Parenthood: Week 390 – Determination & Joy

Ethan is a stubborn little fellow.

Walking down the aisle in an apple orchard he struggled to carry 1/2 peck bag down the aisle. I asked him if he needed help, but he refused. As he struggled to carry this bag which was about half the length of his buddy, I thought about all my struggles with this little one.

Ethan is a child that wants to be carried down the stairs and he will fight me as I try to hold his hand walking through a parking lot. Ethan will yell with tremendous joy and laugh at his top volume, and he will also scream with great anguish in the middle of the night. Ethan is loving and caring as he gently hugs his baby brother, and he can also be physically aggressive climbing all of over my body as if I was a piece of playground equipment.

When Ethan gets an idea, he doesn't give up.  Youu could see it as him being stubborn, or you could see it as determination. 

 

*****

Lucas loves to flip over Buffy’s water dish.

Ethan and Ollie both went through a stage where they thought that flipping over Buffy’s water dish was their goal in life. Ethan also extended this into eating Buffy’s food. Once he realized he wasn’t supposed to do this, he would grab a piece of kibble, stick it in his mouth and then hide underneath the kitchen table in a ball, face down, thinking that we couldn’t see him.

Buffy of course needs her water available so there’s a careful dance between having the dish out for Buffy and picking it up so Lucas doesn’t get it. Generally we are pretty good about this, but once in a while I will hear the clang of the dish and walk over and see this little happy baby splashing in the dogs spilled water.

Lucas is still at the age when his arms often move in parallel motion.  His arms go up and down in unison as he splashes. Buffy usually walks up when she hears this sound and look up at me annoyed. Sometimes I’m annoyed too, but other times, I see Lucas smiling and I let him splash for a minute and enjoy the water.

*****

Ollie kept on dancing.

Ollie asked me to put on the song “Believer,” so he could work on a dance he learned that goes with this song. I had some stuff to do upstairs so I decided without telling him that I would put the song on repeat. I figured that Ollie would come find me when he was done.

Time moved ahead faster than I thought, and after half an hour I went downstairs realizing that it was time for Ollie to get ready for bed. As I went downstairs, Ollie was still dancing. I turned off the music, and he explained “I was working really hard on my dance, that went for a long time.” Breathing heavy and sweating, he walked up the stairs.

I thought back at myself at his age listening to the same song over and over, fascinated by the fact that I could never listen to the same song the same way. It could be different every time depending on where I put my attention.

Ollie is doing the same thing, in a different way.  In his work he is both determined and joyous, chasing an idea and a feeling through the art of dance.  This type of expression is one that  I didn’t discover or understand until I was much older than him in college.  Ollie is further along than me in this way, and I could not be more proud.

Year 11 – Week 3: Smile Behind The Mask

“Don’t smile before Christmas” is common teaching advice that I received myself early in my career. It’s horrible advice. It comes the approach of teaching where authoritarianism is the main tool for classroom management. So you keep a stern face, show your students that you mean “business,” rule by fear, and have a nice orderly, well-managed classroom. Great...

Students learn best when they are relaxed. A classroom should be a space where students don’t fear teacher, and don’t worry about the consequences of taking chances and making mistakes. It is very easy, even for older students to transfer a stern response to distracting behavior to a possible stern response to an academic mistake.

I encourage teachers to smile on the first day to show students that you are happy to see them, and that you are excited to teach them. A genuine smile at an interesting fact a student shares, during a class will motivate students far more to engage in the lesson than a stern looks of admonishment. Students will quiet themselves, and each other, motivated by the positive feedback, and wanting the join “the party of learning.”

Smiles, and expressions of joy are not signs of weakness. Showing a student that you value them and appreciate all that they are through a smile builds community, trust, and a feeling of safety. It is this atmosphere where students feel the most able to take the kinds of chances that lead to deep and meaningful learning.

So, how does this work when you are wearing mask?

I’ve been trying a couple different things. One is to be more expressive with my entire body, like jumping up and down when a student gets a good answer. I’ve been trying to make my voice be more dynamic, and I’m trying to be more explicit through words about positive feelings I have for my students.

