A week ago, I was poking around in the archives of this blog, located just to the right if you ever feel the need to do the same, and I came across something I wrote fifteen years ago about the first day of school. At that time, I was pleased and happy with myself for being a veteran of some nine years. It was old hat for me, this searching class lists for names and finding familiar faces among the crowd. Parents making sure that we had connected and their babies would be safe in our hands, and once everyone had trooped inside the building and made our ways to the room we would share for one hundred eighty days it had begun.
"It" being a new school year.
At that time, I was somewhat incredulous with the notion that I still got nervous even after all those years. In a few weeks, I will begin my twenty-fourth year teaching, and I will be nervous again. This one might make a little more sense because we are about to embark on a brand new vision of how school could work. This summer has seen a resurgence of COVID-19 across the country, and the neighborhood where I teach is no exception. After months of surveys, studies and questionnaires, the Oakland Unified School District felt that it would be in the best interest of all involved to begin the 2020-21 academic calendar in distance learning mode. Students would, over a period of weeks as conditions became more clear and safe, be allowed to come back in phases.
My first concern was for kindergartners. Welcome to your new life in elementary school, and we hope you can form a lasting relationship with your teacher and the other children whom exist much in the same way for you that SpongeBob Squarepants does: on a screen. The same worry extends to students who are new to our school, no matter what the grade and specifically those who are second language learners. To be sure, we have grown as educators when it comes to delivering content online. The learning curve for teachers was nearly vertical, but most of us scaled that slope and after a three month crash course, we were able to make sense of the tools we had been given.
But we have never begun a year in isolation. Teachers, for the most part, will be introducing themselves to children who are strangers to them. Connecting to them in meaningful ways in order to keep them coming back to class Zoom meetings and assessing their skills and abilities remotely will be a strange and curious challenge. This introduction will also include parents, who will not have the chance to stand in the back of the classroom that first day to dry tears or hold hands.
We have a month to prepare, and the good news is that most of us have been working straight through since we said our distance goodbye back in May to make August work. It is, as my principal and I agreed, what we do. We learn. We teach. Usually in that order. And then we repeat as much as we can until we learn something new.
It is what we do.
Tuesday, July 14, 2020
Monday, July 13, 2020
Captured
The black and white photo was taken of me when I was eight years old. I was standing between the two ruts that served as the driveway to our cabin. I had a backpack on and a stick in my hand. Inside the backpack most certainly was a canteen, probably a plastic bag with cookies and a sandwich. The sandwich was either peanut butter with grape jelly or tuna fish. It was most definitely made by my mother. The picture was also most definitely taken by my mother.
Do I remember the moment frozen forever in that photo? Not specifically. I remember hundreds like it. My younger brother was had his own pack slung over his shoulders, eager to be on our way. Inside his pack was an identical lunch packed with the same care by the same lady. Except the canteen. As the big brother, hydration was my responsibility. Five year olds don't have the same sense of survival that eight year olds do. We didn't want to get halfway to wherever it was that we were going and be out of water.
Wherever we were going. Into the woods. Up behind the big pile of granite that loomed over the cabin. To the top where we could look down on the place we just left. We would put our packs down and clamber around on the rocks making believe from a dozen possible scenarios. All of them heroic. At some point, we would stop, because we were hungry. And thirsty. We would eat our lunch, careful. not to go too close to the edge. It was a long way down.
It should be noted by this point the stick had been discarded. Whether it was a facsimile of a walking stick or merely a young branch from which I was peeling the bark, rock climbing was a serious business that requires two hands. As does eating a sandwich. Mom was thoughtful enough, of course, to cut the sandwich in half creating the youthful illusion of twice as much food.
And all this time, our dachshund Rupert was following after us, and sometimes ahead of us, going under things my brother and I were climbing over. He was finding crevices and caves that we never would. Until the water ran out. When the canteen was empty, it was time to meander back down the mountainside. Time for afternoon chores or maybe some quality time with Mad magazine. Our return did not require a separate photo to document it. The Pine Glade Shutterbug had captured the moment, and fifty years later I was able to look on it and remember it. And all those other days of summer.
Do I remember the moment frozen forever in that photo? Not specifically. I remember hundreds like it. My younger brother was had his own pack slung over his shoulders, eager to be on our way. Inside his pack was an identical lunch packed with the same care by the same lady. Except the canteen. As the big brother, hydration was my responsibility. Five year olds don't have the same sense of survival that eight year olds do. We didn't want to get halfway to wherever it was that we were going and be out of water.
