What It Means To Be A Teacher Now

I am a teacher. 

I work my tuchus off for 10 months of the year for what amounts to miserable hourly pay after the day is done. Which, to be honest, the day is never really done because my students haunt me, the thoughts on what I could have done better haunt me, the plans for what to do next and how I can try to get the best out of my students academically and social-emotionally haunt me. Also, food for thought, in my husband's engineer-y line of work, people who have barely graduated undergraduate college make more than I do now, as a teacher with a Master's degree, with 6 separate certifications from the state, National Board Certification as an Exceptional Needs Specialist, and 11 years full-time teaching experience (13 years total). 

In my position that in our society is valued less monetarily than a starting point engineer: I must be an innovator with educational technology; a collaborator with teachers, staff, administration, families, community; a curriculum expert fluent in all academic areas since I support them all and explicitly teach some; a behavioral expert; a special education law expert; a writer of legal documents that spell out individualized education plans; a customer service rep soothing angry parents (who are typically angry because they are hurting but I am a great target because I represent everything that's hard for their child, even though I also represent hope that things can become easier with the right supports and building of skills); an advocate for my students in my classroom, in other classrooms, and in the school as a whole; I am an event planner; an entertainer; an insanely good actress as I have to show patience when kids are squirrelly, calm in the face of explosiveness, and stern when I really want to laugh at something naughty said or done. Sometimes I laugh anyway.

I have a million stories about crazy situations, like a parent call regarding a homemade bowel movement made from a peanut Cliff Bar (very realistic) left on another student's chair as a prank; the millions of times I have spoken calmly and had someone scream in my face STOP YELLING AT ME when I am actually not yelling at all; the time I ill-advisedly April Fools Day pranked my resource class predominantly made up of students with Autism Spectrum Disorder into thinking that Betsy DeVos had decided the state of education is so dire that summer school is now mandatory, and one of my students exploded into SCREW YOU! and I had to bust out laughing and admit that it was a prank before she (probably justifiably) ran from the room in a rage (ooops, but she forgave me and admitted it was a good prank once she was no longer feral); how a student once climbed to sit on top of a file cabinet during a lockdown active shooter drill and then proceeded to try to CLIMB UP INTO THE DROP CEILING like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, stating "I'm not about to get shot!" while I hissed "GET DOWN HERE! RIGHT! NOW!" and had to weigh addressing his (not terribly illogical) choices with being heard out in the hall and deemed a possible shooter target...

Oh yeah, that's right. I also have to be a human shield for my students and think critically if I hear gunshots in the hall, and I have to practice for that unlikely (but possible) event something like 5 times per year, getting squirrelly 8th graders who may or may not be taking their mood stabilizing/focusing meds to quietly hide in a corner away from all windows and the door and be quiet for up to 20  minutes, explaining that if we did hear gunshots it would be vitally important that they be silent and listen and trust me when the game plan changed from hiding like mice in a hole to something like barricading the door, or running, or some other SWAT team nonsense that WASN'T A PART OF MY MANY DEGREES/CERTIFICATIONS but now I'm wondering if it will be for newer teachers (or already is). 

I do all this gladly (well, maybe not the "what to do if someone is trying to kill us in a place of learning" part) because it is my job and I love it. I love my students. I love the challenges. I love the outlet for creativity that is making learning dynamic and fun and building that community in the classroom that makes it a family of sorts, which is even more important to me as I don't have children of my own despite a great deal of effort to have them. It is the cliche that is on a million mugs and memes, but I LOVE my kids and they are truly MY KIDS. I mean, they don't come home with me, so it's not like I'm a parent, but for the day? When I worry at night and over vacations and in the summer and DURING PANDEMIC BUILDING SHUTDOWNS? Yeah, they're my kids. 

So I am really quite upset about the fact that now, in addition to all of this, of planning and practicing for a possible violent threat and possible death, that teachers are now in the position of going back into a situation where the chances of being harmed a zillion times higher from the virus than they are from a possible active shooter situation. 

There are a million posts and memes and articles listing out all the ways that the "reopening" of schools is terrifying and ill-advised, so I'm not going to go into every point (and there are A LOT). Because also it's supposed to be summer and I'm not supposed to be thinking about all this.

