Teachers are Heroes with Heart

If you are planning for a year, sow rice; if you are planning for a decade, plant trees; if you are planning for a lifetime, educate people.”– Chinese Proverb

Photo by Christina Morillo on Pexels.com

“Thank you, Teachers,” the sign read on the side of the road. 

Wait, what?  I couldn’t help but think.  Really?  It took a global pandemic to inspire appreciation for educators.  Hmm . . . 

I suppose that is how those who work in the medical field and first responders feel.  After all, like educators, those drawn to and working in the healthcare industry, by and large, have always been effective, efficient, and caring individuals. Naturally, praise was given to medical providers from the very beginning of the pandemic–and rightly so!  They were putting their own lives on the line while attempting to quell the flames of a ravaging wildfire sparked by a virus for which there was a dearth of knowledge.  Story after story would reveal the suffering and agony of the front line caregivers and their patients.  My heart, as well as those in my field, ached for those professionals, and we felt grateful for their long suffering service.  And yet, there was one question that continually niggled my mind . . .

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Teaching is the one profession that creates all other professions.”– Unknown

Who were the early influencers of these various professionals that make up the health field?  Who taught them to read, write, and think mathematically?  Who helped to shape and foster their curiosity, their work ethic, and their quest for knowledge and understanding?  To be certain, parents are the first, most important, and long-lasting teacher in any child’s life.  Additionally, there are often other relatives that influence and impress a child, but guess who often spends more time with a child day-in and day-out?  Teachers.

It takes a big heart to help shape little minds.”– Unknown

Photo by ATC Comm Photo on Pexels.com

This past March (2020), many teachers across the country, as well as at a local level, were told on a Friday to get their students ready.  Educators directed students to pack up all of their personal belongings, textbooks, notebooks, personal implements, and any other necessary supplies.  Furthermore, on this same fateful day, schools–like the one in which I work–who were fortunate enough to have the resources, also directed teachers to quickly allocate technological resources to students who thought they might need one at home.  Those districts without these assets were rapidly scrambling for funds in order to likewise provide technology for students.

Once students were sent home with their overburdened school bags, teachers were likewise told to quickly gather what they thought they would need to teach from home.  Additionally, teachers were swiftly conferring with one another and administrators as to the types of resources available throughout the school that could be used to make teaching from home work.  Cobbling together this and that, gathering our own bags of wares, like ants marching in a line towards their hill mount, teachers exited the school on that pivotal Friday with the understanding that we were to be up and running as an online educator by Monday. Like a boulder plummeting onto US Rt 52, the dramatic educational paradigm shift had begun.  It was time to put on our proverbial hard hats and head into the construction zone.

Photo by Fernando Arcos on Pexels.com

“Teaching is the greatest act of optimism.”– Colleen Wilcox

News, gossip, and directives swirled around like flaming ash from a distant brush fire.  The heat of how to get virtual school up and running amidst worry about safety, closings, quarantines, supply shortages, deaths, headlines, and the never ending chain of one email after another compounded to the ever-building fear, anxiety, and sense of uncertainty.  One thing was clear, however, teachers would be there for our students and for one another–no virus was going to stop us.

By the time Monday rolled around, teachers had students enrolled in virtual classrooms–our school used Google products, but other platforms abounded in other school districts.  We communicated to students through the virtual classroom and through virtual meetings.  The technology was imperfect and full of glitches and hiccups, but students and teachers forged through each and every challenge thrown our way.  In a way, educators were pupils once more, learning right along with our students, relying on part innovation, part intuition, and a whole lot give and take via virtual forms of communication.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The art of teaching is the art of assisting discovery.”– Mark Van Doren

Together, with our colleagues and our students, educators made many new discoveries about technology and pedagogy as well as how to tap into our creativity.  We had meetings with one another in which mutual tears were shed for the loss of “how it used to be,” but more often, the focus and concern was for students’ well-beings and how to best provide for their needs–both educationally and psychologically.  Additionally, there were a multitude of professional development virtual meetings in which we listened intently, scrawled notes, typed our questions in chat boxes, and discussed with one another in virtual breakout rooms.

This is not to say that they weren’t frustrations, nor am I trying to imply it was a perfect, seamless transition of rainbows, butterflies, and magical, mythical unicorns.  It was not.  Students would not show up to class meets or not complete their work.  Administrators asked for a multitude of documented records, such as, individual missing student work, student needs, staff needs, ideas for improvement and future planning–spreadsheet after spreadsheet and list upon list.  Towards the end of April, there were so many lists, spreadsheets, and schedules that it was easy to overlook one or another, and I certainly had my fair share of oversights.  However, I wasn’t the only one, and the compounded effect sometimes led to flared tempers, quiet resentment, or virtual words of implications–albeit, never for long.

