Spare Me the Crocodile Tears

Dear Premier Pallister,

Your crocodile tears disgust me.

I have no doubt that you believe your own narrative, in which you paint yourself as the poor leader burdened with hard choices in a bleak winter, gaining the attention and sympathy of the world as you do, but you are not fooling anyone, or at least not me.

The only thing you prioritize and serve is the mighty dollar, consistently choosing money over the welfare of children, the well-being of workers, and the lives of the elderly. 

Your premature decision to restart the economy was certainly not the first indication of your greed as cutting services in health care and education while simultaneously fighting to avoid paying teachers and nurses fairly through collective bargaining is par for the course for you and your government. 

But now your choices, keeping K-8 students in schools, K-3 students unmasked, not distributing the federal funds provided to hire significantly more teachers and create more space to allow for social distancing, and most importantly not providing regular and rapid testing, and prompt public health contact tracing required to keep students, teachers, and our communities safe, have put us in the situation we are in today.

We wouldn't see our numbers remain steady in the three-five hundreds, and vast community spread, where contact tracing is so backlogged, despite your claims, that public health is catching up with cases at the end of what should have been the 2 week isolation period, had it not been for you and your government's choices.

It is because of the diligence of students and staff in schools on a daily basis, vigilantly caring for the health and well-being of themselves and their communities, that schools have remained relatively "safe," and not many students are getting sick from each other in the classroom, in spite of the lack of preparation and series of illogical choices you have made for Manitobans during the second wave of this pandemic. There is no guarantee, or proof, students are not carrying it out into the community.

Your approval rating continues to plummet, not because the safety measures you put in place are unpopular, but because the policies you have implemented, from raising Manitoba Hydro rates on citizens already struggling, to arbitrarily closing small businesses and restricting sales to what may or may not be essential to Manitobans in your judgement, to cutting services in hospitals and then accusing doctors of having self-serving motivations, are dismissive and insulting to the intelligence of Manitobans like me. 

Premier Pallister, I have no doubt that you care about your job, your position, and your power. You care about money, the economy, and the impact of the pandemic on the fiscal future of Manitoba and that clearly motivates you to make the choices you make every day.

What I wonder, really, is while you consider the province, do you actually recognize its citizens? 

Do you care about Manitobans as human beings at all? 

Your actions to date, your disregard for the voices of nurses and teachers and their exhausted calls for help, the senseless and preventable deaths of so many grandparents in long term care homes, where they should have, and could have, been safe had you acted sooner and heeded the warnings from other places, indicate no feeling whatsoever. No caring. No compassion. No empathy. 

I would agree with your description of yourself as The Grinch, but not to invoke the sympathy you wish, and have so adeptly manipulated from the media around you, but because you have shown yourself as the character you have always been, only without the miracle at the end. 

Your disdain for your citizens indeed parallels that of The Grinch and the explanation that your heart is "two sizes too small," may be as good as any to justify the choices you and your government make, which consistently hurt, rather than support many Manitobans, including teachers like me.

I have been writing you directly, along with your ministers, my MLA, and other party leaders, and while others have responded, some personally and frequently, you have never once deigned to acknowledge my experience, or those of my colleagues, though your campaign was filled with promises of empathy for teachers, acknowledging their importance in society, highlighted all the more in these "unprecedented times."

Yet this week my students and I returned to the chemical scent of our fumigated classrooms, and beyond heightened cleaning protocols, to our learning routines. In the paradox of life, in our days at school, nothing and everything has changed. 

I can't write much more about it here now. Not because I am exhausted, which I am, or because I don't want to, which I don't, but because I cannot. 

It is too risky, too dangerous for a public forum, especially for someone who is just a teacher.

To the chagrin of my uncle, and hopefully the relief of my principal, I cannot share my school experience as it is too challenging to straddle the tightrope of public and private.

It is impossible to tell the school stories without including those of my students and colleagues, whose stories aren't mine to tell. Even if I reflect on my own experiences, these days it is just too complicated to try to describe classroom life while also ensuring I don't break privacy laws or my professional code of conduct. We may live together in a social democracy, but it is one where others have power over me and I value my job. 

In a time when every school professional is shouldering increased workloads and high stress to ensure the safety of our students and limit spread in the community, it is ironic that describing it will only bring them, and me, more harm.  

For now I will have to hope that what I can't say here speaks volume.

I will say I am grateful my students and I returned to the classroom healthy and ready to resume our learning and will again tomorrow. We know we were lucky that we didn't all get sick, and while we can't account for the potential asymptomatic spread in our community, and I don't actually know if my students' families were/are sick, I feel reassured that wearing masks in the classroom is effective in stopping what Dr. Lin describes as the "virus cloud." I believe my students and I are all just a little more aware, and grateful. 

The past week went by quickly, with studies in health in ELA and body systems in Science among other learning that will carry us into the break and inform our future projects. I am very much looking forward to the holidays. Hopefully the next ten days pass just as smoothly.

I am also happy the government made a decision, as half-assed and self-serving as the choices seem. It is nice to have some time to plan for the two weeks of remote learning in January, for which my students are very well placed to make the most of their learning, both in terms of curriculum and the course of our studies, and in their confidence and ability to take responsibility for their learning and follow through. I will spend it Zooming with them from my empty classroom. I am too tired to fight that fight again.

My students have demonstrated more resilience and adaptability in the last three months than Premier Pallister and his government have in during all their terms in office combined. I will follow their example and not yours.

Hopefully that time at home will do what is supposed to do and be enough to make a difference and help lower our numbers, though it seems a long time to wait and see. I could be teaching from my empty classroom already, or at least the week prior to the holidays in December. 

Alternately, I ask, would it really have been that harmful to keep everyone at home an extra 5 days before the winter holidays? Would it not have been beneficial to give school staff the chance to breathe, and also serve to emphasize the clear, consistent, and serious message, to stay home this holiday season? Doesn't make more sense to have everyone safe at home for an extra five days in December given the extended state of emergency? 

As long as we are in class during these next two weeks, Premier Pallister, I once again invite you and Minister Goertzen to come visit my classroom. Come meet some students, learn their stories, their dreams, their challenges, and most importantly, what they really need to be successful in school. Listen to their teachers and school leaders while you are there. You may be surprised, maybe you will meet Cindy-Lou. 

You may even astound us and learn about the true meaning of school, learning, caring, empathy, compassion, respect, responsibility and true service to people, and that it is not found in a remote learning center.

Maybe there will be a Christmas miracle after all, and you will start making choices that will save lives now, beginning by acknowledging that community spread is happening through schools making contact tracing practically impossible, so that families can gather safely in the future.

Sincerely,

Cari Satran

M.Ed., PBDE, B. Ed.

 

Classroom Case, Classroom Quarantine

Teaching is exhausting at the best of times. Even though we are in the midst of a global pandemic, and the media keeps referring to the unprecedented times in which we are living, the government of Manitoba and powers that be in education, have made few meaningful changes in classrooms, and none in relation to teacher workload, or any actual support, financial or otherwise, for schools and specifically classroom teachers. 

The choices made by Premier Pallister, Ministers Goertzen and Friesen, and other elected officials, who are supposedly serving the public, are not the least bit surprising given the disdain and disregard with which they have treated Manitobans prior to, throughout this global catastrophe, and with the continued passing of legislation which only hurts Manitoba's workers. Premier Pallister has the nerve to implore Manitobans to "do the right thing," as though he and his government  are not the people who have made the very decisions which have left elderly Manitobans standing in line for hours for bloodwork outside of dwindling Dynacare labs, CancerCare patients driving across the city as they close treatment centers in two more hospitals, and put all Manitobans in grave danger by prematurely restarting the economy, sending mixed messages to citizens, and keeping schools open, despite our exponentially rising positivity rate, now the worst in the country.

I get it. If the government acknowledges that while Covid may not be spreading greatly among students and staff causing outbreaks in many schools, they cannot account for how much spread is actually occurring in and around schools as most children are asymptomatic, few are tested, and contract tracing is proving impossible, because then the government would also need to take responsibility for the complete apathy it holds for the citizens of Manitoba as it continues to fuel the economy on the backs' of teachers and childcare workers, and at the expense of students, and the cost of lives in the community.

Until this past week life in my classroom continued pretty much as it always had before, with some limitations, but overall the same. An entire term of life in the classroom, with masks.

Of the 23 students on my homeroom roster, two provided the doctor's referral to make the switch to remote learning at the beginning of the term. They work with a different teacher in the division, who also did the assessment and reporting on their learning, yet their names remain on my roster, and each day I take attendance, I mark them "excused," with the rationale, "remote learning." They remain part of the class, in part as they are welcome to return to school and the classroom at any time and have a place there, and in part so that they remain funded. 