Summer is typically a time of recovering from the past year and then planning for the next, but unless you are actively teaching summer school for 6 weeks, you are UNPAID for the 10 weeks (sometimes 9) of summer. It's a running joke that teachers only work part of the year and that we have this amazing cushy benefit of oodles of vacation. And we do have vacation throughout the year (that is at specific times that we do not choose and we cannot take vacation time of our own), but during the year there's planning that takes place through some of it and during summer we are not paid. And yet we work, planning and prepping and taking professional development courses and worrying. I usually try to take July as a "I may Pinterest and read PD books, but I'm doing nothing but reading on the couch and digging in the dirt and getting a lovely refresh on my soul" time, and August is planning planning planning, setting up the classroom, sorting through supply orders, organizing folders with student names, meeting with paraprofessionals, etc etc etc. 

NOT THIS SUMMER. 

This summer is the most stressful and anxiety-ridden summer of my life. I got a few days where I did nothing and tried to go into reconstitution mode, but the planning for next year pretty much started right away. And, I am very excited to be the new lead teacher for my building's special education teacher department, but holy moses did I pick a doozy of a time to go for that! There are preliminary schedules to review, so much anxiety about what it may look like, and questions galore. I enjoy finding and sharing information, but this year there are some pretty high stakes to it all. 

I am upset about how the media discusses the school issue -- saying that "schools are closed" and "we have to reopen schools" makes it sound like nothing has been happening. In actuality, SCHOOL BUILDINGS have been closed, but school itself has gone on, just differently than it looked before. I know not everyone had the same experience with online school, but it raises my hackles so much when I hear about parents "homeschooling" their kids during this time. The definition of "homeschool" according to Merriam-Webster is "to teach school subjects to one's children at home" or "to teach (one's children) at home." Which then calls into question what it means to teach. Is it homeschooling when you help your child with homework or to study for a test? I feel like using "homeschool" in this pandemic shutdown time is deceptive, because I am providing the curriculum, I am providing contact time online, I am providing support, I am providing materials for learning and demonstrating what students know. I guess it could be different at the elementary level, and I'm sure people will tell me in the comments, but I feel like if you are not creating and delivering and assessing content, you are not homeschooling. You are supporting your child's education. The teacher is doing the teaching. 

This is not to say that parents have not been instrumental to the success of our new virtual learning reality -- kids who have parents who can sit with them and help organize them and keep them on task when working on independent work (or supervising when in group online situations) tend to be way more successful at keeping up with everything. But not all parents have this ability, because there are parents who aren't working from home, there are parents who are working in healthcare, or service, or other high-risk situations. There are parents who lost their jobs and are searching to make sure that they can keep their housing once the no-eviction rules expire (because at some point, they will). There are parents who are caring for older relatives, or younger children, or who are in health crisis themselves (physical or mental). Many parents I spoke to were overwhelmed by the logistics of getting their kids on computers and tracking their schedules along with their own (especially if they had more than one child), but they didn't have the impression that they were teaching, more like managing. And it is a lot. I agree. The whole thing is stressful and not ideal. 

But looking at physically reopening buildings and having 700 or so middle schoolers plus several hundred adult staff in one building scares me so much. There are so many questions. A friend posted something about wearing scrubs to school, so we can easily wash our clothes when we get home, so we can make a statement about the state of things and show support for healthcare workers. I'm all in on that. I think I would wear a hazmat suit if it wouldn't terrify the students and make me a slick sweaty mess underneath it all. 

I am scared for my own health, and I think that needs to be okay -- to not just talk about the lives of the children, but also the adults who teach and nurture the children who are going to be exposed. I have heard people say that teachers are selfish who think about their own health when we're talking about children. It's a similar argument for those who think it's selfish for teachers to say that they don't make enough money -- we don't do it for the money, obviously, but it sure would be nice to paid commensurate to our many qualifications, degrees, and licensures that are REQUIRED...it is not selfish to want to do amazing things for the youth of America and receive better pay than a starting salary for someone in a different industry. I mean, I'm a teacher, not a nun.

