"We Value Teachers" and Other Lies

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I lost another colleague yesterday. Thankfully not to death (though I worry about this daily now), but to retirement. That makes three already this year and I don't blame them a bit. I've looked at retirement myself, though it's complicated for me because I don't have the optimum number of years (having spread my career across four states) to get full benefits yet and I'm too young. The calculus of life vs. livelihood is complex when you have others to support by your work. 

Besides the three who retired, I know of one who is leaving the profession and another seeking a transfer, in hopes that another school will value her work and treat her better. I've thought about both of those options, too. I love teaching, but I also love being able to protect myself and those I love from infection and death. 

Lots of us are in the crisis decision moment right now, as our district is sending staff back to the buildings on Monday and students back in January (don't get me started on the lack of faith in us this shows). I expect to see more and more talented educators making the hard choice to leave the work they love. 

I keep getting messages from my district, my state, and my country playing lip service to the idea that they value teachers. But I don't see it. Saying thank you is easy; showing actual support and appreciation is much more difficult. 

If we were valued, our voices would be at the forefront of conversations about how to handle education under the current crisis. Instead, there's barely even performative attempts to include teachers--the workers with the most expertise and most at risk--in the conversation at all. 

I fill out all the surveys I am sent and participate in all the meetings, but there's no evidence so far that it is worth my time. The results send a clear message, one that is ignored in favor of what's easier for the institution. Though we allow our students' families to choose to stay home and continue virtual education, teachers will not be afforded the same right, even though we are more at risk than our students, especially the veterans. You don't become an experienced teacher without getting old, and you rarely get old without developing some underlying conditions that put you at additional risk.  

If we were valued, the communication from above would show that those above me in the hierarchy know what I am doing and are looking for ways to make it easier and more sustainable. Even though I work in a small school district, where you would think it would be easier to keep track of who is here and what we're doing, there's little sign that anyone who isn't a direct parallel colleague understands what I actually do. It's like being a baker whose supervisor last used an oven when you had to stoke an actual fire inside to bake.   

And this is America, after all, so if we were valued, our country would put their money where their mouth is. Money would have flowed towards resources to make safe education from home tenable--providing infrastructure and tools as well as paying attractive salaries to bring our country's brightest and best to the fight. Internet access would have become free and fast for any household with a student in it. You can always tell what a capitalist REALLY values, by looking at the bottom line, and education is far too near the bottom across the board. 

So, thanks for saying you value me and my work. But if you really do, then prove it. 

Balancing Grace and Expectations: Grading in the Time of COVID

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We're coming to the end of a quarter in my school district, so time for the first of four grade panics we'll see this year. Some of my students did not perform well this past nine weeks, and have low grades to reflect that. 

This isn't a surprise. In 26 years of teaching, I've never had a year without some students who failed to perform. 

The tricky thing right now is ascertaining the reasons. Even trickier than in other years.

Some kids simply didn't do the work. There were no particular obstacles in the way. 

They have the necessary supplies and the teacher provided guidance and opportunities to pursue clarification, but they still didn't turn in the work. They lacked motivation, maybe, or were testing boundaries to see what the penalties might turn out to be, or the siren call of the X-box was louder than anything else they were hearing from their adults. 

Other kids didn't do the work, but there are mitigating circumstances that I am aware of: limited access to the internet, language barriers, instability at home, mental health concerns, non-functioning computers (our district's computers were due to be replaced in August, but we're still waiting on our new ones to arrive, so we're making do with dying and failing machines), or any number of other factors that have been communicated to me by families, students, or other staff at school. 

My students are 12-14 years-old, for the most part. In the best of circumstances, they are in their first years of learning to navigate multiple teachers with disparate ways of doing things, and there will be confusion and mistakes. So, even when things are at their best, there's still an argument for grace, forgiveness, patience, and second chances. 

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We're not in the best of circumstances right now. Even the lucky ones among us are still in the middle of a pandemic, which affects each of us differently. 

