elizabethlevett

I really want to say I’m okay. I really want to say I’ve got this. I really want to say the blues won’t get me – I’m so evolved that I won’t go dark. But no. There’s something wrong here. Something’s wrong with us and it’s in our kids. It’s not the virus. Let’s say though that it’s a side effect. And it’s a tough one.

In the spring of 2020 I had one of the most wonderful classes in all my many wonderful years of teaching. These were kind, smart, enchanting children and I adored them. On the 13^th of March I had to send them home for the rest of the year. I worked hard to reach out to them as much as possible during that impossible, sad spring. I stayed in shape and found tons of fun things for my students to do at home and online. And every day when I signed off of our online class I told them I loved them.

That summer of 2020 we stayed busy. We took hikes, met up with friends only outdoors, tried to figure out more about Zoom, Seesaw, Google Classroom, and all the rest. And my beloved partner finally underwent a procedure to address his terrifying heart condition – after I dropped him off at the hospital and went home to wait.

I convinced myself that by August I’d be starting off a new year back in school. That’s not what happened. While the grownups of the world argued and fought with each other and more and more people got sick it, became clear that we’d be engaging once again in distance learning – with a whole new group of students. After a good cry I got back to work. August came and we all redoubled our efforts. But this was a new group of students – these were mostly children I’d never met. And they were trying to start school – their first year of school – all online. Team building, norm setting, assessment, lessons, games, everything was online – while the parents struggled to keep going with their own jobs. Meanwhile the wildfires filled our skies with smoke and the news was packed with more stories of grownups fighting about vague things like elections and human rights and whether or not to believe in a virus that was spreading devastation to families all over the world.

Students moved, new ones appeared. I went to school once a week and picked up materials to use at home for instruction. I packed a bag for each student each week so that they could pick up new books to read at their level, tools for math games, fun packets of things to do at home. I spent hours each day meeting with my kids – usually staying on with small groups just to read together or play a math game. Miraculously, we nailed all the academics, created some great works of art, shared marvelous stories, and even had our moments of correcting crazy behavior because somehow, they came to believe that my face on the screen and my voice coming through were enough to keep them on track.

In April there was a crazy rush to get the school ready for the students to come in to class in person – even if only for a couple of months. In a flurry of sanitation frenzy all the cool stuff in my classroom – the science materials, the math materials, anything students might share during art time, even the books – had to be packed away. Students had to sit at desks spaced several feet apart instead of working together at tables. We spent every recess and every snack and lunch period together. We conducted lessons in person and simultaneously online with the ones whose families decided to keep them home. It was crazy. It was challenging. But we succeeded. We got through it. We connected. Most importantly, we connected. On the last day of school I stopped each child before they left, looked into their eyes and said, “I’m proud of you and I love you.”

Finally it was summer again. There were vaccines. Grownups got to go places. The streets that had been so quiet the summer before we now packed with speeding cars. Everyone was energized. People were going back to concerts, restaurants, and bars. Everyone was determined to make up for lost time. And I was excited to start a year in school the way it should be – with all the materials available for my new students, all the careful protocols in place, all the cool stuff set up for them to handle, use, share, enjoy.

Then I met my new students. Twenty little humans who had, for the most part, never been to school. No preschool. No pre-K. (And importantly, no assessments for behavioral or social issues.) No experience with any of the things that make a classroom work. My magnificent vision of discovery, play, learning, cooperation, connection was quickly wiped from view. Instead there was punching, kicking, tantrums, whining, eye rolling, conversations that went, “Now let’s all take out our…” “No! I don’t want to. I won’t listen.” Instead of teaching reading and writing I’m teaching eye contact, using your words, keeping your hands to yourself. I’m even teaching that we don’t scribble on the wall, the table, the floor. We don’t kick. We don’t push. We don’t cut in line. We don’t throw our shoes across the room. We don’t pull a “full Monty” at read aloud.

While everyone else was either working online or attending to distance learning, these littlest ones were in the background. They wanted to be included, wanted to have fun and play with their peers. As a result they’ve learned to get attention in any way they can and some of them have become experts at scene stealing, acting out, generally doing things they never would have done under different circumstances. Families didn’t go out as much so little people didn’t learn any self- control in a social environment. While working at home, family members actually had less time to relax and focus on the younger ones and most likely compensated when they could and chose to ignore behaviors too challenging to finally correct. Who can blame stressed parents for wanting that bit of peace around that house that comes from giving in rather than adding to their day the struggles of boundary setting, consequences, tough love?

It’s all understandable. But what do we do now?

What we do is have lots and lots of meetings. And then we work like crazy to come up with behavior plans – different sets of strategies for each of the third of my students who are struggling just to get through an hour without a tantrum, a defiant struggle, a fight, or a nervous silly outburst of activity. I now have a full basket of “therapy materials.” There are spiky silicone balls, several grades of therapy putty, and other items for those who need to squeeze something while listening to a lesson or story. And of course there are the patient conversations with the students who don’t need therapy toys but do want an explanation. Trying to establish norms while explaining inconsistency is a project in itself but therein lies the gap between equality and equity. Our job is to try to raise a generation that somehow reaches for the latter.

Yes, yes, I know. People say, “Take a deep breath.” “You got this.” “You’ll get through this.” Of course I will – we all will. I’ll get through it because I work with an amazing team. Because I have an unconditionally supportive partner and lots of great friends and family. Because I eat well and get lots of rest. Yes, yes, I will get through it. But a lot of teachers don’t have the same resources I have. Some don’t have district administration that can agree on COVID safety protocol. Because at outdoor game time, when I would normally be in my room getting a few precious minutes of prep time, I’m outside with my kids. (I crushed that game of pirate ship!) Because of the connection. And ultimately, because children need structure, boundaries, and people who don’t give up on them. But just for today, please don’t tell me I can do this. Please just let me say it’s not right. These children missed out. They’re hurting and so are the grownups who love them. While so many people were busy fussing, arguing, anguishing, and trying to survive, these little ones missed out on so many important experiences and they missed out on being given any structure or boundaries or limits. I can do this because one of them – one of the most difficult, who had a terrible afternoon again today – said to me just yesterday, “I love you.” We’ll be alright.