Wherever we were going. Into the woods. Up behind the big pile of granite that loomed over the cabin. To the top where we could look down on the place we just left. We would put our packs down and clamber around on the rocks making believe from a dozen possible scenarios. All of them heroic. At some point, we would stop, because we were hungry. And thirsty. We would eat our lunch, careful. not to go too close to the edge. It was a long way down.
It should be noted by this point the stick had been discarded. Whether it was a facsimile of a walking stick or merely a young branch from which I was peeling the bark, rock climbing was a serious business that requires two hands. As does eating a sandwich. Mom was thoughtful enough, of course, to cut the sandwich in half creating the youthful illusion of twice as much food.
And all this time, our dachshund Rupert was following after us, and sometimes ahead of us, going under things my brother and I were climbing over. He was finding crevices and caves that we never would. Until the water ran out. When the canteen was empty, it was time to meander back down the mountainside. Time for afternoon chores or maybe some quality time with Mad magazine. Our return did not require a separate photo to document it. The Pine Glade Shutterbug had captured the moment, and fifty years later I was able to look on it and remember it. And all those other days of summer.
Sunday, July 12, 2020
Contents Under Pressure
"We all go a little mad sometimes." So spake Norman Bates. Not everyone goes to the extremes that young Norman did, but at this time of heightened uncertainty, I can relate. Not to the whole hacking up people in a shower degree, but "a little mad" for sure.
Which may explain all these folks having meltdowns in public. Four solid months of being told what to do and where to do it has begun to affect the nervous systems of a lot of Americans. This may help to explain the outbursts of people being reminded that they need to wear a mask in public. Not a day goes by that there isn't a new viral video of someone throwing a fit in the aisles of Costco or some other retailer. No one puts baby in a corner, and no one tells Karen or Chris to cover their faces during a global pandemic. What about the land of brave and home of the free? Nobody is gonna make me wear a mask!
I am sure, given the apologies posted by clearer heads the day after, that we are not seeing the best and brightest of what our country has to offer. The tipping point for most Americans is closer than ever these days. I wonder, at times, how I might react if I was caught being rude or arrogant by someone holding a camera. I like to think that I would try and flatten the curve by including my apology right at the end of the video that would be posted everywhere in a matter of moments. Except that it wouldn't have much of a chance to go viral if I ended up admitting to my human frailties. "I have been under so much stress lately with COVID-19 and Black Lives Matter and everything our 'president' continues to burble, I am so sorry that I lost control there. How can I make it up to you?"
Views: Nine.
Speaking of our "president," I suppose I could offer up the same kind of empathy to Don Cheeto Trumpleone. I am sure that when he got it into his head to run for office he never expected all the wheels to pop off the wagon at the same time. At the same time, I should point out that the wheels might still be firmly in place if the country had been carefully managed over the past four years, but really. And then no one came to his big rally in Oklahoma. And his boys on the Supreme Court couldn't keep him from having to surrender his tax returns. And he has that sneaking suspicion that everyone is after him, he's just about right. Including members of his own party.
So, if it helps to imagine the "president" sitting down in the middle of Wal-Mart and declaring that he doesn't have to wear a mask because he is, after all, "president," please go right ahead. Just don't expect the belated apology from that guy. That's not happening.
Which may explain all these folks having meltdowns in public. Four solid months of being told what to do and where to do it has begun to affect the nervous systems of a lot of Americans. This may help to explain the outbursts of people being reminded that they need to wear a mask in public. Not a day goes by that there isn't a new viral video of someone throwing a fit in the aisles of Costco or some other retailer. No one puts baby in a corner, and no one tells Karen or Chris to cover their faces during a global pandemic. What about the land of brave and home of the free? Nobody is gonna make me wear a mask!
I am sure, given the apologies posted by clearer heads the day after, that we are not seeing the best and brightest of what our country has to offer. The tipping point for most Americans is closer than ever these days. I wonder, at times, how I might react if I was caught being rude or arrogant by someone holding a camera. I like to think that I would try and flatten the curve by including my apology right at the end of the video that would be posted everywhere in a matter of moments. Except that it wouldn't have much of a chance to go viral if I ended up admitting to my human frailties. "I have been under so much stress lately with COVID-19 and Black Lives Matter and everything our 'president' continues to burble, I am so sorry that I lost control there. How can I make it up to you?"