Plus, there was the learning curve.  Educators were continually encouraged to be flexible and foster an attitude of expansive and forward thinking.  For those teachers possessing a technologically nimble mindset, this was a Montessori school of experience, full of opportunities to explore, expand, and engage.  For those of us with less technological deftness, it was like being asked to wake up each day and start walking in the opposite direction of fast and furious freeway traffic, leaving our brains often feeling short-circuited as our work day grew longer and longer.  However, regardless of which side of the technology tree one fell, a new phrase emerged from this experience, “COVID taught me this,” and together with our educational peers across the country, we emerged stronger and more resilient.

Photo by August de Richelieu on Pexels.com

Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”– Nelson Mandela

Educators are persistent, tenacious, kindhearted individuals who spend their own money, their own time, and give freely of their own hearts to students each and every day.  We did this before the pandemic, we are continuing this now, and we will likewise do this after the reign of COVID.  Teachers matter, with or without COVID–just as those in the health professions matter.

Recently, I overheard a confident middle school student reporting to a peer that women tend to choose low-value degrees, like teaching.  

“They choose not to make money,” he exclaimed, “because they don’t want to do the hard stuff like be a doctor or lawyer.”

I am not sure where or how he came to this conclusion, and perhaps he will always feel that way about my chosen profession.  Regardless of his sentiment, I, along with my colleagues (and my husband–who also happens to be an educator), will continue to work to educate him along with his peers–no matter what life throws our way, in spite of our so-called, “low value” degrees.  This is because we know the truth, and now it appears, based upon that sign alongside the state route, the word is spreading.  

We all need a little patience

“In a time of drastic change, it is the learners who inherit the future.”–Eric Hoffer

“Change is only felt when it is drastic.”–Lailah Gifty Akita

Dedicated to the teachers with whom I work, and all the other educators, near and far.

As I step into the warm shower, pulsating water beats down on my tight neck, my low back is still dully throbbing from the previous day’s efforts, and my feet, my heavens, my feet, they are pulsating from the constant pounding of walking on concrete.  

It’s Friday.  You can do this.  Everyone is feeling similar aches–it’s not just you.  Yes, but most others are a heckuva lot younger!  You can do this; you’ve done this before–albeit, not so drastic . . . or was it?

Students working at school in the age of COVID and an era of paperless (as close to it as possible) education.

I remember following the Special Education Coordinator of the county school district in which I had first been hired fresh out of college.  I felt proud, excited, and eager.  The clipped, rhythmic pace of her heels as they click-clacked across the tiled floor resounded–even more so when she continued on into the gym.  At the time I couldn’t understand why we were in the gym when she was supposed to be taking me to my classroom.  

Tables cleaned and sanitized well before 7:30 am when the students begin arriving to homeroom.

Eventually we made our way to the opposite side from which we entered, walked up some steps, and began walking under one side of the gym’s bleachers.  Clickety-clack, clackety-click, past what looked like one semi-formed classroom through another vaguely formed classroom until we reached the end.  This was to be my so-called classroom with not a single window.  No textbooks.  No materials.  Broken desks.  Dirty teacher desk.  Not even real walls for two sides–just the underside of bleachers, a rolling chalkboard, one concrete wall, and metal, padded locked door with Junior ROTC weapons stowed away behind it.  All 4’11’’ of me would be serving 15-25, 9-12 grades students in this space, the majority of which were lanky, long males who did not want to be there.

Gone were those meticulous lesson plans and the abundant, never ending resources of Ohio University.  The colorful, bright, window-lined classrooms arranged, organized, and utilized based upon the current, best educational practices were nowhere to be seen.  It was 1987, so there was no internet, certainly no cell phones, and those education journals to which I had been advised by academia to subscribe were certainly not going to be of help in this unbelievable setting.  This was a drastic change, and yet, I somehow found a way to make it work for two years before facing my next challenge . . . 

Moving on to another district, I was assigned to teach twelve, K-5 grade level students with severe behavior and emotional issues that often required restraint, in a metal portable classroom isolated from the rest of the school.  I was young and foolish enough to think this was a good idea–a good move for my career.  Certainly, it was financially speaking, but after one day of passive restraint training, I began to wonder.  