Since Code Orange was announced at the end of October, and divisions were required to provide a remote learning option for those who wished, four other students have made the shift, two as soon as the option was provided, one a couple of weeks later, and the fourth just the other day. Unlike many other teachers, I am very lucky, as I am no longer responsible for these students, except when I take attendance. The have another remote learning teacher hired at the beginning of Code Orange.

I am grateful to have school leaders who have advocated for our presence in the classroom and have stood firmly against sending home, "homework packages," for those who wish, or requiring we teach both in the classroom and online. We do not have cameras in our classroom, which can put our students, especially those in-care, at great risks, and we don't have to clone ourselves to teach kids in the classroom and at home, or to be in two rooms at the same time. Our remote learners have their own teachers, which is the least that they, and we, deserve. 

Of the remaining 17 students, three are designated EAL (English as a additional language) learners and are afforded different modifications, though not necessarily in the form of additional EA or one-on-one support, as they have been in Canada for less than four years, and another four students have SSPs or Student Specific Plans, with adapted programs to suit their learning needs and different forms of support, again not necessarily an AE, which is limited in my room.

Several students in the class live in-care, and several others live with families, both single-parent and multi-generational, struggling around or below the poverty line, facing challenges with employment, health, and food insecurity.

Prior to COVID 19 changing everything they have ever known as familiar, many of my students struggled equally with getting to school, and reconciling with the fact that school is the safest and only place they actually want to be, even though they might not want, or be able, to do the school work required of them while there. Of course, that is because schools are not always a place that fosters their academic identity or individual learning, but that is a topic for another blog post. 

Over the course of this term, on any given morning, there are about a dozen students present as we start the day, and then about 15 as the afternoon begins. In the past 11 weeks in the classroom, as students have come and gone, and our numbers in the province have continued to rise exponentially, I am amazed we have accomplished anything at all. 

Yet, a couple of weekends ago, I spent a good 12 hours writing the most scaled-back, yet still comprehensive, report cards, and marveled at my students, their resilience, and all we have learned and  accomplished together in the classroom, wearing masks during a pandemic. 

Over the term, while my teaching partner covered a variety of concepts in Math, and our teacher candidate facilitated a large research project in Social Studies connected to life in different countries, we also starting investigating scientific methods and theories, and explored a number of big concepts around society, culture, stereotypes, and Human Rights, turning their understanding into creative projects and pieces, while also working through the writing process and on Independent Book Studies. On top of all that, we even started practicing some irregular verbs, together with basic conversation and playing UNO, with hand sanitizing before and after, in French.

To the outside world, and in the critical mind of a judging teacher like me, this may not seem like much, especially when I know what we have covered over many years past, and so I need to remind myself that each accomplishment counts. It is a credit to my students, and to me, and teachers all over the province that learning is happening in classrooms, every single day, in the midst of the worst human health crisis in a hundred year, all despite the provincial government's pitiful and pathetic responses and the obstacles they impose, not because of any support they offer. 

While I have had a few students with perfect attendance this term, a testament to how much kids want to be in school, I haven't had one day with my whole class present. One student had an out of town family emergency and was away for several weeks. She is diligent, conscientious, and capable, and only missed one in-class based project through the entire term. Other students are challenged getting to school at the best of times, with the intergenerational trauma of Residential Schools imbedded in their families and perhaps DNA. Schools can be scary and daunting, and the virus is just another reason not to come.  

And then there is the virus keeping kids home. In my homeroom, there were two kids required to isolate because of exposure on their school bus with a different case in our school. They were home for a few days, bored with little direction, and thrilled when they could finally come back to the classroom. 

Another student was home for quite some days- in real time life the days blur together and I could check the records to find out exactly how many- but it seemed a couple of weeks. Upon his return, I learned he had been sick. His mother had been as well, and had indeed tested positive, but the child hadn't gone for a test himself. 

I was relieved he had stayed home, and am grateful he is better, but was left with more questions and concerns. I assume that public health ruled out contact with staff and students at school by the exposure dates and his attendance, but considering that carriers are asymptomatic, and he also became ill, I wonder if the child was directed to be tested, or why he was not? I also wonder why schools remain so uninformed? 

It is exhausting, overwhelming, and disconcerting to think about. Why was I learning about a family in my classroom from the child? If he wasn't tested, how can we be certain he wasn't a carrier? Why aren't children being tested? Wouldn't that help public health know for sure whether or not students are carriers and the cause of community spread? Wouldn't more testing help with contact tracing?

If they can facilitate vaccinations and immunizations in schools every year, if schools are to remain open, why can't we get regular, in-school testing? Would that be some the of 85 million federal dollars be well spent? 

 There are too many questions and it is all too tiring to keep asking. And worrisome. And there was really no time for any of it, as I was teaching, writing report cards, and setting up parent phone interviews. I was just grateful the student was back healthy and safe, and that all in all, I was feeling okay. As it turned out, I didn't have much time to think about it.

At the end of the day last Monday, I learned another student was home ill. This time the school had heard that members in the family had tested positive as they are all part of the division and I was given a heads-up. On Wednesday, at the end of the school day, I received confirmation  that my classroom was being closed. I was considered a close contact, as were my teaching partner and my students. 

The school administration had already set the chain of communication in motion, and as this is the sixth or seventh time the learning support team has split up the classroom list and started making phone calls to families to tell them to isolate their children and start monitoring for symptoms, they all knew what to do. 

I returned to my classroom for the last time before its closure for deep cleaning, and grabbed a few of my own supplies, and one binder I knew a student would need. I let her know I was coming by and dropped it off on the doorstep before I made my way home. 

I was in the middle of phone calls as part parent interviews that week, and so I spoke with several families, who all took the news in stride. Earlier in the year, we had sent out our Remote Learning Plan which was helpful as a reference. Parents knew what to expect, and there was a feeling that this had been inevitable, coupled with the relief that no one I spoke to was actually sick- or maybe that was just my perception based on how I feel.

The next morning, Thursday, I posted a note in Google Classroom to my class of students at school, and my other class at home. Because only the teachers cross contact, the group at school will work with a substitute, while my partner and I are in isolation and work with the group at home this week.

We didn't start right away, as we all needed the chance to rest and recover from the news. I also had to go for my test. I didn't know how long it would take and so I got there about 20 minutes before it opened at 9:00 a.m. and was thrilled when I was out less than an hour later. It was definitely easier the second time around, mostly because I knew what to expect. 

As I was waiting, in my head I was planning one last trip to Starbucks drive-thru and a latte for the beginning of the quarantine, but when the nurse who stuck the swab up my nose reminded me I needed to go directly home after the test, I felt that sense of social obligation to my fellow human being return, and I heeded his words, and drove directly home. I did indeed "do the right thing." I wonder if Mr. Pallister ever will? I wonder if he even knows what the "right thing is," for he certainly doesn't listen to Manitobans, and he won't find it looking in the mirror.

Students were to be home for conferences on that Friday, and I enjoyed the conversations I had with families and taking care of a bunch of emails and other paperwork that needed to get done.

As my partner and I are required to be home, we are making the most of it. This weekend we cleaned, had groceries delivered, and are taking advantage of all the amenities that are afforded by the privileged life we work to sustain. We are grateful for everything we have and the blessings this life has provided. We both know how lucky we are.

I was also exceptionally grateful to receive my negative result this morning. I have been feeling pretty good, especially for a not-so-young, classroom teacher at the end of a term, and I wasn't overly worried, but it is a huge relief to me and my family, especially with more assurance that I have not passed anything on to them. Of course, like that first HIV result, a negative means negative at the time of the test, and in this case, we are still in isolation until Friday.

I will start remote learning with my class tomorrow. With PD scheduled for Friday, thanks to the "generosity" of the government who make themselves look like heroes returning PD days that were ours in the first place, it is a four day week. I know my students are eager to begin, as despite the notes saying information will be posted Sunday evening, I have already received several messages with questions about the week ahead. It will be interesting and different.

I am excited for the week ahead. I know my teaching partner, my students at home, and I will do great work together apart. 

I also feel guilty that I am safe at home. I am safe at home, while my colleagues, my other students, and students all over the city and country are not. They are in the classroom where the virus is clearly thriving, whether it is achieving outbreak status or not.

I also cannot ignore that I am safe at home because a child in my classroom is sick. Members of his family are sick. Member of the community are sick and dying, and schools remain open, but I don't have to go.

I feel guilty even as I know that the guilt is misplaced. I have done my part. I have done all I can. I have and continue to do "the right thing."

I am tired, exhausted actually, from writing, imploring, and even hoping, that Mr. Pallister and our government might do the same. I don't know how Mr. Pallister lives with himself, but maybe it is because he usually does it from Costa Rica.

 Even without acknowledging the wrongs of the past, and every poor decision that has lead us to this point, it is still not to late for Mr. Pallister and his government to do the right thing, and close schools now, quickly, before it really is too late. 