Views: Nine.
Speaking of our "president," I suppose I could offer up the same kind of empathy to Don Cheeto Trumpleone. I am sure that when he got it into his head to run for office he never expected all the wheels to pop off the wagon at the same time. At the same time, I should point out that the wheels might still be firmly in place if the country had been carefully managed over the past four years, but really. And then no one came to his big rally in Oklahoma. And his boys on the Supreme Court couldn't keep him from having to surrender his tax returns. And he has that sneaking suspicion that everyone is after him, he's just about right. Including members of his own party.
So, if it helps to imagine the "president" sitting down in the middle of Wal-Mart and declaring that he doesn't have to wear a mask because he is, after all, "president," please go right ahead. Just don't expect the belated apology from that guy. That's not happening.
Saturday, July 11, 2020
Cost Benefit Analysis
Remember a couple of days ago when I was talking about my ambivalence regarding returning to school? And all the voices that I heard echoing my concerns for the safety of students and staff? Well, you'll never guess who comes down hard on the other side of that fence.
"I disagree with @CDCgov on their very tough & expensive guidelines for opening schools. While they want them open, they are asking schools to do very impractical things. I will be meeting with them!!!"
Okay. The three exclamation points were probably a giveaway. At least the "president" refrained from his usual presentation of all capital letters. Subtle, but it does convey his major worries. "Tough and expensive guidelines." The Center for Disease Control, which is responsible for our nation's response to things like a global plague, said they are “prepared to work with every school district” to create a safe reopening this fall for students amid the coronavirus pandemic. Their recommendations include such items as increased cleaning, protective gear, and regular testing for all those involved. Social distancing and masks will be the cornerstone of any in-person instruction.
As someone who regularly ties the shoes of my young charges or is on the receiving end of hugs from kids whose joy bucket is full and overflowing, I wonder just how we will all adjust to six feet of defensible space. I wonder how six year olds will cope with a mask covering their mouths and noses, where so much goes in an out every day.
To be clear: I am nervous about schools opening too soon, but I am not afraid. I believe that I have the support of my community and will do whatever I can to get our children back to school. It is where they belong. It is where I belong. But the lesson I return to over and over again was the one they taught us the first day in teacher school: Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. That's the one where we need to make sure that kids have a safe place to learn first, before we ever start with the reading, writing and jumping jacks. I should also note here that there is a strong argument made by many psychologists about the pain and stress kids are experiencing as a result of all the isolation. Couple that with questions about how parents will cope with a new reality that may continue to ask them to be part of their child's daily school routine. A potentially very big part.
Confusing, tough, and almost certainly expensive, but this still doesn't answer the question raised by the "president's" disagreement: What is the correct cost to put on the future of our children? The "president" has even suggested that he would withhold federal funds for schools that don't open as he says. Of course, it is quite possible that Trump's Hierarchy of Needs looks just a little different from Maslow's. His is a lot more like Yertle the Turtle. Of course, it might be interesting to note that Melania's son attends Saint Andrew's Episcopal School, where plans are still being solidified for the upcoming year, including concerns for the health and safety for all who attend. No mention about the price tag on those plans. That doesn't seem to be an issue.
"I disagree with @CDCgov on their very tough & expensive guidelines for opening schools. While they want them open, they are asking schools to do very impractical things. I will be meeting with them!!!"
Okay. The three exclamation points were probably a giveaway. At least the "president" refrained from his usual presentation of all capital letters. Subtle, but it does convey his major worries. "Tough and expensive guidelines." The Center for Disease Control, which is responsible for our nation's response to things like a global plague, said they are “prepared to work with every school district” to create a safe reopening this fall for students amid the coronavirus pandemic. Their recommendations include such items as increased cleaning, protective gear, and regular testing for all those involved. Social distancing and masks will be the cornerstone of any in-person instruction.
As someone who regularly ties the shoes of my young charges or is on the receiving end of hugs from kids whose joy bucket is full and overflowing, I wonder just how we will all adjust to six feet of defensible space. I wonder how six year olds will cope with a mask covering their mouths and noses, where so much goes in an out every day.