The students and their families vary in their comfort with and skill at communicating with the teachers and school. Admitting you are confused and need help requires trust and faith that your admission will meet with kindness and offers of help. Too many families have had negative experiences that have taught them to be wary--rigid teachers, inflexible policies, systemic ignorance of equity issues.

Sometimes school creates trauma, usually unintentionally . . .but intention doesn't matter when a person has already been hurt. And that trauma makes building trust harder for each subsequent educator. 

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So, how do I assign grades fairly?  I ask myself that *all* the time . . .but this year, it's a wider spread consideration. How do I tell if it's fair to give a kid a zero and when I need to offer grace instead because they really are doing the best they can with what they've got right now? 

What I do is have as many conversations as I can. I reach out to children and their families, expressing concern and offering support. 

I've purchased chargers out of my own pocket, helped navigate our district's systems for things like hotspots and replacement equipment, exempted kids from assignments to streamline the work flow, sat in zoom meetings to walk parents and kids through and show them exactly where to go to find resources and how to turn in work. 

I want all my kids to "get there," so I've tried to offer multiple paths that will let kids experience success and build trust in me and in the process so they can keep moving forward, building positive momentum. 

But there are families who don't respond to my queries. Or whose responses are less than forthcoming.

 So, I'll do my best to judge them fairly. I'll look at all the data I have. I'll ask the other adults who work with the child--teachers, the nurse, the office staff--and see if anyone has insight they can share with me. I give the benefit of the doubt and assume good intentions as much as possible. But, in the end, I will assign a grade. That number won't represent the full picture, but it's the system I have to work within. 

If it were up to me, I wouldn't give grades. I'd write a narrative for each kid, summarizing strengths and weaknesses, work ethic and obstacles, and pass that information along to the next educator to help them meet this child where they are and move them forward. But, I've yet to teach anywhere that offered me that option. 

Schooling in America is fond of trying to take a messy, subjective and personal process and boil it down to a number that we claim is objective. Foolish, at least in my opinion, but not something I have the power to change. 

So, fellow teachers, what do you take into account when you're trying to assign a number to a child's progress? How do you try to make it fair and representative of effort and progress? 

And students and families? What purpose do grades serve for you? How do you use that feedback to grow and further your goals? 

Principles for Principals

I've been a teacher for 26 years now. During that time, I've worked in 4 states, 8 school districts, and under 10 principals in schools ranging from 100 students (K-12) to 150,000 (9-12) coming from a range of demographics. So, I've had some variety across my career.

I've had principals I never saw at all or even heard from, except in moments of crisis. Laissez faire to the extreme. I've had principals whose micromanagement bordered on Orwellian fascism. 

The best principals found a balance: providing guidance and support without forcing me into taking on a second job of managing them. They encouraged more often then they disheartened, and built up more often than they undermined. 

Part of what drew me to teaching as a field is the autonomy: the power to make decisions within my domain about what will serve my students best. Underestimating me and insulting my intelligence/professionalism/capability is sure to get you on my bad side. 

 So, some thoughts on what makes a good principal, at least for this teacher:

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1. Show that you trust your staff.

The sub-textual message that screams out from behind the mask of every micro-manager I've ever worked with is: I don't trust you. 

If you ask them, of course, micro-managers will deny that is the case and talk about how talented and resourceful their staff is. But, what a person says matters far less than what they prove with their actions and you DON'T trust your staff if you can't step back and let them do their jobs without reporting in to you at each baby step along the way. 

Education talks a good game about differentiation and multiple paths to learning, but the same flexibility is not afforded to teachers. Too often we get top-down restrictions that hamstring us and impede our ability to help our students. 

Pacing guides, lesson plan formats, and structural demands are well and good in their place: on the side, available as resources, not hanging from our necks as collars to keep us in line. 

The same goes for onerous demands for documentation. I've had principals demand I spend as much time documenting my work as I spend doing it, as if teachers would just watch soap operas and eat bon-bons all day if we don't have an overseer standing over us with a whip. That shows a fundamental lack of faith in the workers. 

I can do only half as much work if I have to effectively do each task twice: once to complete it and once to prove to someone else that I did. (I could argue that this is what standardized testing has become: the pinnacle of lack of faith in teachers). 

