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.

Finding the simple joys on the harder days

There are days in quarantine that just feel harder than others. And of course, they are. Pandemics are hard. People are dying. We already have more than 10,000 more than the estimate we were given two weeks ago for total US deaths. And we still lack adequate testing. And we can’t trust the information we’re given by our leaders as they work to silence the scientists who are most knowledgable. And people are storming state capitals with artillery and others are balking at the mere suggestion that wearing a mask might help others stay alive. Or they’re refusing to social distance in the name of “we want to go to work” when what they seem to mean is “I’m bored and I want to go to the beach.” (disclaimer: I KNOW people need and want to go back to work. That isn’t what those “protests” are really about anymore than they’re what this post is about). Of course this is hard. People are struggling financially, people are dealing with all kinds of things. It’s hard to watch the news most days. 

But when I say some days just feel harder than others, I mean hard on a more visceral level. The kind of hard where you feel like you’re going to cry and can’t really pinpoint something “that’s wrong,” but you know you just feel sad enough to, anyway. Maybe you miss your students and school the way it used to be. Maybe you had an “optional” Zoom class and no one showed up and even though you’re adult enough to know not to take it personally, you still do. Kind of. Or you sign in to a staff meeting that you don’t absolutely have to be at just because you want to see your co-workers’ faces for a few minutes. Or maybe you’re at the point where, in any other school year you’d be knocking out some of your best work and projects along with winding things down with students, but you can’t seem to make yourself do them the way you want to, instead inventing new things to do that don’t turn out the way you want them to.

And on these harder days, I suppose we have a couple of options. We can: 1) Wallow in the sadness; 2) Ignore and just push through; 3) Stop, take a breath and realize you’re not being terribly productive, lace up your shoes and go for a walk. If you opt for number three, here’s what could happen. You might get a couple of doors down and see these grand sidewalk chalk drawings that say, “Thank you” and “Thank you Teachers.” Maybe you get a little further into your walk and you see a family across the street with their dogs and you yell over to the 3-year-old who’s wearing a backpack, “Hey…that’s an awesome backpack,” (because that’s the sort of thing you typically do) and he strikes up a great conversation with you (from a distance). He tells you his dogs’ names and then, as you say goodbye, he finishes the conversation with, “Bye. Be safe!” And at this point, you tear up but also start smiling a little. As you keep walking, a song like “Titanium” comes on and it does exactly what you need it to do,, so you listen to it two or three (or maybe four?) times and you even add in the arm motions from your cardio dance class, not caring what others may think as they walk by you doing your big muscle arms. 

These hard days really are tough. This may be the hardest thing most of us, collectively, have ever had to do together. There’s no real instruction book on how to handle life in quarantine. Or what to do when the news brings us down and we become disillusioned or we miss things from LBC. We all have different ways of coping: Sharing funny memes, political rants, baking, creating, exercising. It sure feels like getting out and finding the simple joys during a midday walk is one sure thing I’ve found to help on days like this. What are some things that work for you? 

#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.