A Case of Mistaken Reality

I told my kids I would try to put this into print. I am not so sure how it will go or if it will be more funny or sad. Given the present remote teaching situation, the humor in what I am about to share runs the risk of being overshadowed by the soberness of the times. But let's try to go for the laugh...shake it out, relax, and enjoy a chuckle at my expense.

Let me set the stage, the same stage under the feet of teachers worldwide as we attempt to play our part in a script we could not have imagined a year ago. Each morning as I enter stage right, I make sure I am in full teacher garb at least from the waist up. Instead of opening my classroom door and turning on the lights, I open Zoom after turning on my computer. Instead of hearing the cacophony of voices coming through the hallways I hear a monotonous chimed warning that someone is in the "waiting room", followed by the predictable 'ding dong' of their entrance into my fantasy classroom. They don't run through my door saying hello, racing to their favorite desk, needing to be redirected from peer conversation. No. They enter with muted voices. They speak to me only if spoken to. They pretty much ignore each other. Sheesh...as I write this it's Monday morning, no school today, and yet the description of this reality feels so intense. It's the same sounds, the same empty feeling, the same lacking atmosphere entered each day of the school week. Believe me, I am making it as fun as possible, causing laughter and making my students feel loved. I know that I am doing all I can to make it more fun, more interactive, more acceptable....but it falls incredibly short of the desired teaching reality each and every time.

But here is last week's story that might help to bring smiles to our tired teaching faces...or not. With the stage set as usual, my students and I were ready to watch the pre-recorded announcements, led by our principal and co-hosted by our librarian and two students. Let me say it again...PRE-RECORDED. In my mind this shared watching is a bonding time...a time when, as the school enjoys the announcements within the same class period, we can remember that we are all together in this world of detached teaching. As I'm sure you can imagine, I thoroughly enjoy sharing this special time. 

OK, so now it's confession time...Some would say, I 'get into it'. When those announcements come on, I feel connected and like I am still a part of something bigger than me, not just the main actor in my own, one-man Zoom Room. And so, at the end of the recorded announcements this week, as my principal and her co-hosts waved goodbye, (recorded, remember!) I found myself waving to them. I waved for quite a while before realizing I was waving to a recording...enthusiastically...in front of my class. I had mistaken the recording for reality because my reality has become so bastardized that it has taken on the identity of something that used to so clearly not be real-time. 

Confused? hell yes. This story of mistaken reality is confusing because this whole world right now is upside down. But in the end, here's the great part...my students were cracking up, my children were rolling at dinner when they heard the story, and hopefully, just maybe, you got a little chuckle.

Making Sure All Belong in the Community; lessons from a large family

Some names and events were changed to protect the identity of the child depicted in this story. Usually my children are immune to my musings, but this time my subject asked me to make her anonymous. The same child though, in listening to my journey, understood the parallels and importance of the analogy drawn below. (I think that makes me prouder than any part of this.) Check this out...

Last Saturday we went to Barnes and Noble for the first time since March. Barnes and Noble is this Maccaroni child's favorite place to go. I also made a special trip to Wegmans to purchase the frozen pineapple and new carafe she needed in order to attempt a recipe she had found for making a refreshing fruited water. When I returned home with it, I sat with her to spend some extra time talking with her to bring her calm. You see, that morning this Maccaroni had gone for her run and returned in tears. She had timed herself and was well over the expected mile limit for an athlete headed toward tryouts. This particular child has asthma, and although it is prohibitive in what she is able to do, she loathes using it as an excuse for anything. She was determined this summer to get her time down, she had failed at reaching that goal, and she was incredibly disappointed. Here's the thing though. She wasn't being the squeaky wheel. She wasn't asking for attention or gifts or time. She just needed; quietly, humbly, sadly; needed her people to surround her.

So what did this family do? As a unit, we took the time to make her the center of the universe for a while, to help ease her unhappiness and to encourage her to keep trying her best. As we did so, nothing was lost for anyone else. None of the other four was put out or ignored or made to be any less important by the attention directed toward the one who needed to be pulled in and loved extra. 

In fact, quite the opposite occurred. 

As she felt better, the child in question made her refreshing concoction and gratefully shared it with everyone around. At the bookstore, she chose a book of scary stories to share with her siblings and friends at a fire pit that night. Her healing brought happiness and new strength to the clan. Even Rebecca, the self-proclaimed social skill failure, was able to talk to her sister about team expectations and the fun her teammates would have partaking in the impending endurance training. Everyone went up a few pegs that day because together we decided that this young lady needed to matter more. We brought her to the fold and held her up until she was able to independently stand where she belonged...in the midst of a community that cared about her. No one whined, "What about me?" or stated, "We all matter." or screamed, "That's not fair!" Those types of comments weren't even entertained. On Saturday it was that one child who mattered, and because we all embraced that challenge and figured out how to make her well-being a priority, the family was stronger in the end.

Recently at a Lawrence Township Board of Ed meeting a wise woman proclaimed, "If one person in Lawrenceville is suffering, we are all suffering." Thank you, Erika Smoots, for summing up the journey we all share. I am proud and excited for the path laid out before us all. I am ready to make sure others matter until they too can independently stand where they belong, right here next to me and you, belonging in community.