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.
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