I knew that the news was coming. For the last couple days, there were reports that there would be an announcement that would come from the governor about what would happen with schools for the remainder of the school year. All signs were pointing towards school being cancelled for the remainder of the school year. Other states had already made this call, and there just wasn’t a logical way for us to open by the previous return date, April 30th.
I figured out a couple weeks ago, that the easiest way to look ahead, and plan for the future was to assume that we would not come back to the building this school year. For me, it was easier to plan not to come back and be surprised if we do come back then to plan for a return in May.
The most amount of anxiety I had as a teacher was not knowing for sure if we would be going back to school. I couldn’t plan ahead because I didn’t know basic circumstances of teaching situations. So, I got used to taking things one week at a time, and let go of the future. So often music teachers get focused working towards the future instead of making the present meaningful.
We get stuck thinking more about preparing for a concert than making sure the classes leading up to the performance have meaning outside of the concert, outside of the future. If all you do is look ahead, you miss all of the great things that can happen in the present.
I did pretty well when they initially cancelled school, and each time that our time off was extended, but the announcement that we were out for the rest of the year hit me hard. I found out in the middle of a meeting, and it took a lot of effort to keep it together in that moment. I was holding out more hope than I realized that we would be back in school this spring. Later, watching a performance of “Viva La Vida,” holding both Ethan and Lucas, the tears finally came out and I let myself feel a deep sadness that I had been avoiding for weeks.
I’m sad because I will not be able to say goodbye to my students at the end of the year. I’m sad because I won’t be there to help that student see that they really can do what they think they cannot. And I’m sad because amazing moments that I cannot foresee, that happen every day when we share our wonderful building with my wonderful colleagues and my students will not happen.
Not all is lost. I do have the ability, as I have been for the past month, to teach my students remotely. My colleagues and administration are with me every step of the way. And I’m blessed with resources.
My work will not be as effective as it would be if I shared a classroom with my students. My teaching is not as smooth online, and my lessons lack the benefit of years of development, but I’m still here. I’m still damn good at my job, and I can still make a difference in my students’ lives.
I'm still a teacher.
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