To be clear: I am nervous about schools opening too soon, but I am not afraid. I believe that I have the support of my community and will do whatever I can to get our children back to school. It is where they belong. It is where I belong. But the lesson I return to over and over again was the one they taught us the first day in teacher school: Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. That's the one where we need to make sure that kids have a safe place to learn first, before we ever start with the reading, writing and jumping jacks. I should also note here that there is a strong argument made by many psychologists about the pain and stress kids are experiencing as a result of all the isolation. Couple that with questions about how parents will cope with a new reality that may continue to ask them to be part of their child's daily school routine. A potentially very big part.
Confusing, tough, and almost certainly expensive, but this still doesn't answer the question raised by the "president's" disagreement: What is the correct cost to put on the future of our children? The "president" has even suggested that he would withhold federal funds for schools that don't open as he says. Of course, it is quite possible that Trump's Hierarchy of Needs looks just a little different from Maslow's. His is a lot more like Yertle the Turtle. Of course, it might be interesting to note that Melania's son attends Saint Andrew's Episcopal School, where plans are still being solidified for the upcoming year, including concerns for the health and safety for all who attend. No mention about the price tag on those plans. That doesn't seem to be an issue.
Friday, July 10, 2020
Write A Better Ending
I blame the writers. Everything would be so much better now if they hadn't gone out on strike back in 2007. The Writers Guild of America walkout back then brought TV and film production to a standstill. For one hundred days, writers did not write. Comedies, dramas, soap operas and so forth could no longer get fresh words for characters to say. There were no characters.
Well, at least no scripted characters.
The powers that be in New York and Hollywood came up with a way to keep audiences in front of their TV sets where they belonged. Or their computers. Or their phones. Bypass that traditional oracle of entertainment and find ways to put shows out that were called "new media." Wouldn't you need writers to create this "new media?" Not if the powers that be just turned on cameras and pointed them at real people doing real things. If you wanted to be a millionaire, and who doesn't, you could have a show. If you wanted to try to survive on a desert island in competition with a bunch of other contestants who were not clever enough to simply sit in a chair and call your friends for answers to win your million dollars, you could have a show. If you wanted to be the next top model or design clothes for that next top model to make your million, you could have a show. At this point, you didn't really need to have much more than a potential humiliation and a million dollars prize money to have a show. And you didn't have to pay writers. Blame Idols from America and Stars with whom you might have Danced. Watching celebrities babble and fail without the aid of a script was quite the bonanza back in those wild times.
It was in 2008 that a little show called Celebrity Apprentice showed up. After four years of hollering "You're fired" at civilians, game show host Donald Trump started shouting at stars. Or what passed for stars at that time. Who needs writers when you've got a guy who bankrupted his own casinos belittling "celebrities" like Jose Canseco and Omorosa. Must-see TV indeed.
If those same powers that be had just gone ahead and paid a higher percentage to their creatives for DVDs and YouTubery, we probably wouldn't have the "president" we have right now. Certainly he would not have had the exposure given to him once a week the National Broadcasting Company ended up lavishing on him. Next time the WGA and those studio heads start fussing with one another, I hope cooler heads will prevail.
And we probably wouldn't have to worry about keeping up with the Kardashians either.
Well, at least no scripted characters.
The powers that be in New York and Hollywood came up with a way to keep audiences in front of their TV sets where they belonged. Or their computers. Or their phones. Bypass that traditional oracle of entertainment and find ways to put shows out that were called "new media." Wouldn't you need writers to create this "new media?" Not if the powers that be just turned on cameras and pointed them at real people doing real things. If you wanted to be a millionaire, and who doesn't, you could have a show. If you wanted to try to survive on a desert island in competition with a bunch of other contestants who were not clever enough to simply sit in a chair and call your friends for answers to win your million dollars, you could have a show. If you wanted to be the next top model or design clothes for that next top model to make your million, you could have a show. At this point, you didn't really need to have much more than a potential humiliation and a million dollars prize money to have a show. And you didn't have to pay writers. Blame Idols from America and Stars with whom you might have Danced. Watching celebrities babble and fail without the aid of a script was quite the bonanza back in those wild times.
It was in 2008 that a little show called Celebrity Apprentice showed up. After four years of hollering "You're fired" at civilians, game show host Donald Trump started shouting at stars. Or what passed for stars at that time. Who needs writers when you've got a guy who bankrupted his own casinos belittling "celebrities" like Jose Canseco and Omorosa. Must-see TV indeed.
If those same powers that be had just gone ahead and paid a higher percentage to their creatives for DVDs and YouTubery, we probably wouldn't have the "president" we have right now. Certainly he would not have had the exposure given to him once a week the National Broadcasting Company ended up lavishing on him. Next time the WGA and those studio heads start fussing with one another, I hope cooler heads will prevail.