Teachers have shown, while remote learning is not ideal, we can make it work. Keeping the majority at home will also free space for small groups of students who really need to be there. There are options, choices, just ask teachers. 

For my part, I will do my part, and stay home. I will use this week, teaching from home, to recharge, reset, and maybe write some more, because one thing is for sure, I can't give up. Too many lives are at stake. This time my result was negative. I'd prefer there not be a next time.  

Just When I Thought Things Might Be Okay, CODE ORANGE

Time passes so quickly and I appreciate the concern from those who have missed my voice. While I was occupied with another professional piece, and busy with classroom life and the daily routine, I was also waiting things out.

In the middle of October, just about 10 days ago, the first case was announced in our school. One classroom cohort, the learning support teacher connected to it, as well as its two EAs, went into isolation for a week. Before I wrote anything, especially in panic or alarm, I wanted to see what would happen. 

Public health determined the case was not contracted at school. The class and close contacts were in quarantine, and while I was skeptical, I also recognized I don't know much about contact tracing. I wanted to reserve judgement, because while the process appears to discount secondary and tertiary contacts, tracing may actually come down to precision in time and place. 

The week passed quickly, with life in the classroom different but the same (more details to come, if not in this blog then in the future), and things seemed to be going okay, with the masks working as they should. 

The day the case in our school was announced a bunch of kids stayed home, around 180 in a population of about 500 students, and because that happened on a Thursday, many parents kept them home for the Friday too, but by Monday most kids in the school were back. 

In my two classes, there are some attendance challenges that are augmented, but not caused by the current pandemic, especially in my homeroom, but less than a handful of students have requested remote learning due to medical reasons, with two, out of 46, making the switch this past week. For the most part it is clear my students want to be in school.

On Thursday, just before the big CODE ORANGE announcement I was ready to be cautiously optimistic and gaining confidence in the efficacy of the masks, and the reasonable safety in my school, even though it remains physically impossible to social distance with class sizes of 20-25 students. I was already reflecting on the blog I would write.

That same morning I also ran into a colleague who had been away during the week. I learned the teacher's absence was directed by public health and they had quarantined as a student in their class was home as well. The student was exposed to a family member and had received an positive result though they were asymptomatic. Apparently the child had been isolating at the right time and the case was deemed low risk. Only the teacher was sent home and not the whole class. 

The teacher tested negative and was back at work when we spoke and I learned of the situation, even though her classroom is right next door to mine. Hearing her story served to simultaneously augment my worry that there are a high number of potentially asymptomatic children carrying the virus without knowing they have been exposed, as this family did, and increasing community spread that then cannot be linked directly back to school, and yet still provided some reassurance that the system, and the masks, are working.

Even as a second case was announced, and that class shifted to remote learning that afternoon, the same day the first class came back healthy and well, just hours before the CODE ORANGE announcements, my trust in our ability to be safe and healthy in schools had begun to stabilize. I was beginning to believe in the leaders in government, who had disregarded the many pleas of educator, actually knew more than we realized and may have actually been right sending everybody back to school. 

I was beginning to find comfort in the community, and learning routines, including those around health and hygiene, that we have spent the last 8 weeks establishing, and finally felt we had a strong foundation for the year ahead, or at least until the weather got really bad.

And then the province, with ridiculously high numbers, and the clear and essential need to move to CODE ORANGE, put out a series of mandates, which essentially amount to meaningless words with no clear direction, support, or indication that there will be the distribution of funds needed, promised some time ago, to support their intentions. 

In the end, the CODE ORANGE measures amount to only one clear fact- whoever is mandating the policies on education has never spent five minutes in the classroom. The powers that be clearly have no understanding of children, learning, classroom life, the job of a teacher, or the resources required to facilitate a meaningful, relevant, and safe education, which is the right of each child sitting in our classrooms. And what is even more evident is that they simply don't care.

From what I have read in my teacher forums and groups, the response to the most recent decree to "ensure two meters of physical distance to "the greatest extent" possible" has been extremely different depending on the school and the division. 

Some schools have made immediate and drastic changes, stripping schools and classrooms of libraries, learning spaces of furniture, and removing manipulatives and materials, as though simply sitting in a chair all day is enough to facilitate learning and engage a child in meaningful education. 

In some schools and divisions the word "must" was the catalyst to repurpose music spaces, gyms, and libraries, and their educators, as though all our expertise is interchangeable- a teacher is a teacher. Can you imagine asking a cardiologist to become a pediatrician or a neurologist for a week or two, just like that? Or maybe those doctors could just come and babysit, I mean supervise, the patients for awhile?

Even prior to the CODE ORANGE teachers were being asked to teach across classrooms, splitting their time and expending energy teaching between two, or sometimes three, different rooms, as if they could clone themselves and be in two spaces at once. And as though teachers can then build relationships and create meaningful learning experiences with students as they are running back and forth between rooms.

Without any consultation or collaboration with teachers as professionals, we have been asked again and again to change, rearrange, and "pivot," even though it has also been conceded by the same leaders in the government that the community spread is not actually in the classrooms, and schools are the best place for children. 

For the sake of the children, our students, we teachers, school staff and their leaders rally. We do everything we are asked and more, and make learning happen, even as our resources consistently diminish. Even as more students live in poverty and in care, and their needs grow every day, and we receive less, we give of ourselves professionally, personally, and more often than not, financially. 

In return, we are offered no professional regard or respect, and yet we continue to work with whatever we are mandated, because unlike the politicians and ivory tower stakeholders, we actually care about our students. We continue to show up and do our best for them, because their health, well-being, and their learning, is important to us. 

It is heartbreaking to read about what some teachers are going through, from worrying about creating engaging learning experiences with 50 kids sitting in chairs in a gym while also not losing their voices, to people whose only safe space to eat is in their car. 

Words I have seen and read too often in teachers' comments are drained, exhausted, scared, broken, anxious, stressed, frustrated, and fed up. There were 25 comments on a post asking if anyone responds they are fine when they are not, many referring to the varying degrees of "okay" or "not okay" which they are feeling.

 I have also read threads abundant with solutions offered to support teachers more, from repurposing the powers that be, like superintendents and consultants, and moving them into the alternate learning spaces to support the frontline educators, to hiring all the new grads in intern-like positions, where they can be of service, and gain experience, without taking on all the responsibilities of independently managing a classroom.  

Teachers voice so many brilliant ideas that continue to fall on the deaf ears of our leaders in government and education, because, of course, following through would require that they actually care about teachers and listen to their professional expertise, not to mention a significant financial investment. 

If not now, then when?

On the flipside, at some schools like mine, where I am so grateful to be, the announcement doesn't mean a whole lot, because there is not a whole lot more we can do. Our leaders recognize our efforts and that we are already doing the best we can with what we have. We cannot create space out of thin air. 

If the government has deemed it safe, and schools are open, our school is not going to ask students to stay home when they are able to be in the classroom. Unlike other divisions, our staff is not being asked to split our classes and simultaneously be in two spaces at once, or teach to both students in the classroom and at home at the same time. 

I know, as I always have, that I am lucky to be where I am, in a building where my leaders trust me to do my job as best I can, even though we are all operating under leaders in government who do not. 

I appreciate that while in our school we will likely repurpose a few spaces, like the laundry room, conference room, and our one meeting space, there is respect for the current measures we have put in place as our best efforts in our classrooms.

If 25 kids spend 4-6 hours in an interior classroom, 30-40 minutes of which is spent without masks as they eat lunch or snacks, does it really matter if there is less furniture in the room? 

Even if we could space out chairs two meters apart and kids sat still on them all day, assuming they actually learned anything that way, if we are all in the same poorly ventilated schools, sharing space in the entrances, hallways, and bathrooms, will it really make a difference?

I feel lucky, that at least for now, I can focus on the learning that has been happening in my classroom, and maybe, one of these days, I will even have the energy to write about it.

I also have many more questions and concerns, about the health and well-being of students and staff and the air quality in many of our schools, as well as about our systems, and why our learning support teachers aren't supplied substitutes while quarantining? I know our administrators have requested they be replaced to support all the classes they work with and have been refused. More collateral damage leaving teachers and students left to suffer.

But there will be more time for all my questions and concerns and the many more that are sure to follow. There will be time to see what more comes, how many more cases, classes in quarantine, and the ultimate impact it has on students and their learning, and teachers and their teaching. It will come. Tomorrow is another day.

I can say with certainty that teachers will continue to work "to the greatest extent possible" for our students, as we have always done. We didn't need a mandate for that.

The government could have made different choices, and now I hope they will start to do the very least they can and allot the promised resources for more staff, so we can actually reduce class sizes without minimizing education, and get through this CODE ORANGE and the year ahead safely together. 

Layers of Risk- Clearly Reflected in the Numbers

We are now into the second month of the school year under these strange and scary circumstances, and I am amazed that each day, as I deal with the vast and varying needs of my students while simultaneously trying to navigate curriculum, I also recognize the many risks we face in our schools in new and frightening ways. 