I took on this work because I wanted it and I love it, and when I get burnt out, it's usually not from the work itself but from all the demands that I prove myself over and over and over and over again. 

So, leaders, you want us to have faith in you? Give some first. Trust is a two-way street.

2. Listen at least as much as you talk.

Most of us didn't wander in here without any vision of what we think education is or how we want our classroom to be. It's a highly demanding job without much in the way of external benefits, so people who teach are not in it because they think they can get away with something. If you're looking for a career where goldbricking and slacking off are likely to go unnoticed, teaching is a poor choice. 

Principals have visions, too, of course. Often that's part of why they became administrators: hoping to influence the system more broadly from that angle. But you can't force buy-in to your vision. You have to earn it by demonstration of value, and persuasion of stake-holders. Few things in this world are more intransigent than a teacher being forced into a mode that she doesn't feel serves her students. 

Just as teachers work in service to their students, which means listening to their needs and seeking ways to serve them, the best principals work in service of their teachers, removing obstacles, providing resources and support, and making the work easier in any way they can. 

How do you find out what your constituents need? You pay attention. You notice. You ask. And you listen to the answers, open-mindedly and without rebuttal. You consider that someone else's idea might hold merit--maybe even more merit than your own idea. 

3. Be transparent. 

All of us do better when the expectations are clear. Don't make us try to guess what you think, whether

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you are pleased or not. 

Consider implications, but have the backbone to claim your own ideas as your own. A committee decision that is really just the boss railroading their own ideas through and squashing any dissenting viewpoints is not a committee decision: it's a coward standing behind a committee instead of admitting ownership of a view. The height of CYA culture. 

Given that time is the single most valuable resource of teachers, and it's always in high demand, we resent having it wasted. So, be direct, forthright, clear, and efficient. My energy should be spent on the kids, not on figuring out my mysterious boss. 

4. Have tough conversations with the people involved. 

My number one pet peeve of administrator behavior: blanket passive-aggressive criticism. Even worse if it's disguised as thanks or praise for one group as a way to highlight the failure of another group. In-fighting and resentment among staff members will eventually bleed into the school culture and poison the waters our kids are trying to swim in. 

So, if you have a problem with how a staff member is doing something, take it up with that staff member and leave the rest of us out of it. Some of those conversations are going to be awkward, maybe even painful, but they are part of what you signed on for when you took the job. So, reach for grace, and move forward with a heart to help, and take on the tough stuff head on. 

Whether or not you're a teacher, we all value being treated well and helped to succeed as employees. What qualities do you look for in a boss? 

Life or Livelihood: The Devil's Choice

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So, we're in mass panic in my school district right now. A couple of days ago, the school board came out with a plan to move us off of "Plan C" (fully remote teaching/learning) into "Plan B" (a mixture of remote and in-person teaching/learning). 

"Plan" is an exaggeration if by plan you mean an organized approach with contingencies and backups, and evidence of consideration of the ripples of these decisions.

Here's what I've been told:

• By November 16th all staff must return in the building even if we are 100% virtual
• By October 12th self-contained teachers and needed personnel must report in the building.
• Students in self-contained settings will have the option to report back on October 27th.
• Students will be given the choice of 100% remote or hybrid with a staggered entry starting second semester.
• Teachers may bring their school-aged children into their classrooms while they are in the building but must follow all of the same protocols. They are discussing learning labs as well.

I'm not going to detail all my concerns and objections here now, though they are legion.

I've sent my comments to the school board and within the appropriate channels within my school and district. 

But I will say that's its disheartening how little teachers have been invited to virtual tables where the conversations are being held and decisions are being made. 

I am not cannon fodder or an acceptable loss and if you force me into it, I choose life over livelihood. That might mean I'm done teaching. 

Mac Luckey, or Teaching Gifted Kids

Mac Luckey was a philosophy professor at Morehead State University, a state college in Kentucky, my undergraduate alma mater.

I didn't study philosophy, but luckily for me, Mac was also the director of the Honors Program, a program designed to enrich the college experience for students who in high school would have been identified as Gifted and Talented (what we call AIG in my school, two states over and 20+ years later: Academically and Intellectually Gifted). 