Schools are petri dishes. It's a miracle if you get to November before having some sort of respiratory or sinus infection. The flu runs through schools like mad -- I HAD A FLU SHOT last year and still was out for over a week with Flu A. Because I have asthma. And while my asthma is pretty well controlled with my daily 2-puffs, twice-per-day steroid inhaler, if I get even a little cold it ALWAYS goes into my chest and then I have to break out the nebulizer. I have had the flu where I coughed so much I thought I was going to pass out and my eyes were going to burst and I honestly thought I was going to die. I have almost been hospitalized for the flu. So, um, COVID? It scares the everliving shit out of me. Also, I have autoimmune issues. There's the Celiac, but there's also the scleritis I had in my eye during The Year Of Awful, 2017, that I must get checked for every year FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. I also feel like if you look at my infertility history, if there was a weird thing that could happen, it happened (ectopic pregnancy from IVF! OHSS requiring bonus surgery to tap my abdomen of fluid! Asherman's Syndrome scarring in my uterus! Adenomyosis!). I could not get rid of that uterus fast enough once it was clear I had no use for it. And I'm still worried about those ovaries trying to kill me someday. 

So it seems like COVID-19 is, uh, a bit of a risk for me. I'm otherwise pretty healthy. But do I want to be in an enclosed space with germ machines (even in middle school, they're gross germ machines), armed with just hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes, and a mask that people will not wear with fidelity? And what about the recent evidence that the virus is airborne, and that aerosolized particles can survive IN THE AIR for a really long time? How do I disinfect the damn AIR? The article from MIT that I've linked to says that sanitizing all the surfaces isn't as important if it's airborne, "Instead, the focus should be on other factors, like where we spend our time." We were told that the three factors for spread are activity, time, and proximity...all major factors in classroom learning. The same MIT article says, "To safely reopen, these spots will not just need to reduce the number of people allowed inside at any given moment; they will also need to reduce the amount of time those people spend there. Increasing social distancing beyond six feet would also help keep people safer." Six feet is not a magic number. And it kills me when people are like, "Oh, we can take our masks off if we're 6 feet apart." Um, except if you drift towards each other, which humans tend to do; except if you cough, or sneeze, or yell or woo hoo or sing or do anything that causes those particles to spew more forcefully from your unmasked face. And, um, teenagers don't do any of those things. They are known for quietly whispering in the classroom and the hallways. And following rules with absolute fidelity. 

I love my job, and I love those loud, naughty germ machines, and I don't WANT to not be with my students. I can love all these things and be terrified. For my students' lives, for my life. For the possibility of not just dying, but of living with the long-term effects of COVID-19. Hearing reports of people sick for upwards of 120 days, seeing the long term impact on lung tissue, the muscle wasting... it's terrifying. WE KNOW HARDLY ANYTHING ABOUT THIS THING LONG TERM. 

So, it's kind of hard to rest and relax when all of these things are swirling through my brain. I realized last week that I didn't put supply orders in before we "left" in June, because it simply did not occur to me. And now I'm left wondering, what on earth do I order? (I realize I am privileged for having money in a budget to order supplies, I am definitely among the lucky as teachers go in that regard.) Do I order as if things will be normal? What IS normal? Do I order a zillion ziploc bags and enough supplies that I can have individual supply packs for kids in my resource room? You may say, "don't they have supply lists? Aren't they buying things?" Um, yes but have you met middle schoolers? They could have 100 pencils in their locker but they'll forget to bring one to class. Not everyone can afford everything on the lists. And middle schoolers are kind, and generous -- they want to lend a pencil or an eraser or a highlighter to people in class. And they won't be able to do that. I will have to shut down their kindness in the name of safety. Should I order stuff for teaching at home? I already bought a folding whiteboard with my own money (worth more than its insubstantial weight in gold in the spring). There are so many questions. 

I have not really been able to unplug this summer. I am trying, but every time I look at the internet, or hear the radio, or come out of my hole in any way shape or form I am smacked in the face with the reality of teaching in a pandemic. Of being in a no-win situation -- there is no solution that will make everyone happy, or safe, or comfortable. For some kids being home is a nightmare situation. For some kids being home has been great. For some teachers being home makes them more productive. For some teachers being home is impossible because of small (or not so small) children that need attention, need help, and don't tend to sit quietly and self-soothe and manage their own time during a school day. It's an impossible situation. 

And it keeps me up at night. I am a teacher. I love my kids. I love what I do. But I don't want to sacrifice everything -- my health, my husband's health, the destruction of our tiny family unit -- to open classrooms before it's safe. Because even if it's safe when we reopen the buildings, how long before it's not just because of the sheer activity, time, and proximity of all the people with all the contact points? It seems like the most dangerous experiment in the strength of this contagion, with our children and educators at the center of a study we didn't sign up for.