Should the virus enter our school, which I know is reflective of many schools, especially middle schools where they today announced more new cases, there are layers upon layers of potential points of contact and exposure. 

Despite the formation of classroom cohorts, staggered lunch scheduling, and the fact that our hallways, once bustling with life, are like ghost towns, and beyond the fact that there is still no opportunity for social distancing in classrooms at all, there are staff in the school, quite a significant number of individuals, who continue their work with large parts of the student population. 

I have been reflecting, or perhaps procrastinating, all week on the various challenges, and risks, not just to teachers in their classrooms, but to various school staff, who, by doing their jobs, are also increasing the risk to themselves and everyone else in the school, while simultaneously dissolving the notion of cohorts. 

There are a number of teachers who teach one subject, like physical education, band, technology, and applied arts to a number of cohorts, or classrooms, sometimes outdoors, and more often in their own learning environments. The masks, sanitizing, and other time consuming safety measures they are taking every day still only go so far, given the number of students they see in our poorly ventilated classrooms. Some of these teachers also teach students coming from different schools without the resources ours has, increasing exposure even more. 

Our three learning support teachers essentially work with one third of the school population each with some crossover. While they don't work with every child, they generally have close contact with a number of students often among the most vulnerable. Some of our students also live with physical disabilities that require direct contact, including feeding and other activities even though these students cannot wear masks. These teachers then go on to visit every school in the classroom between them. Under the current system, their jobs as learning support teachers requires them to work with large parts of the population. 

While some of their time is spent in classrooms, and fairly large spaces, there are times when learning support teachers also work with a couple of students in small offices, or with different groups of students, again usually among the most vulnerable students who are challenged being in classrooms, in their alternate learning spaces. 

When students return to the classroom, which is the ultimate goal, they are also bringing the contacts they have made, and the risk of exposure increases. The contact with teachers who have worked with students from other classes, as well as times when different students share the learning space, also challenges the ability to maintain any sort of classroom cohort. 

The fact is that when individuals, who do the jobs essential to the lives and well-being of students, are working with many different students, just by doing their jobs, the risk of contact and exposure in the school is increased and the ability to cohort students decreases. 

The gravity of the situation began to sink in when I was watching CBC last Saturday morning and they were interviewing a doctor. He was speaking to the risk involved when people socialize, and as he described women sitting around a table playing mah-jongg, he stated that while the risk in handling the tiles is low, it is the duration of time they sit, and the air quality in the room, that are the mitigating factors. He stressed that even if all the players are wearing masks and fairly distanced, after a certain period of time, if present, there is the potential for the virus to hang like smoke in the air, especially in rooms with poor ventilation and therein lies the greater risk. 

As I watched, my mind flashed to the various encounters I have been having with our guidance counsellors as we work together to support some of the students in my classes facing a number of issues no adult should have to deal with, never mind a child, in what are among the smallest spaces in our schools.

Our two guidance counsellors have offices situated across from the library, sandwiched between the boys' and girls' bathrooms. They each have an office that is about the same size as our art storage closet, at maybe 3.5m or 4m long and 2-2.5m wide. They share a bigger 3rd office in the area that houses a piano, as well as a table and chairs, that in the past would be used for groups, and can now accommodate two students with some room between them. The guidance space is connected with its own waiting area, where, in the past, students could find comfort on the couch as they waited, or if they needed a few moments to de-stress, and is now locked. Another loss for kids. 

Our guidance counsellors are in constant demand and between them work with most, if not all, of the school. They spend time in classrooms collaborating with teachers to deliver the health curriculum and mental health programs, they facilitate groups, they attend administrative and support meetings, and they spend time talking with individual students, which is arguably the most important part of a guidance counsellor's job, especially to those students. 

The students who seeks out the guidance counsellors, or are sought out by them, are once again almost always among the most vulnerable. These kids find refuge in the offices of the guidance counsellors as they are safe spaces to be themselves and talk about their lives and their problems. More often than not, these kids are facing serious issues and life challenges. They are worrying about unemployed parents and how they will pay the bills. They are wondering who they are, and in too many cases, who their parents are and why they were left behind by their families or taken from them.

When a child is debriefing after returning from a few days with the crisis response unit, or sharing their worries about confronting their abuser in court months from now, or mourning the death of a family member, or disclosing that they feel alone in the world and have been cutting themselves, face to face communication in a safe and private space is essential. 

Today, for conversations like these, one guidance counsellor can wedge the student just inside the door and move to the back end and get the prescribed 2m of distance, so they can both remove their masks for a few minutes to have as comfortable a conversation as possible during what often feels like the worst times in these children's lives. Sometimes these conversations happen several times a day.

Our guidance counsellors do incredible work every day facing ridiculous challenges to support hurting children in awful situations that are generally the result of the systemic racism at the foundation of our institutions, as well as the bureaucracy that continues to fuel them. 

They are doing the best they can with what they have to support the students they care about, as is every staff person in our building. 

But that does not diminish the fact that by doing our jobs we are facing risks, and the level of risk is not being properly addressed. 

After seeing the doctor's interview, I wrote my administration and the guidance counsellors and suggested that at the least they consider purchasing standing air purifiers for their offices and some of the other small spaces in our building. It seems a logical investment and an important step to protect staff and students in our school, especially considering the guidance counsellors' offices seem to be a nexus point and potentially dangerous point. I assured them I would be happy to learn we have air purifiers, or at least that they are on back order, and that I would be very happy to learn I wasn't the one to come up with the idea. 

When it comes to the pandemic and our safety, it doesn't seem like I should be the one coming up with the ideas. At the same time, it also seems as though the opinions of teachers continue to go unsolicited and disregarded as leaders in government and education remain disinterested in the opinions or expertise of teachers in the field. Not new, but still disappointing. 

This is the hardest reflection I have had to write so far, and my fear is the situation is only got to get worse, with more illness and fear of its inevitability permeating more classrooms. With 50something new cases in Manitoba yesterday, and 67 new cases today, it seems the province and leaders of medicine and education are in denial, or deluding themselves into a sense of security by believing that the problem is only in restaurants and bars. 

It seems they believe that by professing that there will be social distancing and safe protocols in schools, they magically believed it could happen, even though there are over 20 students in the average classroom maintaining even 1m between students is impossible in most cases.

I believe every child deserves to learn in school, but there are more options than the current social construction of 9 a.m - 3:30 p.m for every child. If the government actually cared about the health and well-being of students and staff, leaders would begin by investing in doubling support staff and teachers, in order to cut class sizes in half so students can be properly distanced, cohorted, and safe. 

In the meantime, I am grateful for each warm day I can take my students outside, and the fact that I can keep the windows open, even though my students are already complaining it is cold- I tell them to get used to it and bring a sweater. 

I am trying not to think about the winter to come for now, and how much worse it could be, just as in this post, I didn't even mention the educational assistants, secretaries, administration, custodians, and library staff, who all also share space, and the air, in our school, with a variety of students and other school staff each day, and add even more layers of risk. 

Once again I am hoping to be wrong, but I am afraid the numbers will come to reflect this too.

Orange Shirt Day

The first Orange Shirt Day was held in September 2013 and I distinctly remember reading about it on October 1st. I saw a post on Facebook and wondered why I hadn't heard about it earlier. I made a note to remember it the following year, even as my mind judged the lack of publicity over the event. I couldn't figure out why I hadn't heard about it before. I didn't understand it was just the beginning of a movement.

 

Since then I have commemorated Orange Shirt Day in my classroom, with our school, and as a division, though this year everything was done in the classroom. I am grateful I work in a division that actively prioritized Reconciliation some years ago, creating professional development opportunities for staff to promote a deeper understanding of Canada's one-sided history and the responsibilities we carry in our role as educators to acknowledge the past in order to understand the present and change the future. It is not just lip service when we teach, "We are all treaty people as long as the sun shines and the river flows." 

Today in my classroom I see evidence of the ReconciliAction taking place in our schools. When I first began talking to students about Residential Schools and the cultural genocide which took place under the noses of Canadians for about 150 years few had previous knowledge. Some had begun their learning of Indigenous issues, but many had yet to learn about it in school, and I often reminded them that I hadn't learned about Residential Schools either, nor had most of Canadians. 

My current 7th and 8th graders were in kindergarten when Orange Shirt Day commemorations began and are part of the first generation that knows nothing other than the fact that September 30th is Orange Shirt Day and it is a day we learn about and then notice at school. It is an important day.

When I asked my students in both my classes to recall when they first remember being part of Orange Shirt Day at school a few recalled memories from kindergarten and their early years, and by the time we got to grades 4 and 5, all who had been in school in Canada had participated in Orange Shirt Day at school. All my newcomers to Canada remember it as part of their learning during their first September at school in Canada. Orange Shirt Day has become part of school culture and it gives me hope.