The program, when I was a part of it, consisted of a variety of seminars and four core classes called the "Age of" classes focused on eras of human history. Age of Classicism, Faith, Enlightenment, and . . . Discovery? Apparently I don't remember the fourth class as well. After all, this was more than twenty years ago. 

Age of Classicism came first, and Mac taught it. I'd just completed high school, finishing second in my class. I was a good student by most standards, but--I mean no offense to my well-intentioned public high school--I had yet to be challenged by the academic adventures offered to me in the classroom. 

That may sound arrogant, but we're talking about eighteen-year-old Samantha and arrogance was certainly a part of who she was, as it is for a lot of AIG kids. When you're accustomed to feeling like "the smartest person in the room" it's easy to get a little full of yourself. Humility comes with experience. 

Mac could have flattened my arrogance and broken me, or at least tried. Plenty of other teachers in my life took that approach, and inspired my stubborn distrust. But instead, Mac gave me the most important gift he had in his possession: his interest. 

When I tossed out some tired observation he had probably heard thousands of times in his career, he didn't roll his eyes and shut me down with sarcasm. Instead, he pushed me to take my thinking further. He asked me questions that went deeper, questions I couldn't just toss off something flip and clever about. He made me consider WHY and HOW and make connections and associations, just by asking questions. 

I'd only had a handful of other teachers who "got me" this way. Mac talked to me like I was an interesting person he had met, rather than a responsibility he'd been saddled with. When you're an eighteen-year-old girl, very few people take you seriously. 

But Mac did. He talked to me like he might talk to any woman he met anywhere, interested to find out who she is and what she knows. He never acted as if he was talking to a child, but just to a fellow human being. 

He didn't try to "catch" me at something mundane like not having read all the 50 pages that had been assigned the night before, but instead engaged me (and all of his students) in challenging conversation, inspiring me to read not only the assigned pages but an extra book of criticism so that I might bring more to the table at the next discussion. 

I'd scribble down titles of works he mentioned casually in class and look them up on my own time, not because I was worried about making a grade or winning an award, but because he'd made them sound interesting. He'd piqued my curiosity. 

I only took the one course with Mac. I was an English and Education major with minors in Spanish, Creative Writing, and Honors, and he taught philosophy. Technically, he was only my teacher for the one semester. But he remained an influence in my education across my four years at Morehead, through the Honors program. He gave me travel and presentation opportunities, a listening ear, job references, and sometimes, when I was ready to listen, advice. 

He passed away a couple of days ago, having made it to 85 years old and changed the lives of hundreds, maybe even thousands of young people along the way. I hadn't spoken to him in person but maybe once or twice since I left Morehead, for all the usual reasons: busy life, etc. But, nevertheless, he is present in my life and the lives of my students every day in what he taught me about teaching. A lesson he probably didn't even know he was offering. 

RIP Mac Luckey. I was the lucky one: I got to be your student. 

Talking to All the Black Boxes

Like a lot of teachers around the country right now, I'm spending a lot of time talking to black boxes with names on them. (also known as: teaching via Zoom).

It's disconcerting, even eerie sometimes, because rooms full of children are not generally quiet or still. It feels lonely, and at the same time, I feel a lot of pressure to be even more dynamic and enthusiastic and clever than ever before, like I've suddenly become a YouTube star, with a captive audience. 

Teachers develop a lot of skill in reading body language . . .skill that doesn't serve us anymore when we cannot see the students. I feel suddenly blinded and deafened, lacking 2/3 of the information I usually use to engage a room full of kids. 

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It's not really better if all your students turn on the cameras (which they may not be able/willing to do: camera function, limited bandwidth, privacy concerns, etc.) because then you have a wall of faces to try and read quickly, like the Brady Bunch on overdrive. Not nine faces, but more than thirty at a time in some classes. 

By necessity, kids are spending a lot of time on mute because there is SO MUCH background noise, connection issues, feedback, and poor zoom meeting etiquette going on, that they *have* to be muted just to keep the whole thing from devolving into chaotic white noise. 

