shooting.” How brave. How empowered. How courageous. How mature. These kids, as they organize marches and bond together as a future voting block, could be the answer. Shame on those who’ve chosen to disparage them for their passion. Shame on those who say they’re just kids and don’t have a voice. Shame on those who say things like, “the generation that eats Tide Pods wants to write policy.” How narrow minded to think that the mistakes of a tiny minority of kids represents these kids at this moment in time. I work with teens from 8th-12th grade every day and I promise you they are smart, articulate, passionate, caring. And they are the ones we are leaving this world to, they are the ones who can and will change things for the better. One thing I know about kids this age is if you give them an issue they feel passionate about, they will fight for it tooth and nail.

I really wish I knew what the answer was. I am much better at knowing what the answer isn’t. It’s a big, messy problem. And my deepest wish is that the “leaders” in charge will do the right thing, stop taking bribes from lobbyists and work to make changes in policy that would help us all move forward and work to prevent events and tragedies like what happened last week in Florida from happening ever again.

Back to School

This past week, I took a class at UNC-Chapel Hill as part of the NC Scholastic Media Association's Teaching Fellows program. Each summer the NCSMA offers a graduate level class to media/journalism teachers and covers the cost of it. It was a great opportunity and this was my second time taking part in this program. The focus of the course was teaching design (graphic design) to high school students and was a semester's worth of content taught in a week.

I went into the course with limited knowledge on the topic and little to no experience using the apps we were using in the class. There were six students in our class; our teacher was a renowned professor, quite accomplished in his field.  As the week wore on, I noticed many subtle and not so subtle ways that this class, even though it was just one week, mimicked "real life" classrooms, or at least the experience that students have in school.

What follows are some random thoughts and takeaways I had during this week:

Even though there were just six of us in the class, we sort of had the same "cast of characters" you'd find in classrooms anywhere. We had the high flyer who got it right away and took work to the next level. Some plugged away at their work, quietly minding their own business. Others would speak out as they worked through figuring out what needed to be done. Some would show their frustration out loud. Others would not.

Just like in real life, relationships drive the dynamics of the classroom. As we got to know each other better, we were more helpful and solicitous of each other, and the time our teacher took on the first day to get to know each of us and learn about "where we were coming from" helped set the tone for the course and week, as well. Developing these relationships throughout the week made us feel more comfortable with the critiquing process we worked through on the last two days of the class.

Learning can be hard! And messy.  And comes in starts and spurts. Parts of this class were difficult for me, and as I worked through the frustration of not "getting it" the first time (or even the second time), I felt humbled and developed a much greater understanding for what students might go through at school.  It was almost like my brain went through a virtual "rolodex" of thoughts during the harder parts: "Wow, this is cool." "Oh, I'm not good at this." "Why can't I get it?" "What's wrong with me?" "I'm disappointed that it wasn't easier; I thought it would be." "Ohhhh, now I get it....that makes more sense." "Wow, look what I created!" "I bet I can do this with more practice."

Designing projects. Well, it can be intimidating, exciting and difficult...all at the same time. When our teacher handed out project instructions, I'd notice some of my classmates coming up with ideas fairly quickly, but I would have a hard time even getting started and maybe feel a bit of anxiety as I thought, "I can't think of anything creative to do." I know students sometimes feel like this, too. When we were given our last project, I had a list of ideas, finally decided on a topic, went through steps of the design thinking process, and began developing a vision for it/sketching iterations. But after getting started and plugging away for a couple of hours, I realized that my plan wasn't fully developed and I felt stuck, so had to go back and regroup.

Not only do I see this sort of thing happen with my students, I'm pretty sure I caution against getting started before having a well developed plan, and yet, I was so excited to get to work, I did just that! I learned many things about going through the process of really developing a project from scratch and I think the way I teach this process to students is going to look much different when we go back to school next month.

I love getting into a working state of flow. This isn't a new for me, but I was really aware of it during this class, when we would have a good chunk of dedicated work time. I'd have an ear bud in, music playing and really focus on my work. I want my students to experience that more and know what it feels like to get to a place where you're so into what you're doing you almost lose awareness of what else is going on around you.

Grading vs Feedback. When I got my first grade, which was just okay, I was disappointed. I wondered it it was worth it. When I got my second grade, which was a bit better than the first and accompanied by a good amount of constructive feedback, I felt better.  Learning how to give quality feedback is so much more important that just a number grade. It's what will actually help students learn, improve and grow. Giving better feedback was one of my stated goals at the end of last school year for this coming school year and I was happy to experience quality feedback in action, particularly as we presented our final projects,  to get better ideas of what I want it to look like in my class.

I really learned a ton this week in this class. Content wise, well, when I look at my final project vs. the first day, it kind of stuns me. And I'm looking forward to working at getting much better at this and introducing these concepts to my students. But I learned much more than that. I was talking to my classmates about much of what I've written here and one said how valuable he thinks the experience of taking an actual class like this is, where you are given real assignments to complete and I completely agree. Experiencing the highs and lows of being a student, even if just for a week, can only make me be a better, more empathetic teacher and even though I'm kind of feeling a bit of the "mid July blues" because summer is practically over, I am also almost ready to start looking forward and getting excited for the possibilities that this coming school year holds.