And we probably wouldn't have to worry about keeping up with the Kardashians either.
Thursday, July 09, 2020
Until The Twelfth Of Never
When you're a kid, everything feels like forever. Waiting for your mom to finish talking to the neighbor so you can ask her about the popsicles you are pretty sure you saw her put int he freezer. Forever. Standing in line for Space Mountain. Forever. All the way back last summer. Forever. And this doesn't just apply to little kids. The time it takes for your date to be ready while you wait downstairs with her mother. Forever. The interval between phone calls from your best friend. Forever.
While I was out for a run the other day, I realized that my feelings about forever have changed since we went into quarantine. Back in March. So much continues to happen out there, and so very little occurs inside our little bubble. The hour or so that I spend exercising each day is a finite period, but some days it feels like it could go on and on. Finding activities to break up the day is a challenge most often represented by trying to figure out what we will have for dinner.
I wondered how teenage romance was faring through all of this. I can remember celebrating week and month anniversaries. Precious and few are the moments we two can share, indeed. That yearning for another person when they aren't there. The heartache and the thoughts that fill your head: What are they doing now? I wonder if they're thinking about me? I wonder when I will see them again? I wonder if they will forget about me? The voices of insecurity.
Go ahead and toss the burning tractor tire of the coronavirs on top of that and I imagine you've got some idea of how things might be going down. Sure, you could Facetime or Zoom the object of your affections, but long distance remains only the next best thing to being there. Are there boys and girls sneaking out of their shelter in place to canoodle with one another? Or just to gaze at one another adoringly without the box around them?
I consider myself very fortunate to have a happy marriage within the limits of normal as we plunge headlong through this voyage to forever. In sickness and health, and all that. We continue to find ways to connect and give each other space, as necessary. We have that sort of freedom. Having a wife in my social bubble turns out to be a pretty good thing. Sure, we fuss at one another from time to time about what we are going to watch on Netflix, or what the proper number of nights to have frozen pizza might be, but we are not negotiating those first shaky steps of a baby relationship. I know that online dating is now more than ever a thing, but it won't alleviate the inner turmoil brought on by the navigation of those initial months.
Besides, I'm a grownup now. If I want popsicles, I'll put on my mask, wait in line, buy them, bring them home and disinfect them and then put them back in the freezer to wait until they are frozen again. Tom Petty was right. It's the waiting.
While I was out for a run the other day, I realized that my feelings about forever have changed since we went into quarantine. Back in March. So much continues to happen out there, and so very little occurs inside our little bubble. The hour or so that I spend exercising each day is a finite period, but some days it feels like it could go on and on. Finding activities to break up the day is a challenge most often represented by trying to figure out what we will have for dinner.
I wondered how teenage romance was faring through all of this. I can remember celebrating week and month anniversaries. Precious and few are the moments we two can share, indeed. That yearning for another person when they aren't there. The heartache and the thoughts that fill your head: What are they doing now? I wonder if they're thinking about me? I wonder when I will see them again? I wonder if they will forget about me? The voices of insecurity.
Go ahead and toss the burning tractor tire of the coronavirs on top of that and I imagine you've got some idea of how things might be going down. Sure, you could Facetime or Zoom the object of your affections, but long distance remains only the next best thing to being there. Are there boys and girls sneaking out of their shelter in place to canoodle with one another? Or just to gaze at one another adoringly without the box around them?
I consider myself very fortunate to have a happy marriage within the limits of normal as we plunge headlong through this voyage to forever. In sickness and health, and all that. We continue to find ways to connect and give each other space, as necessary. We have that sort of freedom. Having a wife in my social bubble turns out to be a pretty good thing. Sure, we fuss at one another from time to time about what we are going to watch on Netflix, or what the proper number of nights to have frozen pizza might be, but we are not negotiating those first shaky steps of a baby relationship. I know that online dating is now more than ever a thing, but it won't alleviate the inner turmoil brought on by the navigation of those initial months.
Besides, I'm a grownup now. If I want popsicles, I'll put on my mask, wait in line, buy them, bring them home and disinfect them and then put them back in the freezer to wait until they are frozen again. Tom Petty was right. It's the waiting.
