Man, was I wrong! In December of 2019, I was convinced that, while the threat of this emerging disease needed to be taken seriously by the world, never in a million years would I have expected the situation that we are in now. The last time we’ve dealt with something like this as a society was over one hundred years ago. That being said, I’m always up for a challenge, and this past school year has certainly proven to be a worthy test of my ability and willingness to adapt.
While online learning has certainly been a struggle for many students, for me, one highlight has been the observation of students who absolutely thrive in this type of environment. While learning independently is something that is expected at the university level, it is not often an expectation thrust upon high school students. It takes time to adapt to new methods of learning, figuring out the best ways to hold yourself accountable, and ensure that you reach out to your teacher if you are struggling. Though some students have admirably succeeded during this uncharacteristic year, some students have undeniably struggled, as well. For me, it is always a low point when I feel like I have failed to get through to a student. I am not just talking about learning content. As teachers, we feel the responsibility to connect with students on a personal level. Through seeing blank cameras on zoom to not hearing feedback from students via email, it can be absolutely demoralizing when you feel as if you have failed someone.
When I found out that we were going to return to face-to-face instruction, I was skeptical as to how many of the students would handle it. Would they really be able to keep their masks on all day? How long would it be before sanitizing desks and tables became an afterthought? How many students would just get sick of the monotony of all of this and decide to stay online? I was (and continue to be) amazed by how students were not only up to the challenge, but have excelled at these things in which we have asked from them. During a year with so many ups and downs, it would be easy (from my perspective, at least) to switch on autopilot for the duration of the year. It has been the resiliency of the students that has kept me energized!
Something that I appreciate about this school year has been the reminder of how important flexibility is when teaching. When first going into the field, you are constantly taught that things will rarely (if ever) truly go as planned and that adaptation is crucial. After one has been in this profession for a while, it can be easy to fall into a groove and forget this lesson. For me, this year has reinvigorated my desire to adapt on the fly and tackle new challenges head-on.
Finally, while this seems like a difficult time for many of us (and I am in no way trying to minimize this fact), it amazes me that the next generation of kids in schools will be reading about this in their history books. Though we have all been irreparably touched by this pandemic, I am reminded that the time will tell more than just the story of a society in crisis but also of a society that utilized our collective knowledge and worked collaboratively to return to some semblance of normalcy.
I think it must have been mid-summer when I convinced myself that I wasn’t coming back to high school. We had spent the last quarter of my junior year online, and the state of the country wasn’t looking like it would favor a return to in-person learning. This didn’t upset me; I didn’t think it was worth getting angry about, because there was no one to be angry at. In the words of many of Gen Z at the beginning of this pandemic: It is what it is. And that’s how I’ve felt for months.
Sometime in August, I briefly entered the high school for about five minutes. Five minutes, walking down one hallway -- and it felt awful. I left feeling anxious and uncomfortable, and I realized that it was because my brain had assumed months ago that I wasn’t supposed to be in that building anymore.
I left the high school on March 12 like everyone else, with everything stripped away from me. The activities and clubs that had been bringing me joy were gone in a span of a few hours. When my friend dropped me off at home that evening, it was the last time I would see her for weeks. Everything that brought me consistent happiness -- friends, music, ridiculous adventures to Walmart -- was cast away all at once, and I tried not to think about it, but I had nothing to be happy about. And with nothing to be happy about, I resorted to the daily motions of life, and let them guide me for months.
I remember listening to many differing thoughts, coming from the class of 2020. With many friends in last year’s graduating class, I was able to see up-close how different people felt about the end of the school year. I understood why folks were upset. I thought about all that time kids spent in high school, imagining the perfect graduation or senior prom or grad party, and I understood the frustration. I didn’t think it would be the end of the world for anyone (thought some folks acted like it was).
I feel the same, even now. High school graduation is no end-all, be-all of life. I don’t think I’ve ever idealized high school in that way, I don’t think I’ve ever really pined after senior prom or grad parties or big senior reflections. The unconventional proceedings of this school year haven’t gotten to me very much, and I’m starting to wonder why, because I feel like the last eight months have numbed me to anything that could be upsetting.
We hear about the bad things every day -- spikes in COVID cases, another racial injustice, political unrest -- and at a certain point, it stops hurting you. You get your mask and your protest sign and go out with a deep breath. I know that my generation is already bearing the weight of past generations-worth of mistakes and these things have forced any worry about school to take a far-back seat.
A few months ago, maybe sometime in September, I was awake late at night before another day of online classes and began to think, more than I had for a long time, about the way that I had left the previous school year. I wrote in the notes app on my phone: “I’m not ready to never be in that building again… I want to move on but when I left I wasn’t ready yet.”
This is the best way for me to explain this feeling. I wasn’t ready. I don’t believe that high school graduation makes you an adult or a grown-up, but when you’re sixteen, nearing the epilogue of a crucial period of your life, being suddenly yanked away from that closure of the end is a shock to the system. Maybe I never glamorized graduation or prom, but the thought of leaving high school on an incomplete sentence has left me petrified at times.
“I want to go back,” I wrote on my phone that night, months ago, “I’m not ready to be done. I want to be sitting at those desks and signing planners to go to the restroom. I want to finish the way that I expected.”
Maybe it isn’t a tragedy that my senior year is panning out to be a mess. Maybe it isn’t the end of the world and maybe I won’t feel the need to cry about it ever again. Maybe the rest of the year will shape up and we’ll have a graduation and all of those fancy things after all, but that feeling of hanging on to something that doesn’t exist is still there. The need for closure still bites at my heels. And we’ll be fine, I know we will, but I think it might take a little while to feel normal again.