I’ve been able to get students to stop doing distracting behavior with my only my eyes. I’m not sure though how much of smile energy is going through my eyes because the effectiveness of transferring joy is harder to measure. If I use stern eyes and a student stops talking, I know it worked. If I give happy eyes, I can’t see in a students’ eyes that they feel the smile I’m trying to express to them.

My smile is one of my most important teaching tools, and I’m not sure what is being lost without it, and what more I can do to make sure my students know how much they mean to me.  Maybe I'll use sign language...

Behind my mask, I smile all the time in class, not for my students but for myself. Because smiling is a way to let myself feel deeply the joy of being a teacher.  Even in these hard times, the light in our students is still there. 

Parenthood: Week 389 - A Liitle Bit More Like My Dad

I’m actually working fewer hours in school this year. 

One of the adjustments my school made to make in-person teaching work was to make the school day shorter. This not only cuts down on the hours I’m at school working, but it also cuts down my commute time. I drive into Chicago from a suburb. My commute one-way can vary from half an hour to over an hour. Leaving work at 3:30 means that my commute is closer to half an hour and leaving at 4:30 means that I’m home closer to 5:30.  School being an hour shorter actually means I get home an hour and a half earlier, which is really nice.

The shorter school hours mean that I am able a couple days a week to pick up my two older boys from school, which I really enjoy. They are both so happy to see me when I pick them up and seeing the happy children in the playground and watching the parents great their children is heartwarming. The ride back home in the car with them is fun. Sometimes we talk, other times we simply enjoy each other presence listening to one of Ollie’s favorite podcasts.

When I’m standing there waiting outside the school to pick up Ollie, I think of my father. He used to work long hours in retail when I was really young. He was thinking about making a career change at some point. He didn’t like the time away from us. One night after he came home late, he greeted me and I ran away from him. He told me in that moment it felt like I didn’t recognize me, and that he was like a stranger to me.  I was probably not much older than Ethan, who is two-years-old, when this happened. 

My dad made some big changes in his life and became self-employed. One of things that he did as part of this new lifestyle he created for my family was to drive me and my brother to school and pick us up. My brother and I were three years apart in age and while there was a period of time he probably drove us together to school, I mostly remember the  time late in elementary school when my brother was in middle school, that he’d drive me to school and pick me up, just me and him in the car.

We’d listen to Paul Harvey in the mornings and the oldies station. He would give me music history lessons about the music he grew up with in the early 1960s, and he'd tell me stories about growing up in Taiwan. 

I'll never forget how we'd listen to "Garden Party," and how "you can't please everyone, so you got to please yourself."  I'm glad he made sure that I learned that lesson well.

It was only half an hour a day, but it was our half an hour. I remember when I went to high school being excited that my brother, who was a senior when I was a freshman, would drive me to school. Those were good times, but that time with me and my dad in car was over.  I didn’t miss spending time with my dad in the car back when I was in high school, but I miss it now...Oh, how I miss my dad.

Doing things for my children, that my parents did for me makes me feel closer to my parents.  These expressions of care are a reminder that they are always with me. At the same time, these moments, cooking for my children as my mom did for me or picking-up my children from school as my dad did are also a reminder of the physical space between us.  

My parents live across the country and for the past twenty years since I’ve moved to Chicago, I’ve seen, at least three times a year, every couple months. It’s been nine months since I’ve seen my parents.  This is the longest amount of time I’ve been away from them, and there’s no indication any time soon that we will be together in the near future.  

There is no consolation, no silver-lining to make up for the needless amount of human suffering caused by the mismanagement of this pandemic by  trump and others who have profited from this tragedy.  There is no meaning or “worth it" when a tragedy is caused by greed.  However in all that is horrible, some small changes in my life that are a result of the pandemic have allowed me to be a little bit more like my dad, and feel a little bit closer to him. 

Year 11 – Week 2: How I Do It

The most asked question I’ve gotten since I posted about teaching in-person in school has been “how do you do it?”

 I teach largely the same way that I’ve always taught. There are many adjustments that I have made, but overall, it’s the same job. I have always seen myself as more of a teacher than a musician so not teaching band isn’t a big mental adjustment. While I prefer teaching music, I would find teaching other subjects interesting and rewarding. That being said there are many things that I have figured out over the summer and in these two weeks that have helped me teach.