Wednesday, July 08, 2020
Given The Alternative
So, first of all, be content in the knowledge that you did not have to listen to me prattle on and on about having jury duty last week. I went into the experience with much the same anxiety and ambivalence that I have in the past, but with an eye toward just how unlikely it would be to herd hundreds of us into that room and sit us down to wait for our names to be called. Instead, I sat by the phone and checked in each day to see if my smaller group would be called. When Friday came and I was excused, I was relieved of that bit of angst for the year.
And all the while I was attending Zoom meetings in anticipation of the opening of a new school year. What will it be like? Everyone back? Half in, half out? Everybody looking in from their computers? How would we protect the kids? How would we protect the staff? Would there be enough room to do any of the suggested alternatives? Jury duty seemed like a much more certain process. Someone was telling me where to go and when to be there, even if it was simply, "Stay put." There was none of that kind of clarity available from the Oakland Unified School District.
It would be easy at this point to complain about how my school district struggles with making decisions. This may or may not be the case, but the current situation requires careful planning. Education is suddenly a life or death situation. A month ago, when curves were beginning to flatten and cases were dropping, some of the more creative ideas seemed possible. Children were seemingly invulnerable and they just needed some properly covered adults to herd them and teach them to read. Then spikes began to appear. Medical science has continued to be tested by a disease that no one seems to understand. The clearest path continues to be masks and isolation. Imagining a room with just ten five year olds in it seems an unlikely place to carry out this kind of experiment.
I attended a meeting of one thousand plus stakeholders, primarily parents, who were hoping for answers to the sixty-four thousand dollar question: What is going to happen on August tenth? While the district set out a series of different scenarios, they continued to insist that there would be no "final plan" until July tenth. That gives us all a month to scramble around in hopes of creating lesson plans and finding daycare and arranging for increased custodial service once that final plan drops.
The virus may have other ideas. Thus far each attempt at returning to whatever normal is has been met with a surge in cases. Parents at the meeting filled the chat with their fears and worry. One in particular stuck with me: "I don't care if my child does fall behind academically. At least he'll be alive." Hard to argue with that kind of fierce reality.
The clock continues to tick. School districts around the country are under pressure to give kids a place to go, not just to learn, but to allow their parents a moment's rest. Those two months of distance learning turned out to be as much a learning experience for teaches as it was for any of their students. Now we're potentially going to toss another level of difficulty by doing in-person social distancing mask wearing education.
Jury duty seems to have a certain appeal by contrast.
Stay tuned.
And all the while I was attending Zoom meetings in anticipation of the opening of a new school year. What will it be like? Everyone back? Half in, half out? Everybody looking in from their computers? How would we protect the kids? How would we protect the staff? Would there be enough room to do any of the suggested alternatives? Jury duty seemed like a much more certain process. Someone was telling me where to go and when to be there, even if it was simply, "Stay put." There was none of that kind of clarity available from the Oakland Unified School District.
It would be easy at this point to complain about how my school district struggles with making decisions. This may or may not be the case, but the current situation requires careful planning. Education is suddenly a life or death situation. A month ago, when curves were beginning to flatten and cases were dropping, some of the more creative ideas seemed possible. Children were seemingly invulnerable and they just needed some properly covered adults to herd them and teach them to read. Then spikes began to appear. Medical science has continued to be tested by a disease that no one seems to understand. The clearest path continues to be masks and isolation. Imagining a room with just ten five year olds in it seems an unlikely place to carry out this kind of experiment.
I attended a meeting of one thousand plus stakeholders, primarily parents, who were hoping for answers to the sixty-four thousand dollar question: What is going to happen on August tenth? While the district set out a series of different scenarios, they continued to insist that there would be no "final plan" until July tenth. That gives us all a month to scramble around in hopes of creating lesson plans and finding daycare and arranging for increased custodial service once that final plan drops.
The virus may have other ideas. Thus far each attempt at returning to whatever normal is has been met with a surge in cases. Parents at the meeting filled the chat with their fears and worry. One in particular stuck with me: "I don't care if my child does fall behind academically. At least he'll be alive." Hard to argue with that kind of fierce reality.
The clock continues to tick. School districts around the country are under pressure to give kids a place to go, not just to learn, but to allow their parents a moment's rest. Those two months of distance learning turned out to be as much a learning experience for teaches as it was for any of their students. Now we're potentially going to toss another level of difficulty by doing in-person social distancing mask wearing education.
Jury duty seems to have a certain appeal by contrast.
Stay tuned.
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