Sometimes seeing a situation through a different set of eyes reveals an unexpected insight. I remember the morning my then husband, Wally, came into the classroom to help me set up a video camera for recording presentations my students were giving. He was busy setting up the equipment and sorting through cords when the kids began filing in before that first bell. They were curious about the new technology in the middle of the room and naturally had many questions about that and a myriad of other topics including, but not limited to, the following. “Who is that man?” “Is he your husband?” “Who’s presenting first?” “Do I have time to go back to my locker?” “May I present tomorrow? I was gone yesterday.” “How much time do we have before the bell rings?” I answered the questions as they were rapidly fired at me and reminded them to be careful around the equipment while also trying to herd them to their seats before the final bell rang to signal the start of 1st hour.
At one point in the midst of all the morning chatter, Wally, bent over the camera, looked up at me and said, “Is it always like this?” I was confused at first. I told him that the kids were just excited about the video camera. He then said, “They have so many questions all at once and so early in the morning.” You see, he’s an attorney and this type of on-the-spot decision making and continual interaction was foreign to him. In that moment, I began to appreciate the special skill set teachers develop over time for making lots of decisions, big and small, all day long and with little time for deliberation.
As a side-note, I do believe decision-making fatigue is at the heart of why educators are so passionate about their much celebrated, sparingly-given “Jeans Days.” The “Jeans Day” takes one decision, a decision about what to wear, off the plate of a teacher. And on those special denim days, teachers smile wider and have a little spring in their step because those days feel easier, almost more kind. Well, right now it is summer break and teachers everywhere, including me, should be feeling the kindness of a respite with its rejuvenating power. This summer is not like those past summers, however. A big decision looms over each and every teacher…”How do I respond if I don’t feel safe to return to school but I’m expected to do just that?”
Unlike the non-stop barrage of snap decisions we make each day all day long, the decision for this question hangs in the air for days, weeks, and months. As the summer days roll by, we spend at least part, if not all, of our time consumed with the worry of how to proceed. I desperately want to be back to face-to-face instruction. I know it is the absolute best way to reach my students, to capture their imaginations, and foster the greatest cognitive growth. Plus, those 6th and 7th graders are the best darn audience this story-telling English teacher could ever ask for! I miss being centerstage–I miss feeling important. It may sound selfish, but that’s just my truth.
That being said, I see the news and I hear the politicians provide fairly grim updates. I’m scared for my students and my own well-being. Five years ago, when I decided to return to teaching after my recovery from a stroke and cerebral hemorrhage, my teaching colleagues and family members marveled at my courage –“my grit.” In all honesty, this return is far more scary than that. I knew what my physical struggles might be after my stroke and I brought two stools in, one for the front of the classroom and one for the back, to provide a resting spot if my left side became fatigued. I had a plan for how to strengthen my memory, deciding to devote time each hour in those first days of school to making name tents for each child’s desk.
In contrast to that post-stroke planning, I have no concrete way to prepare for THIS return. I’ve watched tutorial videos on Google Extensions in case we go remote, I’ve read articles on how to help students navigate the trauma of this experience through the research of activities related to Social Emotional Learning. I’ve called my own family doctor and scheduled an appointment to discuss my risk and his advice. But still I feel no closer to clarity. Maybe a better way to approach this decision might be to employ those skills for making snap decisions. I should have my students clamor around me all demanding to know, “Mrs. Laaksonen? Mrs. Laaksonen? Are we going back to school?”
Maybe then I’d know the answer.
moreteachingmoments 