Although this classroom had four walls, it was empty and bare, save for a few tables and desks.  Then, there was the challenge of all those different age ranges.  Developmentally, a kindergartener is miles apart from a fifth grader.  The challenges and changes I faced over the next seven years, the unbelievable behaviors I witnessed, and the most heart-wrenching stories–seriously, seriously horrible–still haunt me to this day.  No child should undergo what those children went through.  Baby bottles filled with beer, children sexually abused, parents addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, older children responsible for numerous younger siblings while mom did tricks for drugs . . . the gut wrenching stories never seemed to have an end.  On top of all of this depravity, it was the early 90s, autism was not clearly understood and accurately identified as it is now.  Therefore, I also had several autistic students, mistakenly identified as “behavior disordered” alongside students who were often prone to violent outbursts.  Given the combination of all of these factors, I honestly do not know how I made it work–and yet, somehow Divine Providence helped me through it all.

I have experienced numerous changes in education since those first nine years of my careers, many of which were drastic, and all created unique circumstances for which I was ill-prepared, but none can compare to the combination of educating in the midst of COVID while simultaneously teaching both in-person and virtual students at the exact same time.  As an educator, my colleagues and I are tasked with keeping kids safe from a pandemic-worthy virus, care for their emotional well-being, and educate them in the socially distanced manner of their parents’ choosing–at school or from home–attending a regular schedule of classes through the technological wonders of the imperfect internet.

Each morning begins well before sunrise, in order to begin planning, organizing, and posting from home.  Arrival at school for teachers starts well before 7:00, as each teacher must mix fresh bottles of both disinfectant and sanitizer that is used before and after every class change.  Students begin arriving in our classrooms by 7:30 after going through a routine check of health questions, temperature check, and hand sanitizing procedures.  Classes officially begin by 8:10 after morning announcements, prayer, and pledge.  As students enter my classroom, they must wait until all tables are sanitized.  Then, I must quickly log in and connect my chromebook with my virtual students for that class period.  While I am doing this, in-person students set up their tri-fold, clear plastic dividers and log onto Google Classroom.  We are all masked, and by the end of the day, my voice, and those of my peers, are hoarse from projecting through the barrier of the material covering our mouths and noses.

The day begins mixing fresh batches of both disinfectant and sanitizer. Tables, light switches, door handles, class counters, and sink area all clean well before the 7:30 arrival of students.

While offering instruction, I am simultaneously monitoring, engaging, and facilitating with students within my classroom and those at home.  This also means I must work hard to be as paperless as possible for the benefit of all students, but especially those who are participating virtually.  Then, there are the technological glitches that can cause delays, interruptions, and malfunctions with both groups of students.  Additionally, I am trying to learn, assemble, and implement a multitude of on-line educational platforms to enhance, streamline, and engage all levels of students.  By the day’s end, my Fitbit watch consistently reveals that I have taken anywhere from 15,000-20,000 steps with minimum time spent outside of my classroom walls.  

If the first week is any indication, my work day will consist of a constant stream of decisions, sanitizing, and juggling–juggling in my mind to best meet the needs of both in-person and virtual learners–as I work to redefine the art of facilitating instruction.  Never in my previous educational training did I ever receive training on how to engage and instruct students in a meaningful way during a pandemic.  Nor have I ever seen so many of my fellow teachers experience such high levels of anxiety, stress, and discomfort as I have in one week of school.  The emails from students and parents never end, and it feels as if there is not enough time, nor enough of each teacher to go around. 

And yet, that experience of my early years tells me that we will all adapt, grow, and learn from this.  Educators are a formidable, flexible force driven by the passion to educate and care for all of those entrusted into our care.  However, educators, parents, and students all need extra doses of patience with one another, the ever-evolving educational technological tools, and with ourselves.  The type of drastic change we are undergoing requires much patience, tolerance, and a new level of understanding. Educators and educational institutions are all trying to rapidly respond to a situation for which there has been no previous experience.  There are bound to be countless bumps along this new educational trail which we are currently blazing.

Personally speaking, I am stepping out of my comfort zone, stepping up my game, and stepping into a new role that feels very uncomfortable.  I have never been the most technologically savvy person, but I am learning—some of it on my own through trial and error, but most of it from my professional peers as well as my students  Therefore, I implore parents of students, far and wide, please be patient with teachers and schools.  We want to educate and care for your child as badly as you do, but cutting remarks, critical emails, and sensationalized social media posts only undermine our efforts and morale.  Instead, kind words, thoughtful notes, and genuine appreciation for our efforts can go a long way in supporting our new role within your child’s life. We understand this isn’t easy for you as many of us are parents too.  We understand that you are your child’s number one advocate, and you want what is best for them, but so do we.  We want to keep everyone safe and healthy, both emotionally and physically, including ourselves.

In conclusion, let us focus on what connects us–the well-being and education of children.  Let us, as a community, be supportive of one another as we forge together through this brave new educational world; so that, one day, we can look back on this, as I do on my early years in education, and proudly declare, “We did it; we really did it.  Look how far we’ve come!”