Dear Teacher with Quarantined Students,
Several years ago there was a popular education book written by Rafe Esquith called Teach Like Your Hair's on Fire. I read it. It was good, really good. At the time, Esquith was an English teacher in an inner city school.
Even in a school with mold in the ceiling, he trained his "destined to be a statistic" students to be theater junkies. He took them all over the country to perform, and one by one, each one of those reprobates transformed into a star- a star bright enough to escape the darkness of oppression forever.
I need to read that book again because for the life of me, I don't understand how you can help a kid become a star when the stage is closed and the audience has left the building.
It's no secret truancy is an ever-evolving problem in schools across the country. Any teacher knows half the battle is getting students to show up and grab a pencil when they get there. The importance of daily attendance was part of my introductory spiel every year.
In thinking of my first day speech, I am trying to imagine how I would revamp the pep talk if I were still in the classroom this year, a year when, sadly, the adults are the ones sending kids home.
Truthfully, I feel unqualified to speak to the issue since I am not in the classroom daily. Most days, I feel guilty I am not in the trenches like I was last year when the world shut down. I keep reminding myself that if I was, this Sunday would be spent emailing a parent who is freaking out because her daughter, who is a cross country runner, will not be able to compete for regionals. She just got the dreaded call to stay home for 14 days. Her mother is upset that her daughter, who is a straight A student, will miss almost all of the Romeo and Juliet unit. She's equally upset that she is missing two cross country meets that would qualify her for regionals and in turn, state- something her daughter has dreamed about and worked hard to accomplish.
You're stressed too because you know even Rafe Esquith couldn't help a devestated 16 year old learn Romeo and Juliet from home.
Three times you try to type a message that speaks to this mom's heart while simulataneously keeps you from getting fired. It takes an hour to finally settle with, "I'm sorry. I will do my very best to help." When you see it in black and white, it looks so small and empty. The parent will never know how long it took you to write something so simple.
It's the same line I am using with every weary teacher I meet. My point is I may not be on the front lines with you, but I hope you know I am still in the war with you (and for you). And I promise to try my absolute best to use my pen to get people's attention when yours is too tired and dull to lift, even if it is only to say, "I'm sorry, and I will do my best to help."
One of the ways I will help is by using my lesson planning Sunday to write new plans, plans for advocacy to get your students back in your seats and your athletes back on your fields.
I can't make any promises anyone will listen. So many others have been dismissed, but I can promise, on your behalf, I will not remain silent.
Will it make a difference? Heck, I don't know anymore than you know your email made a difference with the parent who is upset over her son's three zeroes from quarantine.You try to assure her the zeroes will not stand forever- just until he submits the work. Oh, how we hope to God none of this stands forever!
It's not fair to any of us- not to the administrator who is the frayed rope in a grisly tug-o-war match between policy and doing what is right for kids, not to the young man who plays Fortnite at home on a Friday night while his teammates are bursting through a decorated banner to a roaring crowd he cannot hear, not to the parent who paid $700 for a cheer uniform that is starched and ready to wear, only now she has to tell her daughter she can't cheer this week. And it's especially not fair to the teacher who stares out at a lopsided classroom with six kids crammed on one side, the other side vacant. She can't spread the present students six feet apart because that dang seating chart is gospel. And if she relocates a single kid, a well kid who is present today could easily sit in the very seat of the kid from yesterday who is also perfectly healthy but is now quarantined. If that happens, God help us all.
I am not making light. I'm really not. I am only trying to illuminate the absurdity of it all to people who may not see it as vividly as the good-hearted educators with the spotty rosters,
Bottom line, we can't keep doing this. It's not right. At this point, I am not even sure it's legal. My memory is a little foggy, but in my education courses, I recollect a great deal of time spent discussing a free and appropriate education in the least restrictive environment for all. Granted, I don't have a Ph.D. behind my name, but I don't think it takes a handful of letters behind a name to see this looks like an infringement.
We are all trying to be patient and respectful, as we know this is a precarious situation with serious health risks. Teachers want students safe and healthy more than anyone- it is education 101, but a word of warning, we will not be silent forever, as we are also experts at seeing safe and healthy can be defined in many different ways.
What good does it do if our students' bodies are whole but their minds are ravaged?
Mark my word, the time is coming when the brightest stars on the stage will be teachers who have finally clawed their way out of the oppressive heap of responsibilities to scream, "Enough! Enough teaching like my whole body is on fire, not just my hair. Enough injustice for all," and when they do, get ready because the audience will return to the building.
Is anybody listening?
-CDB