This year I’m teaching grades 4, 5, 6 & 8. Usually I teach grades 3, 5, 6, & 8. The two older grades are concert band and the two younger grades are general music. This year the school decided to not do concert band or choir, also we are not permitted to sing, which effects all of the grades, especially the lower ones. This all means that I have to come up with a new curriculum.

Basically, what I am doing is having 4th & 5th grade have the same curriculum and 6th & 8th grade have the same curriculum. I’m making adjustments for the developmental level, but I’m not trying to create four disparate experiences. I am pulling up my “greatest hits” lessons, ones that I know work, and that I enjoy teaching.

Teaching students in masks has not been something that I’ve thought about much or made adjustments for in my instruction. I do miss some of the subtleties of facial expressions, so I am focusing more on body language and the tone of speech to sense how students are doing. I've always focus more on how the room feels, the vibe to see how a class is doing and masks doesn’t affect that at all. The students needing to be distanced from each other and staying in the desk space also hasn’t been much of an adjustment at all. Having students sit in rows doesn’t feel cold or inhumane at all. Now that I’ve seen desks spaced out, I feel that in some context students should always have this much space around their body.

After buying five or six different kinds of masks, I’ve landed on a mask made by a local toy shop. I slide in a mask bracket which gives me some space between my mask and my mouth so I’m not eating my mask, while I talk. I also wear a mask strap extender which turns my mask into a headband which keeps pressure off my ears. I didn’t feel a need for all of this stuff until I had to wear a mask on for hours a day.

I now use a microphone when I teach. I learned over the summer while taking my children to the park that it is hard to project your voice through a mask. I used to be macho about my teacher voice and laugh at the idea of using a microphone. Now that I’ve used one and had great success, I will definitely use it after the pandemic. It feels different to teach when you are simply talking and not thinking about projecting. It almost feels more intimate and personal, which in this time is comforting.

I now travel to different classrooms to teach. So, I carry a bag with my laptop, iPad, and Bluetooth speaker. I carry multiple cords and adapters with me, because between the ten different classrooms I teach in, there are different ways that the A/V works, so I’ve learned to bring back up.

I usually dress up for school. I wear nice jeans, and a buttoned-up dress shirt. I teach younger kids so being able to sit on the floor and dance is necessary so jeans help with that, though I do avoid my weekend jeans with holes in them. I like to wear dress shirts so I can have a level of formality that I present to my students. 

This year I’m ditching the dress shirts for a couple reasons. It has been recommended to wash clothing we wear at work more often, and I don’t want to wash my dress shirts every day. Also, I feel like I need to present myself as more fun and casual to make up for my lack of visible smiling. I have many fun t-shirts that reflect my interests It’s a great topic of conversation when students ask and it’s a way that I can draw students out a little bit more.

Now that I’ve gotten the practical stuff out of the way, I’m going to get to the crux of what I think many people are wondering: How do I walk into building filled with hundreds of people during a pandemic and feel comfortable enough to teach?

I feel that the layers of safety procedures at my school mitigates the risks to my health to a level an acceptable level. The combination of social distancing, small pods of students, sanitation (hand-washing, and cleaning), and mask usage creates layers of protection that lowers the risk of spread even if one of those factors is compromised. I do want to note that there are faculty and staff at my school that disagree with my assessment and feel that the school is not doing enough.  My views are my own are not meant to be representative of other teachers at my school.  Furthermore, some feel that even with more strident safety procedures the school should not be in-person because of community infection rates.

I do not disparage or disagree with these viewpoints as adults in my school have very different experience depending on their role at our school. I do not claim to fully understand what other people are going through. I run around the school teaching music. That’s a very different experience then spending the day with five-year-olds, or working as a teaching assistant. 

Am I worried? Yes. In quiet moments do I get scared? Yes. Do I feel the risk is worth what I am bringing to my students and how this experience of teaching enriches my life financially and mentally? Ye.  Between deep breaths, and in the gaze of students’ eyes, I let the rest of the world leave me, and I am there present physically and mentally with and for my students.

I do not feel there is anything extraordinary with what I’m doing. I feel privileged and blessed to have a job that pays me to think and not strain my back. I feel honored and fortunate to spend time with wonderful faculty and amazing students, and I feel hopeful that we can do something of some meaning behind masks, spaced out from each other, and together under one roof in this school we call a model home.