Over the last couple of weeks as we discussed Orange Shirt Day students had so much prior knowledge to drawn on it allowed for a lot of rich discussion, which wasn't easy with masks on, which made it all the more remarkable. There were also many deep questions to explore as we watched videos, investigated websites, and read Phyllis Webstad's Orange Shirt Day story. 

As a school, our students created a visual display, tying 6000 orange ribbons, each representing one child who did not survive Residential School, to the fence outside the building. In class, after sharing our ideas and charting some facts, students worked through the writing process to create a piece to share in a bulletin board display in our school and in our newsletter.

Featured are samples of Six Word Memoirs, Acrostics, Haikus, and free writes with some powerful messages. I know I have not been very descriptive with the process, but for today I am going to let their words speak for me.

If any teachers are interested in the assignment outline and accompanying assessment/reflection with a sharing aspect, feel free to email me. 

 

 

Misplaced Efforts?

We have officially moved to Code Orange in Manitoba, and while the province is taking steps to mitigate the spread, reducing group sizes in certain situations like private gatherings, it is more clear than ever that value of the economy is more important than the health and well-being of staff, students, and communities, as none of the changes apply to schools. 

While I do take consolation in the fact that masks are being proven effective in protecting the wearer from potential infection in addition to spreading the disease, like a condom, no barrier is 100% effective. Further, nothing has been done to address the concerns around lunch time, when all the students in the room remove their masks to eat, even though restaurants have been flagged as dangerous for that very reason. 

From what I have read in the comments of my teacher groups, many teachers are suffering, physically with all sorts of symptoms, mentally with worry, emotionally with heartbreak, and spiritually with despair, because they are afraid, for themselves, but more so for their students. 

Whatever their classroom looks like, at grade levels from kindergarten through high school, when teachers step into the four wall of their learning spaces, with or without windows, at look out at the 20-30 bodies sitting in their classrooms, mostly with masks on their faces, they are afraid. 

Whether the fear is in the forefront of their worries, or pushed to the back of their minds, there is a constant awareness that someone in the school, if not the class, is likely to get sick sooner or later, and that hopefully no one will die. No one knows if it will be a student, a staff member, or a family or community member, but dis-ease is lurking and teachers are feeling it, wondering, "What happens if/when one of "my kids" gets sick?"

Coupled with the fear and uneasiness is the equal dismay that while it is no surprise to teachers that leaders in government and education don't really care about kids or a safe and healthy learning environment, the general public doesn't seem to share our concerns either. 

Maybe it is because the fear is too great for parents to really consider. Maybe it is because the situation hasn't been adequately described by teachers like me. Or maybe it is because it is never reported in the media, because teachers don't really have a voice, despite having a union whose leaders are working hard for us, and despite the fact that we live in a democracy.

I don't have the answers. I know I can't quantify classroom life, and the constant array of individual needs that teachers have to meet, minute by minute, to educate the 25 bodies front of them every single day for the 5-6 hours we spend in the classroom, at least not today.

I can offer a glimpse into the problem.

Cleaning has always been an issue in classrooms. Custodians, like all other staff, have always been spread thin, and do amazing work at the basics, especially in my school. But as with all jobs in schools, one person can only do so much in a given period of time. 

In the past, despite their best efforts, I have always taken some steps to supplement cleaning in my classroom. Though it is not my strongest point, I also work to ensure students take responsibility for state of the room and take ownership for their classroom with regular routines to keep things relatively tidy. My students know the custodians job is to clean the room and not clean up after us. 

Like most best practices, I am not alone in the care I take for my classroom. And like many others I have a secret stash of wipes hidden away, as they are technically not allowed by Workplace Health and Safety. I used to take them out once a week and now I use them every day.

Every morning when I arrive, I wipe down all 12 of my big 1.38 metre tables, as well as my desk, the 4 single desks, the phone, and the 4 computer keyboards and mice in the classroom. It takes an extra 5 to 10 minutes each morning. 

If they are around, the kids would help, but technically they can't use the wipes, so I can't can't let them. The other officially provided cleanser is so strong I need gloves to use it, and since I don't have gloves, I don't use it on the tables. I use it to spray communal supplies, like sharpeners and scissors, that are collected on a towel at the end of the day because I don't have to touch it, but I don't want to spray that chemical where the kids work and eat.

At lunch students have a bucket with some water, some dish soap, and a cloth and are strongly encouraged to wipe down their desks, and then wash their hands well, before they eat. I remind them every day before I leave to eat my own lunch, except the day when I am on duty and they begin eating before I get back. 

I am grateful my collective agreement provides me time to go to a safe space to eat my lunch, which also comes with a sense of guilt, as there is no real assurance my students will  follow through to clean theirs. And so the risk grows. Though there is a supervisor who visits the room and ensures order and physical safety while students are having their lunches, it is impossible to ensure all the classrooms they cover get cleaned, or every student washes their hands. And even assuming they all do, there still remain multiple students removing their masks to eat at once, as well as other students who leave school grounds and walk to Shell, or meet their friends in the park, increasing their number of contacts. 

Despite the Code Orange, numbers in students cohorts seem to go unnoticed, as does news of any steps being taken to improve air quality in classrooms, even as winter approaches, and cases in schools continue to grow. Are air purifiers being purchased for interior classrooms with no windows, at the least? 

If not for reducing the number of students in schools at one time, where is the money provided being spent?

I haven't seen more custodial staff in my building, only the same custodians working harder as the demands of their jobs increase. There are more surfaces to clean more often and the worry of illness spreading on their shoulders if they do not. 

Traditionally in my classroom at the end of the day, along with clearing desks, picking up garbage off the floor, and tidying the room, we also stack the chairs, allowing for easier cleaning of the floors. In recent days we have been asked to leave the chairs on the ground so they can be cleaned as well.

With so many high touch surfaces areas, like tables, desks, computers, doorknobs, Plexiglas, phones, and the mounting evidence that surfaces remain much less important than the quality of air we breathe and the necessity to social distance and limit the number of people in the room breathing the same air for extended periods of time, cleaning every chair in a school just seems ridiculous.

We have continued to stack our chairs at the end of each day and arrive to a clean classroom each morning, which I wipe down again anyway. One day last week, I was noticing this with my students, as they were taking their chairs.

I mentioned that if they felt the need to have a clean chair they were welcome to grab the soap and water and wash their chair. No one did, which didn't surprise me, as they all seem to be taking things in stride. I commented that we are all better off just washing our hands regularly as the likelihood of contracting COVID from a chair is very slim.

As I spoke I went on to make a flippant remark that I then repeated to several colleagues, including my principal, stating it was my insight of the week, though it happened first thing last Monday morning. Since then, I have come to understand that the comment actually represents so many policies and procedures that I perceive as misplaced efforts at best, and issues that could have completely been avoided if different choices, like reducing class sizes, had been put in place.

As I remarked how ridiculous it is spending time and energy wiping down chairs, I stated, "If someone is putting their face where their butt is supposed to be then they have bigger problems than COVID."

Now I am just hoping our leaders in government and education don't have there faces where their butts are supposed to go. 

Bailing the Titanic with a Bucket?

The more we learn about transmission, and the more the numbers rise in general, and in schools- 20 at last count in Manitoba, the more it seems we are bailing the Titanic with a bucket. I should say, as I often do in my classroom, that I would be very happy to be wrong, but it seems we are on course to hit an iceberg, and no one is considering changing the direction of the ship, by reducing class sizes and the number of students in schools at one time for the health and well-being of our students on all levels, as well as the community at large.

As each day passes at school, I am struck by how much has changed in so many little ways, so many detrimental ways. While we might be achieving something close to a sense of academic normalcy, if we cut out every social aspect of school, is it actually beneficial to students? Is sucking all the joy out of being at school really good for the health and well-being of student? Does the good outweigh the harm?

Especially if are the efforts to keep students safe are useless when there are still simply too many students in each classroom to maintain social distancing, or model social distancing, or transfer necessity or importance of social distancing to our students. There are also too many students in the school to maintain the concepts of cohorts. Even though everyone is wearing masks just about all the time, I am still not certain it really matters, especially when I consider the time, effort, energy, and loss. 

My classroom is the third of six portable classrooms, all built along a long platform with a ramp in the middle and stairs on both ends just outside the back of the school. In the past one of the custodians would have opened the door so students don't have to wait outside, but now our school's doors aren't opened until 8:30, and my door gets opened when I get there, usually around that time, give or take a few minutes. 

Most days when I arrive some of my students are waiting by my door, and there are always students standing along the platform in front of their classrooms, or waiting by the back of the school. Seeing kids outside first thing in the morning, especially on warm days when the sign is shining, is usually one of the best moments of the day. 