Don't get me wrong. This is better than not having any semblance of live meeting time. Last spring, during our sudden shut down, there were kids I NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN, despite all the ways I tried to reach out: email, LMS system, phone calls, snail mail . . .especially once the state decided to remove external accountability in terms of grades and testing. 

But still, how do we engage kids? Here's what I've been trying: 

1. Use ALL the interactive tools the software offers. 

For me, in Zoom, that means asking kids to type responses in the chat box, use reactions, put up different symbols in the participation box, polls, popping links into the chat to outside apps, and (to the extent possible) unmute in turns and speak aloud. 

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2. Keep track

Teaching has always been partly about record-keeping and documentation to some extent, but I'm finding it extra important to keep good notes: Who didn't show up for Zoom? Who showed up but was unresponsive? Who is not completing the assignments? 

I only "see" my students twice a week under our current plan (the other days are asynchronous online learning), so I have to pounce as soon as a kid begins to fall behind or it's going to get dire quickly. 

I have a standing policy right now of emailing kids who don't show up for Zoom right after the class ends and asking them to update me on what's going on. I'm getting good responses to that, and it's helping with the relationship piece because the kids know that I noticed they weren't there and I care about why and want to help. 

3. Give options: 

Don't rely on a single path to show understanding. Technology is wonky, so you always need alternatives, other ways that kids can show that they "get" what you need them to "get" even if their microphones don't work or they have to come to class with their baby brother on their laps. 

I'm building as much differentiation, scaffolding, and enrichment into every assignment as I can. Whatever I provide live, I also provide asynchronously, making instructional videos, presentations, etc. available through our LMS (Learning Management System, in this case: Canvas). 

Due to privacy concerns, we can't record and share our in-person classes, but I can record a brief lecture giving the same information without the interactivity and it's good for reference, backup, and review. 

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4. Balance flexibility and accountability: 

Where there's a will, there's a way, right? So, it's up to me to help my students develop persistence (or grit!) and not give up when they hit an obstacle. 

Communication is key for this: reaching out to find out what's in the way, and doing my best to remove or mitigate those obstacles. 

Kids still HAVE TO DO IT, even if they need alternative ways to do so. Some obstacles are external and others internal, but all can be overcome if only we don't give up. 

Luckily, I'm darn stubborn. :-)

Lifesaving Tips for Managing Online Teaching

I don't know about any of you, but I think school from home is harder than school from school, even if I can wear pajama bottoms all day. 

After doing this for almost two weeks, I'm finding a rhythm and here are a few things that are saving my bacon: 

1. Get off screen 

I'm almost 50 and I've worn bifocals for nearly a decade. All this screen time is leaving me blurry by late afternoon, even with blue light protection built in to my specs. 

During my non-live teaching/having meeting moments, I do my best to get off screen for a while--handling any business I can on paper, or at least taking a moment to set my visual focus on something further away and not backlit. 

I'm giving up most of my screen-related free time hobbies, too--going back to reading paper books instead of Kindle, playing fewer video games and watching almost no TV. It's hard, giving those things up, but it's also hard, not being able to see. 

2. Tab Snooze

Tab Snooze is a fabulous chrome extension that lets you set tabs to reopen on a schedule. I've got SO MANY documents to reference for various kinds of support and documentation right now that if I leave the tabs open, it will look like the flags of the world printed in miniature. 

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I combine this with OneTab, another chrome extension that will let me group a set of tabs and have them open together. I use this for my "morning set"--the stuff I need first thing when I log in. 

3. Stretch

Though I've done my best to set up an ergonomic environment at home, I am feeling the sedentary desk-bound nature of this work in my neck and back, and sometimes my hips. So, I've turned to my YouTube friend Adriene for short yoga sessions (5-10 minutes that I can fit between meetings and live classes) that focus on whatever part of me is complaining. 

Here's one I especially loved because it's cute and charming as well as helpful: 

4. Get a second screen

Especially if you are teaching live, synchronous classes on zoom or some other video based system, a second screen makes it possible to see the chat window, participants list, and video of the participants on one screen, while sharing your screen for content on the other. 

