It's June 21, and in any other year, there would be a few weeks of summer left before I start thinking about what the day to day of school life would be in the next school year. As we all know, however, 2020 is not like any other year. Rather than waiting until the middle of July, I have been thinking about it since the third week of May. In the past two weeks, I have attended four virtual meetings about school, two regarding how to address racial reconciliation in the Christian school environment and two about the impact COVID19 will have on our daily operations next year, from daily temperature checks to how lunch will be distributed. It's no wonder my heart rate and blood pressure were high when the Red Cross checked it last week. There's a lot to feel.
I'm having a hard time describing what I feel. Fear isn't the right word. I'm not scared. I've cried a few times, but I'm not sure sadness is what I feel either. I think about next year a lot, but I don't know if that counts as worry. Perhaps apprehensive is the right word? I'm not sure.
I know this. Each year that I have taught, I felt strengthened by the years of experience I had behind me. This year, I don't feel that stability. I think that's what causes me to think about it so often, trying to visualize something I've never done before. And, of course, the dark side of edutwitter has reared its ugly head. Don't get me wrong, Twitter is often a great place of sharing and encouragement for educators, but it is also where some teachers reveal their most cynical sides (and a few who I cannot fathom remaining employed after what they have said about their administrators). There is no aspect of school operations that isn't touched by the need for social distancing, and planning around that feels more difficult than anything we've ever face (even more than teaching virtually).
But here's the thing about adulting. We don't have to be ruled by our emotional responses. We get to recognize that what we feel and what we know are two different things. We get to pause and reflect rather than just react. So here are some things that I know.
1. Teachers know how to teach. I said earlier that I don't feel like my 21 years of teaching experience are strengthening me in the way they have in the past. I FEEL that, but I KNOW it isn't true. I may not know the best way to simultaneously address an iPad and a live group of students yet, but I know how to explain scientific principals and have been growing in that knowledge for over two decades. I still know how the learning brain works, and I can use practices that support the learning brain, even if those practices play out differently with those at home than it does with those in front of me. As I go into next year, I am NOT rebuilding teaching practices from scratch; it only feels that way.
2. I have the best administration in the world. What Twitter has shown me is the difference administrators make in the attitudes of teachers. Most of those who have posted negative thoughts have done so because they don't feel supported. The few I have chosen to engage with have reported constantly changing expectations, lack of compassion from their leaders, and either micromanagement or complete absence of support. If you are one of those teachers, I'm so sorry. My administration is the best. They lead with strength but not with a heavy hand. They are phenomenal planners and problem solvers, but they also listen and even solicit the input from those of us in the classroom daily. They encourage us to think of this as a way to innovate our practice, but they know some of those innovations will fall flat and will help us clean up any messes we make in the process. They are not "figuring things out as we go," but they will respond to unfolding needs. As I go into next year, these are the stable people I get to lean on.
3. Growth Mindset matters now more than ever. As teachers, we encourage our students to do things they do not yet know how to do. When they say they cannot do something, we often respond that they cannot do that thing yet. We encourage them to learn and grow. Since March, we have had unprecedented opportunities to model that. On March 16, I had never taught a single class period on Google Hangout. I have now taught around 150 class periods that way. Did they all go perfectly? Of course not, but if I'd be kidding myself to think that all of my in-person classes are flawless. (I say this as a person who is on record as a believer in face-to-face instruction, so please don't think I'm saying they are the same.) We are showing kids that we can take on new challenges, which may be more important than any part of our curriculum. I hope that by the time school starts, the man who tweeted this will decide to model learning for his students rather than show them that he won't do anything he doesn't already know how to do.
4. We determine our students' responses. While this particular time is unprecedented, I have taught through more than one crisis, some on a local level (like a shooting threat in my building) and others on a massive level (I was teaching high school on 9/11). I've taught through personal heartache and corporate grief. Here's what I've learned. How teachers act influences how students feel. During my second year, there was a threatening letter found in my school in Oklahoma. I started each class by telling my students that there was a plan and that they do what I told them to do without arguing. We then went on to have the class almost normally. There were teachers that day who started every class in a panic, and their students spent that class period in fear. At the beginning of virtual teaching, my students did see me cry, but they did not see me panic. There's a difference between being genuine and putting all your feelings on display. They saw that I missed them, but they didn't see me doubt whether or not I could meet their needs (because even if I felt that, it would not have helped them to know). I believe in "being real" with your students, but be professional about how much you share.
5. Imagination is powerful. The human mind has an incredible talent. It can imagine things that have not happened. It can paint pictures of things that don't exist. It can project multiple scenarios into the future and predict (although not necessarily accurately) what could occur. This ability is powerful. It is how we invented. It is how we made vaccines. It is how we put men on the moon. The mind's ability to imagine is how we created the modern world. It can be and has been a powerful force for the good of the human race. It can also be a force that hurts us. Our imaginations can make us fear change (perhaps the reason people get cold feet before their weddings). It can make us imagine the worst-case scenario and then dwell on it when it is not yet a reality (and may not become reality). How many times have we anticipated something terrible and then found it not to be so bad when the thing we feared actually happened. Because next year is filled with unknowns, our imaginations are filling in the blanks. There's no way to stop that; it's what the brain naturally does. While we can't stop it, we can remind ourselves that what we have imagined is not real. It is likely that some parts of it will happen but it is unlikely that all parts of it will. Let's thank our brains for preparing us for the worst but also recognize that the worst scenario is rarely the most likely scenario.
I teach my students about neurotransmitters and their role in our emotions. I take some of the romance out of attraction, but I think it matters to say feelings are temporary responses to stimuli. Feelings are valid, but they are not a foundation on which to make decisions. Take them into account, but don't let them overpower what you know. Remember that God is faithful and trustworthy, and honor him with your actions.
My principal reads this passage to us 5-10 times a year, and it is helpful, so I will end with it. If you are a person of faith, I hope you find it encouraging.
Psalm 127:1-2
Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.
It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives to his beloved sleep.
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