Parenthood: Week 388 – Back To School…In Person

My two older sons Ollie and Ethan went back to school in-person two weeks ago. There was a phase-in process the week of the 30th, and last week was the first full week of school for them. Ollie and Ethan attend Chiaravalle Montessori, a private toddler-8th grade school in Evanston, Illinois. It’s been a challenging but overall wonderful two weeks, and I'm overjoyed they are going to school in-person.

Biden is right. Students going “back to school” remotely in America is a massive failure. Like our inability to ensure that no children go to sleep hungry in our country, the collective choices by elective officials and selfish citizens to prioritize their own political gain and convenience over the education of the children of America is shameful, reprehensible, and embarrassing.

Every single school in America could start the school in-person, safely for teachers and students if adequate resources were allocated to teachers, administrators and medical professionals last spring. There’s a view from some people that “remote learning” is good enough. It’s ok if students learn from a computer screen for hours. It’s the idea that the “freedom” to go out, to party, to “note wear masks” is a far exchange for students learning remotely. It’s not. It’s not even close.

Teaching remotely by even the greatest of teachers is barely a shadow of the education students get in-person, even if that education includes students being in small pods, wearing masks and socially distancing. Having seen my own children and my students experience in-person learning with all of these precautions, I can say with absolute certainty that modified in-person learning is far superior than remote learning.

We are very privileged to be able to send our children to a school that has figured out how to make in-person work. Some of this has to do with the school’s resources, but even more of it had to do with the quality of the administration and the incredible dedication of the faculty.

The opening week was carefully crafted with Ollie’s first day of second grade only lasting half an hour to work on arrival and dismissal. The next day was two hours to add a couple more routines. The fifth day they added eating lunch, and after one week of this careful work he has a full day of school.

Ethan had a similar phase in at the toddler level. The first couple days were simply forty-five minutes visits to the playground. After sixth months away, he needed to just get the process of going to school in his head. The teachers made good connections with Ethan while he played but they mostly gave him space, carefully observing how he was acclimating to being back in school. His days also slowly got longer until he stayed a full day.

This plan allowed the students to get used the new routines of the school year, and the new school’s safety routines of wearing masks and social distancing deliberately and slowly. During Ollie’s short first couple days they could be seen working on social distancing through games, and joyful interactions.

Yes, Chiaravalle has space and staff. Most other schools do as well. This may mean changing community centers and libraries into classrooms, but with imagination these things can happen. Yes, we have a shortage of teachers in America. So we do what we did for doctors when COVID-19 was peaking in the Spring. Bring teachers out of retirement to support school work remotely, and get young teachers in teacher education programs sped through certification and into schools with large financial incentives. Even with the ridiculous mismanagement of the response to COVID-19 by the trump administration, and so many Americans, we can open schools for in-person learning, and many schools are figuring it out.

I felt like that Ollie’s and Ethan’s school made the impossible possible. They didn’t give up, and neither should we. Schools are not going to be able to return to “normal” this school year, even if the vaccine comes in the winter. We cannot settle for remote learning for an entire school year. 

We can’t give up on our children. 

Year 11 – Week 1: Teaching In-Person In A Pandemic

He was scared.

As this little kindergartner walked through the fence gate into the field, where we were greeting the youngest students, he stopped.  The temperature wasn’t so cold that the rained pulled way our energy, but it’s presence on this dark stormy day dampened moods.

Like all of us, he was worried. Maybe it was because it was the first day of school. Maybe it was because he didn’t know how to get to his classroom. Maybe his mask bothered him, or maybe the storm as it passed over us was making the promise of a new school year feel like a lie.

He stopped after making it through the fence, looking up with sad eyes before looking down. As I started making my way over to him, one of my colleagues, who was also helping walk students to their class got to him first. When the boy looked and saw him, his face calmed, and he found the strength in his body to take one confident step towards my colleague, and then another, and then another. He greeted the boy, and with energy they walked together towards the school.

My colleague was wearing a mask and face shield so there was no warm smile to calm this boy and give him confidence in his own power. Maybe it was the body language of my colleague, his warm greeting, or maybe it was the connection that was made between a Black boy and a confident and gregarious Black man that helped this boy find his inner strength.

