Renewed Traditions Renew Gratitude

I am interrupting the Learning and the Brain Reflections series because I am compelled to talk about the power of what I experienced last week.  

I went into the week prepared for exhaustion because I was looking at the number of events and how late each would be.  It was also the week where a few days are devoted to exam review, and of course, it is also the time to get grades finalized before heading into exam week.  What I didn't know was how powerful those late-night events would be and how much I needed them to happen.

School is a lot of things.  Among everything else school is, it is a series of traditions.  From the senior breakfast on the first day of school to middle school letters to graduation, the year is filled with traditions.  Traditions are important because they anchor us psychologically to a time and place and culture, giving us a sense of belonging and predictability.  Whether it is something small like the way you greet kids every Monday (or the Brown Rabbit thing our English teacher does that I don't truly understand but has staying power with some of our students long after they've graduated) or something big like having your students create a piece of artwork for the school, traditions give kids a sense of stability and safety.  

One of the most difficult things about Covid was that it upended almost all of our traditions.  Starting in the spring of 2020, school plays were canceled all over the country (I thanked God so often we had already had ours).  Yearbook signings were digital, which was a nice touch, but let's admit isn't as good.  Every school was faced with figuring out graduations, which were handled in a variety of ways, from a simple drive-in diploma pickup to individual graduations for each student.  Even though I was teaching face to face (hybrid) in the 2020-2021 school year, most of our traditions either couldn't happen (Grandparents Day, Christmas programs, basketball games with fans) or had to happen in a modified way.  We were all physically exhausted, so I'm not sure how much time we spent reflecting on the impact of each of these lost traditions.  For me, that happened last week, when two of them returned.

Monday night, our theater and dance programs had their Christmas productions.  As kids danced to "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" and "Mary, Did You Know?" the audience got to experience beautiful movement in a way they haven't in quite a while.  We sat together and giggled at silly jokes in a faux news report about Christmas.  We held our breath together while I sixth grader's eyes filled with tears because she had forgotten her lines and were collectively proud of her as she persevered through it.  It has been a while since I have laughed as hard as I did at the Star Wars Nativity skit, where a senior with Yoda ears walked around on his knees, saying the lines of the angel Gabriel.  (What most of the audience didn't know was that a few of those students filled in for a sick classmate and found out mere hours before they stepped on the stage.)  We all left feeling more cheerful than when we arrived, in part because the skits were fun and Christmasy, but also because we were once again experiencing this tradition together.

Friday night, our band and choir were back on stage for the first time since Christmas 2019.  While we had school plays last year (the fall one virtually presented and the spring one in person), band and choir were hit especially hard because students could not stand together to sing and wind instruments were, in the words of our band director, pressurized germ cannons.  They did their best to keep the power of musical arts in the lives of our students.  Our choir director sent out a zoom-style performance at Christmas and graduation, and while that was helpful, it just doesn't have the same power as students standing next to each other harmonizing.  Our band director turned every student into a percussionist, and they got to enjoy playing music together, but they really only got to hear each other because we couldn't have concerts.  Friday night, I stood in the corner with my camera, taking photos of girls in pretty black dresses again for the first time since the start of the pandemic.  When five high school students began to sing, "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" and "Silent Night," I cried with relief that this program was still here, even if it is a small group that will anchor future growth.  When they sang "Carol of the Bells," I cried until the top of my mask was soaked (I don't know if you have experienced masked crying, but it's pretty gross.  I knew that from experience, but I made no effort to hold back these tears because they were joyful.) because that has been my favorite Christmas tradition for many years, and it was back!  When the band played a song with three drum solos (each of the three students taking over for the last without missing a beat - literally), they had the entire audience in awe.  In spite of how physically tired I was, I left that night with so much joy because we were able to experience traditions again, and we were able to do it together.

Is it normal yet?  No.  The audience was masked, and the kids took them off to perform and put them back on.  The choir didn't get to do their usual performances at the governor's mansion and the state capitol building.  We are still getting periodic news of students in quarantine.  While the world seemed to shut down at all at once, re-opening is slow and staggered and challenging and messy.  But, every time something returns, we have more gratitude for it because of having lost them for the past 21 months.  Whatever you are able to do this year that you couldn't do last year, enjoy it, and be more grateful for it than you might have been in 2019.