It makes all the difference to interactivity if you can access ALL the tools at the same time and my little laptop screen can't handle that load. I also love it when I need to look at information on one document and use it on another one, so I can avoid clicking between tabs sixty-gazillion time to complete a single task. 

(plus it helps a little with the vision thing since you can set the two screens at different distances from your face, giving yourself a little variety of focal point). 

5. Reach out to colleagues

Teachers are helpful and resourceful people. It's *always* worth reaching out to your colleagues, within your school, district, county, or even internationally through social media and find out how others deal with whatever is giving you trouble. It may feel like we're all in this alone right now, but in some ways, we're more together than we ever have been before because our options have become more limited. 

6. Don't be afraid to go old school

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I'm doing things on paper that I haven't done on paper in decades (like taking roll, or keeping a to do list), just because it's easier to take something off screen and I can jot down notes without figuring out which tab on which screen has the thing I'm looking for just then. Not everything is better done with the newest, flashiest tech tool you can find. 

Even though I'm at home, I can still call parents and families. If you don't want to let your home phone number/cell phone out of the bag, set up a google voice. A voice on the other end of a phone call can be an arrow through the fog of confusion sometimes. 

I've even sent some of my students physical mail--especially those with limited internet access. Just making sure they know I'm thinking of them and want to help is a step towards making it better. 

So there's my list. What's saving your bacon? Got any tips to share for teaching/learning from home? I'd love to see them in the comments. 

Things I Learned Today: Starting the Schoolyear digitally

 1. It's easier with the students I already know than with new ones. 

Because I am the entire Spanish department at my school, I often get to teach kids again, so among my 8th grade students, for example, only four of thirty-nine are people who have never studied Spanish with me before. The rest have taken either my sixth or seventh grade classes. 

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That made this first day SO MUCH EASIER because I already have a relationship with these students. We have established a bit of trust, so they are less nervous about messing up in front of me or suffering consequences from misunderstandings. 

Plus, I already know (at least somewhat) what I can expect from them. Greeting them today was like going to a family reunion. I missed them so much and it was grand to see them again!

My sixth graders, on the other hand, are new to me, new to our school, new to middle school, new to online learning, and probably new in other ways I'm not thinking of right now. 

They were practically vibrating with anxiety. We'll be working our way through that before we can start worrying about whether or not they are learning any Spanish. 

2. Having more than one computer screen REALLY helps with teaching in Zoom. 

I was able to set up pop out windows on one screen that allowed me to see my students, the chat window, and the participant box with controls and reaction tools, while sharing information from my other screen, or emailing links, looking up information, etc. 

I had a two-screen set up in my classroom, which was handy, but from home, when teaching via video? I'd say it's more than handy--it's a lifesaver!

3. It's MUCH harder to judge engagement during live lessons online. 

I could keep up with questions, but silent kids were blank slates. They *might* have been having internet issues, distractions, or other problems and I don't know for sure. Just another reminder how important "soft skills" (which we're now calling SEL: Social and Emotional Learning) truly are. Passivity won't fly in an online teaching environment. 

I have a *second* first day of school today, since this schedule has me teaching half my students on a Monday/Wednesday schedule and half on a Tuesday/Thursday one. Wish me luck!

Still building the plane after it takes off…

School is always a stressful endeavor. It's high pressure-high stakes work, with huge public scrutiny, a paltry budget, and a ridiculous per-person workload. Luckily, it's also meaningful, personally enriching, and powerful, as well as never-ever boring. 

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Those of us who manage to last long enough to be old-timers in education learn to manage the stress somehow. Some of us in healthy ways, some of us less so. 

But this year is a whole new level. 

Switching gears last March and going to a school-from-home model 3/4 of the way through the school year was difficult. 

But, we knew it would only be for ten weeks at most (because that's how many weeks there were left in the school year). We had already built procedures, trust, and relationships with our students. 