 *****

Fear lies in the hearts of all teachers this school year. Even with mask, temperature checks, safety procedures, and other resources, fear is present.  I have talked to professionals scared about how the risks they are taking in school will affect their lives and the sacrifices they will have to make. Some have conditions that prevent them from working at school in person. Others are separating themselves from loved ones for fear that their work will bring this virus home to those that they love.  The possibilities of exposure and outbreak are real and undeniable, but the show is going on. My school is in-person JK-8, with our 9th-12th graders doing remote learning.

With all of this inside of us, individual pain and trauma, and the weight on knowing our colleagues struggles, I witnessed educators do remarkable things. I saw professionals greet children as if they were greeting the most important person in the world. I saw teachers jump up and down in joy as students approached. And with warmth and grace, I witnessed adults in this school create a space of, love, joy, and community in one of the darkest moments in the history of our country.

When I saw that educator holding close that kindergartner, who needed that hug and touch to calm herself, I wondered. Did this educator feel trepidation to bring her close in her moment of need? Was the mask and face shield enough to keep this adult safe? What risks was she putting herself and her family in during that moment? And how did this person find in themselves the power and the strength to be what that student needed in that moment? Because sometime doing the next right thing is a lot harder than knowing what is the next right thing. 

*****

Pushing in and no longer teaching in my music classroom wasn’t a big deal. The mask was an adjustment but with the teaching mic I got, it wasn’t a big deal.  By the way, I love this thing and plan to use it post pandemic. Teaching a whole new grade and having to basically come up with a new curriculum because we no longer can sing music class is hard, but it doesn’t really bother me right now. I have the adding responsibility of having a student teacher, but it’s been wonderful having a partner along for the ride to share in all that is new for me and all that is new for her. The masks aren’t a big deal, the social distancing in the classroom isn’t a big adjustment, and teaching in a different way didn't get in the way of what was most important.

I’m not sure why, but I feel more grateful than ever before to have the time that I have with these wonderful human beings.  Maybe it was the time away, maybe it’s because of how clear in all of our crises, we need teachers to help our students make a better tomorrow than our today, or maybe it’s knowing that families are putting more trust than ever in me as an educator to take care of their children.  It is truly a privilege to help these people see the world and themselves with more love, understanding, and kindness.

My time in class with these students week felt like I was in the presence of something truly magical and wonderful. I have always found children to be inspiring and fascinating, but this week being with them felt valuable, powerful, and necessary.

I am not naïve to the risks, and how our education system is in a crisis.  Schools were not broken by the pandemic, but our inability as a country to prioritize our children’s well-being and the lives of those who care for them and educate them. I know this as I am in this school, as I teach students, and as I do my work. There are people inside my school and outside who think what we are doing is not enough to have in-person school, and there are those like myself who are accepting the risk, moving past the anger of what “should have been” and are trying to make things work. This does not make me better than those who feel that we should not be teaching in-person, or that I am right and they are wrong. It seems nigh-impossible to really know what is 100% right about education this school year. 

The stories of teachers, the struggles of administrators, and the hopes of parents.  I carry all of this.  The failures of trump, the racism in school system, and the degradation of teachers.  I carry all of this.   And all I know about my school, my union, and my power in this community I carry when I put on that mask and chose to enter my school.

At some point, I may hesitate, and not grasp that door handle, and walk away. This week I chose otherwise.  I opened the door, walked into my school, and I was a teacher. 

Parenthood: Week 387 – The Eve Of The First Day Back Teaching (In Person)

“I don’t want you to go to school.”

I tried to explain to Ethan that I was going to school tomorrow and that when he wakes up, I might not be there. In my head, I thought that prepping him a would make tomorrow morning go a little easier. I tried to reassure him that I would be home in the afternoon, but it didn’t seem to help. The issue wasn’t just that I wasn’t going to be there in the morning, Ethan didn’t want me to go to school altogether.

Ethan is turning three in the end of October and for the last sixth months since my school closed on March 13th, I’ve been home every single day. In Ethan’s life, rounding up to three-years-old, that is 16% of his life. In my life, this last sixth months is only 1.3% of my life. I remember the time before the pandemic clearly, and in some ways Ethan doesn’t. Long term memory is just beginning to set in around two to three. Me being there to cuddle him in the morning is part of life for him.