Arriving at school and greeting students, whether they are my former gr. 7's in front of their grade 8 classrooms, or other students I don't know well playing outside, is where find my energy for the day. Either kids are equally happy to see me and reciprocate some excitement for the day ahead, or they are grumpy and moody, which is generally the result of being on a device until late in the night, and often makes for interesting chats, and entertaining exchanges, or at least looks, to start the day.

Even outside first thing in the morning students have pretty much adjusted to masks, and for the most part, there are few reminders needed. On the other hand, there is only one door, and I have to remind students not to crowd it, or each other, just about every morning. 

In a way crowd control is no big deal and regular part of the job; these days, it is an added layer that drains my energy.

At some point between arriving in my classroom and beginning the morning at 9, I generally go into the building. I check the staffroom, my mailbox, pick up the bagged breakfasts for kids who need them, because we can't have a drop-in breakfast program anymore, do whatever else I may need to in the building, and then I go back out to my classroom.

In the past, one of the signature trademarks of our school was students would jump to open the door for whoever happened to be there. Kids were always ready to help and now there is no opportunity to do so. Kids also had the freedom to move around and see their friends in communal places and engage in meaningful social interactions with their friends and other adults as their day began. 

Now there are no communal spaces. Students do not have the freedom to partake in programs, eat the breakfast of their choice, go to the library, play in the gym, or be in other spaces that belong to them. They are doing the best they can, especially considering all they have lost. 

And they are still meeting their friends. Before and after school, they are on the basketball courts, bikes, or at the park. It is better they are outside than inside, but there is little to no social distancing. I can certainly understand why students have a hard time understanding social distancing when there is still no way we can actually achieve and practice it in the classroom. How can they learn when we can't teach them? 

To me it was inevitable, and to think they are not meeting is to imagine they are not kids.  

And so, or perhaps still, just about every day, I ask them to spread out, especially around the one door through which people have to enter and exit, because I can't walk by and say nothing when kids are all crowded together. It is not a big deal and comes as a reminder or a request, but it is another thing. It is also not a request I ever thought I would make in a building where I rarely had to open a door for myself.  

It is also heartbreaking, and then eventually becomes annoying, to tell friends from other classes that they have to move to their space, and away from my students, their friends, because those are the rules we have to follow right now. I do this in the morning, even when I know it is an exercise in futility. If they don't find each other again during the day, they will spend time after school, and to be frank, if spit is the only body fluid they are exchanging then I am very relieved.

I don't know if I have achieved the description needed to explain the subtly of the shift in moments at school. I guess it is the fact that there is no escaping the pandemic and how it has permeated every aspect of school life from the moment I arrive in the morning well before the school day has actually begun. 

There is so much potential for change. Apparently money is finally being released and with creative use of resources and spaces, we could create safe learning spaces for K-8 students where they can actually see, understand, and learn social distancing, especially as it seems we are going to need if for some time. I want to be optimistic but I am not too hopeful.

In the meantime, I continue to do my best and show up for my students. They really are an awesome bunch and the reason I do the job. It is for them I am a concerned as I observe all the bodies in the room. I wonder where we are heading and at what cost? 

What have we already lost and what is ahead? 

I have to hope that I am wrong.

I have to hope that we really aren't bailing the Titanic with bucket, or even worse a spoon.

Extreme Exhaustion, Masked Miracle Massage

I am extremely appreciative of the response to my writing. I began with the idea of documenting events as way to organize my protest, my letters and responses to the government and the choices they are making, as I believe they are playing with the lives of Manitoba's students, educators, and their families. Beyond my mother I wasn't actually sure who would be interested in my thoughts.

It has been extremely gratifying to hear from teachers with whom my experiences, as well as feelings and concerns, resonate. I have received comments and messages with support, understanding, and affirmations, and am constantly reminded that I am not alone. The responses are inspiring as I feel my purpose is renewed with each message. My story is the story of many teachers across the province working to maintain a semblance of normalcy, and teach their students, with few modifications to protect them during a pandemic. When I speak of life in the classroom, teachers understand.

What I was reminded, thanks to my uncle, who is a professional writer, and a longtime supporter, is that not every reader understands. Not everyone has the experience of being in the classroom, and so when I write about events or procedures he, and likely other readers like him, doesn't always know what I am talking about. I understood that while he may enjoy the stories, or even be able to empathize with my feelings, it is hard for him and other non-educators to picture what is really happening and understand the context. He advised me to be more descriptive.

I appreciated his insight, and while I always have to be mindful of descriptors and information about my school, classroom, and especially students, I took his words to heart. Even though my goal is always to write as little, and as quickly, as possible, I realized immediately it is an important layer, and while I can't guarantee I will always follow through, I will aim to be more mindful of my reader, at least my uncle, and add more context, in the future.

For now I will attempt to describe my exhaustion, as I feel it is important to share my experience of the weekend. It took me by surprise, leaving me both humbled, and grateful. 

Late Friday night, the week came to a close, and after a beautiful and small family Rosh Hashana celebration, I crashed. I crashed hard.

Though I slept reasonably well, on Saturday I woke up completely exhausted. Over the course of the day, I intermittently forced myself out of bed and tried to do a few chores, and even just spend time outside, but I couldn't. I was wiped. I was tired to the point of questioning if I might be sick, but deep down I knew that I was just tired. I slept for about 7 hours over the course of the day, and when I finally got up to play Bingo around 5 (if we had won if would be a different blog), I was finally feeling better and somewhat awake. 

The first week back in the classroom is always exhausting, and I have experienced tiredness before, but never this kind of fatigue. I started worrying there might be something wrong with me, and even as I was feeling a down-to-my-bones-weariness, I was simultaneously wondering if I wasn't exaggerating, or perhaps even imagining the tiredness entirely. I could have easily judged myself how I was feeling and everything I wasn't doing.

When I went online, I was once again reminded that I wasn't alone- it wasn't just me or my imagination. One young teacher posted a meme that read, "Once upon a time, I was tired, then I experienced post-summer, mid-pandemic, back in the classroom, all day, 5 days a week, wearing a mask, sanitizing every square inch, teacher tired," and I was again startled as I recognized the impact of the past week, on me, and many other educators, physically, and on all other levels. 

While the job is essentially the same, and constantly demanding, whether it is one's first, fifth, fifteenth, or twenty-fifth year in the classroom, young teachers are generally full of energy, and while I in no way begrudge anyone's claims to tiredness, her post was both comforting and disheartening. I empathized, as I felt her exhaustion as my own, as well as that of the teacher who wrote the meme. 

As I continued to scroll through my feed, I followed the thread of another brave educator, who was seeking to understand her experience with stress induced symptoms, and the upward of 50 comments, some sending care, and others including symptoms of their own. Compiling the list sounds like one of the warnings on a pharmaceutical commercial. 

Warning: teaching in the classroom during a pandemic may cause side effects, including but not limited to, headaches, nausea, irritable bowel and other digestive issues, insomnia, anxiety, depression, irritability, fatigue, and if that isn't enough, dry hands from excessive washing and cleaning.

As the evening set, I was annoyed that I had slept my Saturday away. It was a beautiful day, and was supposed to be Rosh Hashana by the river with my parents, but I recognized that in these times, and on this day, self care meant sleep. I was relieved for the understanding of what was happening to me and what I needed to do to take care of myself, and grateful that I have the ability, the freedom in my life, to be able to do so.

I went back to sleep at 9 that evening with immense gratitude that I felt better, and a thought for all my fellow educators who were as exhausted by their first week back in the classroom as I, and hope they are as supported as I am in taking care of themselves and their families, even as I know that many are not.

When I woke up early the next morning, after as solid a night's sleep as I get, I was happy to be feeling fine and energized, and especially relieved, because later that morning my partner and I had appointments with our massage therapist, who has been one of only two other people to enter our house in the last six months. I was very much looking forward to it. I had scheduled it because I knew I would really need it, and I was right. 

Massage therapy is my favourite form of selfcare, and beyond the benefits to my aging knees and old shoulder injury, part of what is essential to my treatment is the work on my jaw. In 2007, a fluke at the dentist's office during a routine filling, in which the needle hit a nerve, left me with paralysis in part of my inner palette and tongue, and as a result my jaw gets sore. It is especially noticeable at the end of the day after talking so much, and while I have gotten used to living with it, and recognize their are much worse afflictions, the jaw and face are my favourite part of the massage as it offers great relief.

Though I was feeling fine, and didn't feel any need to cancel, which made me really happy, I also realized I had to consider the bigger picture. Now that I am back in the classroom, I have to operate as though I will be informed of exposure at any moment, and take all necessary precautions at all times. I didn't think I would ever have to wear a mask in my house, but I knew that was what I had to do, at least while on my back. Michelle did too and the space between the straps allowed perfect access to my jaw and she was able to work her magic. It felt like a miracle. 

