I never expected Tuesday, November 26 to be my last real day of school for the year. I fully expected to go into work on the 27th, make gratitude turkeys, wish my kids a wonderful Thanksgiving, and go out on maternity leave starting with Thanksgiving break. Instead, I woke up about half an hour before my alarm to an unmistakeable contraction. I actually considered going into work since it was a half-day, but Andrew talked me out of it.
Then came COVID-19. And Massachusetts schools shut down for three weeks. They were due to open the day after I came back from maternity leave, and as that date approached (far too quickly), I became increasingly anxious. When the announcement came that schools would be closed for the rest of the year, I think I was one of very few teachers who breathed a sigh of relief. I missed my students, I felt horrible for my seniors, but the truth was, I was not ready to leave Emily every day, especially during a pandemic! And so we went to remote learning, which had its own set of challenges, but I got to spend every free minute I could with my sweet little nugget. I was so grateful.
But today, I had to go back into the building to close down my classroom for the summer. Normally, I love this task. I reorganize my room to get ready for September, I reconfigure the seating plan, I print pretty binder covers for all of the upcoming lessons I’m dying to teach in September, and I take inventory of which posters are ready to be replaced. I empty my window sills, I carefully wrap all of the little toys and frames on my desk, and I pack up my closet. When I leave, every inch of my space is completely organized and ready to go for August. Today was different.
Today, I wore a mask and gloves into the building. My badge didn’t work, so I had to wait in the lobby to be let in by a masked colleague. My hallway was full of desks, and the lockers gaped, empty and forlorn. A few random pieces of crumpled paper littered the hallway floor. And when I got to my classroom, I was greeted by a festive coloring page featuring a leprechaun. This was not what I imagined my first time back in the building would be like back in November.
My room was dark, there were papers on desks and books in the baskets under the chairs. Drawing of shamrocks covered the whiteboard, long past-due homework assignments were carefully recorded in their designated blocks on my homework board. Calendars were set to March, and a lone bottle of almost entirely used hand sanitizer sat casually on the table. I bet no one realized what a hot commodity that would become!
My classroom was frozen in time, and it was unfamiliar to me for the first time in the 5 years it’s been my home away from home. The writing on the board wasn’t mine and the lessons in the grading folder were made by someone else. It was such a weird feeling, kind of like going up to your bedroom for a weekend home from college, but your parents Air B&B’d it while you were gone. And instead of my usual end of the year routines, I hastily tucked every out of place item away without really looking at it. I shoved paperwork into my desk to be dealt with later. I grabbed the materials I needed to prep lessons over the summer, used that hand sanitizer, and left. It took me 20 minutes, and I couldn’t wait to get out of that strange, anachronistic ghost town.
I left the building feeling so sad, and yet now, as I take the time to reflect on it, I am actually hopeful. I’ve taught at my school for 5 years. I have my curriculum made and my routines down. I can write an IEP in less than 2 hours. Had I not had Emily, I likely would have begun to feel stir-crazy in a job I love. But now? Any sense of boredom is gone. Predictability is nonexistent. For the first time since I started this job, I have no idea what the fall will look like. And you know what? I’m so excited! This is an opportunity to shake up routines, to adapt my lessons for this new, virtual world, to connect with students in a new way, to make changes. These last few months of remote learning have been like nothing I’ve ever experienced as a teacher. I invited my students into my home every day through Zoom. My cat, Gloria, joined them for lessons some days, and Emily popped in for others. But I got to see their smiling faces (except for one student who preferred to use his hedgehog avatar) every day. We laughed and worked and challenged ourselves together. What started as a stressful nightmare ended up creating tons of happy memories and helping me develop even stronger connections with my students and their families. So while the fall is up in the air and I have absolutely no idea what we’ll be going back to, I know one thing: we've got this!
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