One of my earliest memories is of visiting my grandmother, a third grade teacher, and walking up the stairs with her. That’s it, no context, just this snippet of a memory, at Wallenpaupack South Elementary School, with my grandmother teaching me to “walk up the stairs like a lady”. Even after she retired, all of my memories of my grandmother are like that, her teaching someone, something. You can take the teacher out of the classroom but you can’t take the classroom out of the teacher, and you certainly can’t stop them from teaching.
I’m not an elementary school teacher, goodness knows that’s not my gift, but I have spent my childhood surrounded by teachers and now I spend my career existing in their midst. I cannot let this experience pass without acknowledging them and their life’s work. You see, it’s not just my grandmother teaching her preschool granddaughter the proper way to walk up the steps, or my mother, another elementary school teacher, who has FaceTimed my boys every day during this social distance to read books, teach grammar, and practice math. It’s every teacher I know (and I know a lot) who is missing their students, talking about their students, posting puzzles to Facebook, and worksheets to websites. It’s friends getting desperate and teaching their dogs new tricks in the absence of their students. It's phone calls, emails, zoom meetings, and printed off worksheets. It's teachers that persist in every situation to find a classroom and to teach.
I said last Wednesday that this is weird, this staying home. Just acknowledging that out loud gave me comfort. My very real acknowledgement was: this is all very weird and the unknown can be very scary. But, in retrospect, I left off what has been constant for me in all this, what has been constant for all of us. Our teachers have continued to teach their students, and our lunch ladies have continued to feed our children and our maintenance staff has continued their tireless, thankless task of cleaning, disinfecting, and keeping us safe. They just never stopped. We took away their classrooms, we closed their cafeterias, we locked down their buildings, and yet, they never faltered. When we took away schools, our schools just kept going. They adjusted, they adapted, and they persisted. In a world gone crazy, they offered us the simplicity of math facts, the comfort of a full belly, and the safety of disinfectant and cleanliness. They do so much and deserve so much - our praise, our respect, and about a billion dollar raise.
And yet, I worry for them and I hope they are taking care of themselves too. (I guess you can take the counselor out of her office, but...)
Today we taught my youngest son to ride a bike. We, being an exaggeration of course, I just had a mini heart attack and yelled “go slower” while PJ did the teaching. In the time I spent covering my eyes I had time to reflect on how vastly different it has been to teach each of my children to ride a bike. Our oldest knew how to do it, no teaching necessary, she just got on and went. It was easy and natural. Our middle, was hesitant, he knew what he didn’t know. He was slow and steady, methodical even, in learning and mastering how to do it. It took him longer but when he was ready, I think he could have ridden a bike all day without a break. And then there is O. He likes to go fast, he ignores the pedals in favor of walking to the top of a hill and racing down, legs out, screaming and laughing before putting his sneakers to the grass and skidding to a halt. It’s terrifying to watch and yet exhilarating at the same time. So today when he finally slowed down to learn we all took a deep breath and relaxed. He stumbled and struggled a little before it clicked. But, by the end of the night, he was golden and we had three children successfully riding bikes.
I can’t help but reflect that teachers making this transition from traditional teaching to crisis teaching are a lot like my three children learning to ride a bike. Some teachers make the transition seamlessly, you would think they have been teaching online their whole careers. They have websites ready and videos posted. It is easy and natural and they make it look as simple as breathing. Their students don’t even notice that they aren’t in classrooms and are learning at home. Education happens. Then other teachers start off slow. They know that they don’t know this world of enrichment lessons and online learning. They are methodical. At heart, they are not only teachers but also students, so they study it. They learn it, before putting it all together and then they create an online classroom as rich in pedagogy as any brick and mortar offering. There might be delays and their students are eased into this process. Yet, knowledge grows. The third group of teachers are a glorious, hot mess. They might not know what they are doing, but by Bloom's Taxonomy, they are doing it! They are teaching and loving, their students are learning and laughing. They are riding down a hill at full speed with little care as to where the brakes are. Because teachers don’t need brakes, because teachers never stop teaching. School flourishes despite and because of it all.
I hope our teachers know, that however they make this transition, that it’s okay. Just show up and all the rest is grace. If they start off riding smoothly or if they need training wheels for awhile, that’s okay. They are teachers. It doesn’t matter where you put them, or what resources you give them, they will find a classroom and they will teach.
I witness them, in all this chaos, in awe, as I have for the great majority of my life. Teachers don’t show up for praise or accolades. They show up to teach. They don’t show up because it’s easy or because it’s hard, they show up because their students are waiting. They just show up and they teach because that is who they are and what they do.
So before we go any further, before we enrich any more, or distance learn, or crisis school, or whatever you want to call it. I just want to say thank you, teacher, for your comfort, for your wisdom, for your enduring consistency. Thank you for building a classroom out of thin air and persisting. Thank you for showing up. Thank you for teaching our students.
Thank you for teaching me.
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