I told Michelle I was going to write about my massage, and the experience of wearing a mask, which she did as well, to be clear, and she does always, as is the new norm. There was another meme I saw going around recently, which perpetuated the stereotype that women have habits which make them "high maintenance" and massage was on the list. It saddens me that stigmas like that still exist, with massage and in so many areas of self care. It is time to break them. Let that be the "new norm." 

I encourage my fellow educators to continue to take care, be it your voices, your bodies, or your mental health. If you happen to live in Trascona and you are interested in Michelle's exceptional, portable service, message me for details. 

For my part, I promise to do the same, as well as taking the days I need to be well and useful in the classroom. Many years ago my first teaching partner gifted me with these words, "No one thanks you for coming to school sick," and I have tried to live by them, and no feel they are more important than ever. 

For my uncle, who I know is reading, in the next days I will aim to write the description of the flurry of activity that is life in the classroom, from the moment I open the door to students when I arrive, usually around 8:30 a.m. until the moment they (usually) all leave at 3:25 ish. 

I will try to capture the feeling of the constantly considering the needs of the 23 different individuals in the classroom at any given time, including whether they have eaten (at least 2 haven't), their social needs and who doesn't want to come to class because of whatever issue (some often serious), while taking care of the kid who got hit by the LaCrosse ball in gym, all while teaching several subjects over the course of the day, but not today.

For today I will rest, because it is already late, and tomorrow is another day in the classroom. 

  

 

 

Is Trust Enough?

I started writing this post on Monday night and now it is late Wednesday and I feel exactly the same as I did when I began. 

I would pretty much rather be doing anything else than writing this post right now. If I felt I had more choice, more freedom, to reflect on the events in my classroom, rather than the circumstances under which we are living, I might feel better about it, maybe more inspired, or just less anxious.

If I were writing more extensively about the 2 lovely METTA meditations, which I introduced Monday morning, and which were the same, yet different in both classes, and simultaneously captured the normalcy and absurdity that exists in our classrooms, and the world, today, it would be a lot more interesting. 

If I were writing about my students and their remarkable resilience, wearing their masks with little resistance and even fewer complaints, I could find hope and comfort.  

I would also feel much safer and much less vulnerable.

Instead multiple schools are already dealing with exposure, and several cohorts in one middle-school are shifting to remote learning and isolation, and while I watch the news and Minister Goertzen is reminding me the cases were expected, and the key is in how we respond, I continue to assert it is the unwillingness of his government to invest in education that has led to what is just the beginning of school infections. 

What the Minister fails to acknowledge is that the school infections are the direct result of choices made by his government. We are heading to more completely avoidable illness, and possible death, because the province has failed to address the key issue, which is class size.

The province refuses to recognize the fact that with the current class size it is physically impossible to achieve any sort of physical distancing inside most elementary and middle-years classrooms.

In my mind I have had to reconcile with the idea that I am doing the absolute best I can. I have to live, and teach in my space, and so I have to believe that wearing my mask, washing my hands, and maintaining some distance, is going to be enough. I can't live life in constant fear, and so if I am going to do my job, I have had to find a way to live with the conditions of the day- or teaching in my only slightly modified classroom during a pandemic, without any real physical distancing, or the 2 metres that has been recommended to date.

I am not sure exactly how my mind is working this out- whether it is wishful thinking, denial, delusion,  or the faith I have grown as the result of my spiritual work and belief, I just know that is what I am doing. 

I also know I am not alone. 

I started reflecting on depth of the challenges educators are facing, and what is and isn't being reported, while reading a post in a teachers' group Monday morning. Educators, who have been working tirelessly and resourcefully to face every obstacle, from cleaning surfaces to packaging individual supplies, and managing new processes while still teaching students, cannot overcome the lack of space in just about every classroom, especially middle schools.

Most have big tables, but even classrooms with individual desks, remain as packed as they ever were. No amount of trial and error to switch up the configuration can solve the impossible problem of having too many students to maintain proper social distancing, coupled with extended time periods in these rooms. Requiring kids to wear masks is a good start, but air quality is also poor in many rooms, and there is little protection offered when they eat in those spaces. 

It bears repeating, what I have emphasized in previous posts, that school leaders are doing the best they can with what they have. More Plexiglas and furniture is on back order and every resource is being maximized. I found some consolation that the parents interviewed on the news concurred, recognizing that teachers, principals, and school staff are doing everything within their power to keep students and staff healthy and safe.

That Monday morning the question of classroom space and physical distancing was raised. One teacher was brave enough to ask the group whether families were aware of the reality of what regular class sizes in our classroom spaces looked like, and if so what the responses had been like. Several teachers commented that every news piece reflected high schools spaces, where apparently social distancing has not only been made possible, but is also being actively enforced, which led to further questions around reality vs. public perception. 

I suggested taking photos and sending them to the powers that be, along with the continuing letters expressing our concerns. I gave a shout out to Wab Kinew, who is the only MLA to personally respond to each email, and suggested that the more evidence he receives the more likely it is to help.

The response got some likes, as well as a private message from a concerned educator, who wanted to let me know that in some divisions staff had been warned that they should not be publicizing any classroom photos. I let her know that I appreciated her concern, and while it hadn't happened in my division, I wasn't surprised. 

The news did leave me concerned and angry. 

It is obvious to a professional educator that one must be mindful about photographing students and ensure the proper permissions are obtained whenever a photo is published anywhere, preferably in writing, as well as indicators of the school generally, or my classroom specifically. But to be told not to photograph the generic features of the classroom, like the configurations of  the desks, makes me wonder. 

What is being hidden, and from whom?

It was interesting that later that morning, a student also mentioned that her mom wanted her to take pictures of the class so she could see how it had been set up. I told her about the discussion I had joined and encouraged her to take pictures of the room and share them at home. It is only now that I think about it I realize I didn't follow up to see if she did. I don't mind either way, and welcome the adults of my students, but am pretty certain that she didn't because she doesn't was her mom to worry. She is happy sitting with her friends, even with the Plexiglas screens and masks between them, but is concerned it might not be good enough for her mom. 

I am also concerned it is not good enough.

I am still wondering why it has to be? 

Why can't our government release the funds available for education? Then our school divisions can hire more teachers and support staff, and become more creative with time, transportation, and spaces to create learning environments where our students can still learn in the classroom in smaller groups, and remain happy, healthy, and safe.

I would like to see teachers come together. Imagine flooding social media with photos of our creatively designed, resourcefully supplied, immaculately cared-for, and yet impossible to socially distance, classroom spaces.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words; these may be worth a million worries. Or perhaps in the end, they will help to prevent one illness, save one life.

These are without a doubt strange and unprecedented times. Today in class I spoke of one of the greatest human paradoxes, stating  humanity's best and worst quality is our ability to adapt. Civilizations throughout time have left evidence of this truth, and in a world where a handful of individuals control more than half of the wealth, we continue to reflect our best and worst potential. 

Premier Pallister continues to value the economy over human life by not reducing class sizes, and school leaders and teachers adapt, making due with what we have for our students, your children, hoping it is enough- the worst and the best. 

For my part, to adapt I write, even though I don't want to. Then I share, in the hopes of being a catalyst for change, and with the consolation that at least I will feel better having done my part, even though it is scary. I fear any attention it may bring as much as I wish for it to be read and have an impact....ah paradox. 

In the 90's I lived in Jerusalem during a time of much strife. Terrorist attacks were regular events and taking the bus as part of everyday life became a risky venture. Though I was aware of the situation, I was never really afraid. Each day as I started out into the city, I would say a little prayer asking for protection, and then trust that I would be protected and go on with my day. For the most part, I forgot about the fact that the bus I was sitting on could blow up, and at the same time remember to be grateful when it didn't.

The ritual of the prayer for protection has stayed with me, especially as I am in the ranks as one of those crazy Winnipeg drivers, but I never thought I would have such concerns about my safety and well-being or that of students in my classroom and my colleagues and fellow educators. 

I have to trust that I will be okay in my classroom and so will my students. I just wish I could trust the government cared about that too.

 

 

To Test or Not to Test? There Really is No Question

It was inevitable it would happen, I just didn't expect it to happen quite so quickly.

When I woke up early Thursday morning, the first day of school with students, I attributed everything I felt to that first day of school feeling. I did notice upon waking that my nose was a little stuffed, but it passed by the time I was ready to go, and it was the first day with a lot to do. I didn't really have the luxury of noticing anything.

When I got home after school and I had a sore throat I couldn't be sure that it wasn't just the stress of talking all day. At the same time, the worry began. Am I getting a cold? Could it be something more? What do I do?

By about 9 in the evening, I had to accept that given the current state of the world, even though it was only the second day of school, I was showing "symptoms" and might not be able to go to school the next day. 