In my district, we were extra-fortunate because we were already a one-to-one district, providing laptops for student use. Many of us already taught hybrid classes, meshing the best of in-person and virtual environments to give our students a variety of paths to learning and to proving they had done so. 

But, starting the school year from home? Ouch. That's a horse of a different color, and I don't think I like this color. 

This year, might as well just be called the year of uncertainty. We don't know how long we'll be teaching this way…so we don't know how much energy it is reasonable to invest in learning new schools that might not be needed in just a few more weeks, if everyone's hopes come to fruition and we are safe to return to an in-person model after the first nine weeks. There's still an awful lot we don't have a consensus on, too, when it comes to balancing equity and fairness with standards and accountability. 

My district has made some teacher-positive and supportive choices. They've bought technology to support us in this work, and bought *other* technology when what we ordered failed to come in time so we had some stop-gap measures. 

They found online courses and resources for us, at least those who were willing to work for free (only one course came with any offer of compensation for the additional work hours). They bought some new programs and subscribed to new services that look like they are really going to be helpful.

I can see that they are trying to give us what we need to create a positive and valuable learning experience for our children. 

Unfortunately, all those new resources were not available until two days ago--not enough time to even learn what they can do, let alone make high-level use of them. The learning curve is real, yo! And not everyone could spare the time in June and July for extra training--a lot of us were working second jobs or handling all the responsibilities that we struggle to handle during the school year. So, there's a lot of good stuff there, but I'm worried that by the time I figure out what's there and how best to make use of it, it'll be too little, too late. 

So, I'm left with a half-built plane on the tarmac, knowing that when we take off on Monday we are likely to crash because we only have one wing. There wasn't time to build both. 

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The main thing we needed was time--more than any of those other things. PAID time devoted to developing materials, procedures, plans, and back-up plans rather than struggling to learn new software and never-before-seen systems. 

I was luckier than some of my colleagues. I had eight unscheduled hours across three teacher workdays. Was it enough to prepare a digital environment for 107 students in three different courses, including gathering information on their IEPs, 504s, medical plans, and other accommodations? 

Nope. Not even close. At the close of my work day today, I was ready to teach one class on Monday and hadn't gathered any background information for ANY of my students. 

The other two classes are still in a messy, half-prepared status that will require me to give up at least one entire day of my weekend and start school on Monday under-rested and, frankly, grumpy because away-from-school time is essential to maintaining equilibrium and being able to do this job reliably. 

Dang I miss it when teacher workdays consisted of time for teachers to work: as in prepare to teach, not learn new things. I was handed a lot to prepare, and not even a third of time it would take to prepare it. 

Luckily I'm a miracle worker. Let's hope it doesn't kill me. 

Milestones in Quarantine

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School has always been big on ceremony. Silly hats, formal speeches, printed certificates and all. Recognition for work well done and reaching of milestone moments, moving from one level to another. 

Those ceremonies and traditions cement the experience and give us all a moment to pause together and say, "You amazing kid! Go you!" 

In my middle school, my eighth graders lost their ceremonies this year. 

There was no big field trip, no formal dance, no academic awards ceremony, and no commencement ceremony. 

There are other milestones, too, which while not academic-related exactly, matter a great deal to the kids: thirteenth birthday parties, bar and bat mitzvahs, quinceañeras, tournaments, belt ceremonies, recitals, investitures, badge and bridging ceremonies, performances, concerts. All of them are notable for in-person gatherings: grandparents with cameras, cookies and punch, flowers and streamers. 

We're doing what we can (schools and families), sending notes, making phone calls, arranging for video versions of events, but it's not the same. The energy that comes from all being in the room together--the whole group of us, not just the ones associated with one kid, but with ALL the kids--just isn't captured at COVID safe social distance. 

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Some kids feel cheated (others feel relieved), parents and families seem deflated, and we teachers are so very sad. These moments matter a lot to us, too. Celebrating accomplishments brings us together like no other part of the educational process. 

For me, it has made the opportunity to celebrate together that much more precious. I know I'll feel the moment more strongly, the next time I get to call out a kid's name from a stage so they can be applauded by us all. Now I know I shouldn't have taken those opportunities for granted.