As we exited our building on March 12, 2020, my students and I had a clear plan in mind. We anticipated a three-day weekend, but teachers were scheduled to return on Monday to assist with cleaning efforts. Then, by Tuesday, we would dive into the final act of Romeo and Juliet. None of us could have foreseen that our school—an essential safe haven for many students—would close its doors for the rest of the academic year.
I’m the teacher who knows which students rely on the granola bars stashed in my drawer and who brings extra yogurt and fruit that I can do without, simply to ensure they have something nutritious to eat when my supply of chewy bars runs out during the day. What are those kids doing for food now?
Yesterday, I tried an experiment. I asked my ninth graders on Google Classroom to respond to a single question. Understanding the challenges faced by many of our students in a densely populated urban area, it became evident that they were in survival mode. In our county, three of the six hardest-hit zip codes fall within our district, a staggering reality as we all grapple with the effects of COVID-19.
My thought was: if these kids are preoccupied with finding their next meal or ensuring their safety, why would they engage with my assignments on Newsela or Common Lit? I simply asked, “How are you? If writing feels overwhelming, just reply with an emoji.” I urged them to respond in whatever way they could.
Suddenly, my quiet Google Classroom sprang to life. I posted a video expressing how much I missed them and how deeply I worried about their well-being. (This is a constant concern for me). One of the first responses was, “I miss you making me cry.”
I feel the same way. This… whatever this “new normal” is… will never truly feel normal.
I kept telling myself this would be a great blog topic, but the truth is, I lacked the motivation to write until now. I encourage my students to express themselves even amid significant stress and always promise not to demand more from them than I would from myself.
So here I am: I’m not meant to teach through a screen.
I miss our laughter. Like my tall student, a sweet girl who enjoys playfully pretending she can’t see me above the crowd. “Have you seen Miss? Oh! There you are!”
I miss their smiles. Just the joy of seeing each other. It reminds me of when I returned to class after my daughter’s tonsillectomy; their excitement filled my heart.
How can I say goodbye to students I should have had for three more months? It’s difficult to sleep knowing I will never teach this group again. My heart aches for my students, who occupy my thoughts constantly, and also for my own children, who miss their teachers and the stability of everyday life. This routine, if it can be called that, benefits no one.
For more on navigating these challenging times, check out one of our other blog posts here. If you’re interested in understanding the intricacies of family planning, resources like this site can provide valuable insights. Additionally, for a comprehensive look at the IVF process, this article serves as an excellent guide.
In summary, the unprecedented shift to online teaching has been challenging for both educators and students alike, highlighting the emotional toll of disconnected learning. The longing for personal interactions and the deep concern for students’ well-being remain at the forefront of every teacher’s mind.
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