There is always a fluffy puppy named Buffy around, there is always a mommy there to give warm-cuddles, and in the morning, there is always daddy there to take him out of his crib and bring him into the big bed to cuddle.

One of the benefits of having young children during this pandemic is that they do not fully understand the unnecessary suffering that is occurring because of incompetent selfish individuals, and how much they are losing. Ollie is the closest at age 7 to getting some of this and while he does get that there are things that his can’t get that he wants, mainly time with my parents and his cousins, most other parts of his life, he enjoys.

I’ve been through this before. I remember how hard it was to go to work the summer after Ollie was born and not be there when he woke up. After Ethan was born, I had to do a similar thing. This transition feels different.

When Ethan told me that he didn’t want me to go to school, the response “I don’t want to go either,” echoed in my head. Everything is harder to do outside of the house because of COVID-19, and I’m going in to my job as a teacher, to teach in person next week. Everything about my job is different. I’m teaching a new curriculum that is not fully developed (that’s a really optimistic way of stating that). I have a new schedule, I’m teaching different groupings of students than I’m used, and every single routine in my school is new. And my job is riskier than it’s ever been.

I have always felt that part of the reason I do my job is to take care of my family. I work to financially support them, and my work allows me to positively contribute to this world to make the world a better place for my sons. This year, many teachers in America have chosen that the best way to take care of their families is to not teach and quit. This isn’t the right choice for me, but I am aware what it means to take care of my family is different than in years past.

I know Ethan will be fine. He will cry, and scream if he wakes up and I’ve left. If he wakes up early and has some time to cuddle with me, he will probably cry as I leave. Diana will be amazing and handle this with grace, and this will get better over time. It will be hard to leave the house when Ethan is sad, but Diana will give me a strong smile and motion me to go away as we both know sometimes it’s best not to linger. She will text me a picture of Ethan smiling and laughing while I drive to work to prove that his sadness was only temporary and that Ethan is doing okay.

I know all of this, yet it will still be hard.  Tomorrow, I will miss all of my children, wish that I didn’t have to be away, and look forward to coming in that door, picking up Ethan as he runs up to me and feeling his little body lean into mine.

Year 11– Week 0: How It Feels

This past week was the week before students come when teachers have time to set up classrooms and have meetings. It’s a productive week, that often feels overwhelming. We get the joy of meeting new colleagues and get to see returning ones. There’s lots of laughter, and lots of smiles. It’s a homecoming of sorts, a time for us to come together and put together the pieces of a community back together with each other, and for our students.

This year this week felt very different. All of our meetings were over Zoom, and while saw each other on our screens, heard voices, and were productive, we weren’t together. The side comments, the chats in the hallways, and the fellowship of sharing meals together were absent. All of these things that made this week, this school feel so special were not present.

People tried. There were smiles, and some attempts at jokes, but those are often awkward over Zoom. The anxiety and trepidation of a school year like no other brought another level of tension into our meetings. No teacher feels 100% ready for the an upcoming school year, but this school year, this feeling is way beyond “normal.”

Everyone is making compromises, but it’s hard to know if we are making too many compromises. What is reasonable to ask of a teacher this year is different than in previous years, but it’s so hard to know the limits. Teaching is not going to be as good as in previous years, but it’s really hard to adjust and know what level of teaching is “good enough.”

All of this has been in the front of my mind, and I don’t have any clear answers because, well no one has clear answers. All we have is feeling better about our fears and insecurities sharing them with others and reminding ourselves that we are not alone.

Yesterday, I went to my school in person and helped clear out the music room which is not going to be used for kindergarten classes. During this time, I met a wonderful group of assistant teachers who were  setting up in that space. I spent some time teaching them how to use the A/V in the room and it felt great, and so energizing to be making some simple connections in person. We all wore masks and it was a little bit awkward trying to social distance in that room, but it felt energizing, and great to help.

Just this taste was a reminder of what we are doing all of this for. All of the time, the work, the money, the effort, the stress, and the anxiety, it’s all for this.  I think it’s all going to be worth it. There was laughter in the room, gratitude, and kindness.

There are so many unknown for me this school year, but what I do know is that there is something here worth fighting for. And if it feels this good to be around a couple other teachers in this very different set up, it’s going to feel great to be with my students.