Dear Teacher of the Year:
This week administrators all over the county barged into classrooms to announce Teacher of the Year. It's funny how unwelcomed visitors become welcomed visitors when they come bearing bouquets of roses, balloons, and big, wide smiles. I say smiles, but who really knows what's actually happening behind those masks these days? I find it terribly sad that upon being awarded the prize for Teacher of the Year, her own students and colleagues can't even tell if she's smiling. Maybe she doesn't even know herself.
It's a very confusing time for teachers, that's for sure. One minute they are genuinely happy over something so small, like the kid with the scraggly, black bangs who comes back at the end of the day to return a ratty pencil that is shaved down to the nub. They both know it's not about the pencil. It's about being seen, even in a mask.
The pencil romance restores her hope, but three hours later she's ready to end a fifteen year marriage over her spouse's ridiculous accusation. "Are you still working on school work?" he asks without even realizing how close he stands between his next breath and the eternal lake of fire.
The short answer is yes. Yes. She is still working on school work.
In terms of education, this is an era like no other. She's teaching quarantined students, remote students, and brick and mortar students (a side note- for the individual who invented the term "brick and mortar," none of us like you).
She's trying her absolute best, but she's still confused about where all her kids are, where they are learning from, how to grade the work, and how to meet them where they are.
Heck, at this point, it is not beyond the scope of believability that she would feel pressured to create a separate set of plans for learners who prefer to have their lessons delivered via a remote feed down in the boys' bathroom while vaping.
Maybe she needs to vape too. Has anyone even thought about that? Chill out. It's a joke, but what's not a joke is the unbearable weight of responsibility being placed on teachers' shoulders this year. They're buckling beneath the pressure, but they are still in the fight.
Nine rounds, nine weeks, whichever term you prefer, the point is they're still in the ring throwing punches at whatever comes their way. They refuse to surrender to the T.K.O.
It's a thing to marvel at, which is why I am making a modest proposal that this year every teacher be bestowed with the distinction of Teacher of the Year. This is not, in any way, suggested to discredit the very worthy candidates who have already been recognized. I know many of these folks personally. They're a great bunch.
I am only illuminating the fact that a few thousand names were accidentally left off the ballot. Bottom line, if you're still coming to work each day, you're Teacher of the Year, and you deserve recognition.
This blog isn't much, but I hope, like the worn down pencil, it at least communicates the message that I see you.
If not, balloons don't cost much, roses come as singles, and smiles are free, but we'll have to pull down our masks for a minute to exchange them.
Mask or no mask, we can't stay concealed forever. It's (ironically) extremely unhealthy for everyone. After all, a basic human need is to see and to be seen.
Wouldn't you agree?
-CDB