But even as I texted my first go-to sub to put her on call for the morning, I was hoping everything would be fine and I could just get up and go to school. I was so optimistic, I just went to sleep instead of writing up the plan for the day.

I woke up around 6:30 a.m., and considering it was early in the morning on the Friday of the first week of school, I felt "fine." It was a beautiful morning, and as I had coffee, I responded to the text from my sub that it didn't matter that she had an appointment, because I was going to school.

I went outside, as it was nice enough, and felt pretty good as I started my yoga practice. When I finished about 40 minutes later, I noticed that while I still felt "okay," I also couldn't really breathe. It certainly wasn't terrible, and I have definitely felt much sicker, but I couldn't deny that my nose was stuffed up and the soreness in my throat hadn't really disappeared overnight. It wasn't extreme, but it was definitely there.

It did not take long for me to assess the situation and recognize I really had no choice. I was showing "symptoms," and while it was likely just a little cold, it was not for me to make that call.

Instead I called my second got-to sub (I am lucky to have 5) and I was grateful when I knew he was able to come in to classroom. It took me about 90 minutes to write up the plan for the day, including the detailed introductory assignment that would not have been necessary if it was me in my classroom, but was easy enough to do. I knew between my sub and my teaching partner everything would be fine in my classroom for the day. I was just sorry I couldn't be there.

In the moments I spent noticing how I felt and considering my choices, I couldn't help but chuckle. I have always been in favour of proactive health care. Had it been the middle of winter I would not have considered going to school knowing the best way to get rid of a cold is to nip it in the bud. Any other year, on the second day of school, feeling mostly fine, it would be unlikely I would have even considered staying home, especially on the first Friday when I knew I had the weekend ahead to rest.

But these  are circumstances like no other, and I could not go to school in good conscience. Even though I was pretty sure it was just a cold, I knew I couldn't be the one to make the call. I couldn't go to school knowing I had "symptoms" and just hope it was nothing, especially if my decision, and my potential error, put others at risk. Today a case of the sniffles could be life and death. 

I knew I was making the right choice as I followed up with the screening tool on HealthLinks. I also knew I just couldn't sit around and wait to see if the symptoms would pass and assume everything was okay. I would have to go for a test.

Luckily there is a testing site nearby, and when I arrived at about 10:15 a.m., the line was only a few blocks away from the parking lot entrance. It didn't seem too long even though the first attendant I met informed me it would take about 2 and a half hours and that there were no public washrooms. She asked if I was okay with that, and I responded that I sure hoped so because I didn't imagine it would be any better later. 

The line actually moved pretty quickly. I was in the car, and even though I sat in park, I didn't want to use my phone. I passed the time surfing through the 400 SiriusXM channels to set up the music system in the rental I am driving, which is another story involving an open sunroof, a rainstorm, and an MPI claim, and then dancing in my seat as I flipped through my chosen stations. 

As I approached the parking lot I realized that the line split in two, and while the outside line seemed to move more quickly, the inside line was much shorter, so that is the one I chose. I was pleasantly surprised by the continuous movement of the line and within about 45 minutes I was already well into the parking lot and on my way to the door. 

Even with some sort of delay, which briefly closed one lane causing both lines to merge, the system in place was organized and pretty efficient. By 11:30 or so I was driving up to the entrance of the MPI building ready for my turn. The person who took my information had noted I was an educator, requesting quicker results, and I knew I was nearly done.

When I pulled up to the building, having been directed to put my information in the window and keep them closed, I pulled into the stall to be met by two lovely, smiling nurse practitioners. It was challenging to hear all their instructions through their masks and the closed windows, but I figured out how to hold my Manitoba Health card properly so they could see the numbers and get down all the information they needed. 

Then they explained that the test would be quick and uncomfortable. I should expect a burning in my nose, which was exactly what I felt, as I held my head back and she stuck the swab up my nasal passage. It was over in about 20 seconds. 

At least the test was. Then began the waiting. While the attendant said they expedite results for educators, as well as other essential workers, the nurse practitioner also mentioned it could take as long as Monday, so not to panic if the results weren't there over the weekend.

I guess they do this to mitigate issues if there are delays, as they call people with positive results, while negative results are available online. I guess it is preferable to know the worst case, just as I prefer to be told I will wait longer, only to be let out more quickly. I was pleasantly surprised with the short time the test took, and I was hoping it would be the same with the results.

While I waited, I noticed my waiting. I was 99.99% sure it was nothing, and I just had a little cold, the "What Ifs?" still crept in, because the reality is, it is possible. The virus is everywhere. 

While I waited, I waited at home. On Friday, my partner did all the shopping for my parents. He kept extra distance from them, just in case. My partner and I tried to keep a little distance, but we live in a small house with one bathroom, so realistically it is challenging. We did our best and figured we would cross the bridge if we had to. 

Luckily, we didn't have to. On Saturday afternoon, I checked the website. I figured 24 hours had passed. I was already feeling better, and maybe my results would be in. The process was easy to follow and I was very relieved to see the word "Negative" by my name. My parents were the first to hear the news and my colleagues followed. 

I'm not sure what I would have done had I received a positive result. I guess there would have been a process to follow and I am very grateful I don't have to learn about it now. 

I'm also not sure what, or if, I would have written. I had the story in my head, but I am not sure how I would feel sharing it had the results been positive. 

I am sharing it now because I know how important testing is. I also know how stigmas work and we cannot afford stigma when it comes to testing.

I am also left wondering how many more times I will have to do this this year? I am not prone to illness, but it certainly happens. How many more times, if I have to go get tested with every sore throat and stuffed nose?  Will I have to sit in my car for 90 minutes or more when it is -40 and I have a cold worse than the one today? 

And how do I know others are doing their part? I trust my colleagues will stay home and get tested, as it seems part of our professional obligation, as well as social responsibility, but how can I be certain?

Even more disconcerting, if students are being sent to school so parents can go to work, then how can I be certain parents are able to keep their children at home and get them tested?   

It seems to me that part of the plan for having every student and staff from K-8 in the classroom full time should include extensive testing with the same quick results I received. The peace of mind would be well worth the cost.

Without the negative result I would not be heading back to school tomorrow.      

A First Day Like No Other

I am exhausted and yet I am compelled to write, at least a little, to document this strange, and draining first day with students. It is much too late, and I am way too tired to reflect with great depth or detail and so I will just note some observations, and maybe, if I am lucky, some highlights.

The first, and least surprising, yet more important and encouraging, is that kids remain kids, and my students, in both my classes, are lovely. 

I spent the bulk of the day outside with my students getting to know them. Our morning classes took place in the back field, with meditations, name greetings, and our first introductory exercises. I had to choose between having trouble hearing kids inside under their masks, or outside with all the background noise, so it seemed the obvious choice. Our afternoon was spent with our first writing activity, which we did by providing each student a clipboard and heading to the park. It was easy to make space, and give students the chance to ease their way in, and us the chance to get to know them. 

When we were walking back at the end of the day and I asked how they felt about the first day. Most felt good about, and many remarked that it went by very quickly. I was glad they thought so. I can't say I felt the same.

Being with students again was indeed fun and fulfilling. It is always amazing to feel their excitement, and amusing to see their dread and discomfort. Talking about their learning and the success that I know will come is inspiring and energizing- it is why I do the job. 

The first days, talking about routines and procedures in usually annoying and draining, and today it was that tenfold. Everything was just that much harder. 

Most kids weren't bothered by their masks at all, and I was surprised by the number who left theirs on throughout the day, even during our time outside. For me, talking from behind the mask was draining. It took all my energy, and all my breath, to be clear, so I could be sure everyone heard and understood, or at least as much as possible. 

Outside wasn't much better. I had to be twice as loud to overcome the surrounding noise, even when it was quiet, and the distance of the students. At times, I had to do that while still wearing my mask as I wasn't certain students were far enough way.

That was a fairly constant, and exhausting, concern. By the end of the day I was tired I reminding kids to spread out and was just happy I was outside. In the classroom, for the short periods we were there, most kids seemed comfortable enough, and like many aspects of classroom life, the same kids needed the same reminders, and will again tomorrow.

It is also evident that the needs in my classes are great this year. I am not sure if they are much different, or more, than in the past, but they are certainly magnified, by the limited support, and all the other subtle changes that impact every part of classroom life- there are way too many to write about here and it seems they all fall on the classroom teachers. 

It is a lot- a lot to consider, a lot to manage, and a lot to process, and this was just the first day. 

I am lucky to be in a co-teaching situation and work with a colleague, who provided balance and perspective. At the end of the day, as we decompressed, he wisely reminded me that as veterans we have a wealth of experience on which to rely, and there is purpose and solace when we are able to work with our students as that is where we find our expertise- we know what we are doing. 

His words were comforting because they are true. When we can be at home in our classrooms we can do our jobs and we do them well. 

I just hope that our classrooms have not become so limited and we actually get to keep doing that.