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. 

Two Days of Parent Interviews, One Repeated Question

The two days of parent orientation with which we begin our year is usually extremely pleasant. I have 30 minutes blocks, to begin to get to know, or reconnect, with my students and their families, as we ease into the school year. It is always busy, but not rushed, and allows students to get a feel for being in back in the building, making for a shorter week for everyone.

This year was similar to years past, and like everything else this year, it was entirely different. 

Overall, like years past, the conversations were pleasant, interesting, and illuminated the great range of abilities and needs in my classroom. Like years past, I was very excited to see some students with whom I would be working with for a second year, and to meet my new students, whose feelings about school and their learning, and by extension themselves, are often immediately evident, even from behind their masks. 

Regardless of the crazy world circumstances, it is still a new school year, and there is a special feeling, of anticipation and the potential of all the learning and growth it holds that is palpable when sitting down with a family and asking, "So, how are you feeling about school?" 

There were moments, over the course of the many conversations, when the global pandemic could be put aside, and we could talk about school, learning, and the needs and interests of each child could be addressed. With each family, we talked about school subjects, schedules, and learning in a cohort of two classes, with two teachers, and one community of learners, even though the only room we will all share is a virtual one. Kids were excited about what they like, what they want to learn, and some goals and challenges- or they weren't. Over the course of the days, in many ways, the conversations with my families were as they have always been. 

Until they weren't. Some parents were more polite, and waited until I formally asked if they had any questions, and for others it was the first words out of their mouths, but whenever it came, the question I heard over and over again was, "So how many kids will be in the classroom?"

As I responded 23, and they each looked at the large tables around the room, some big, a few single desks, and the window stools, the expressions in their eyes ranged from concern to one dad with sheer panic behind their masks.

I did my best to assuage their concerns with the assurances that masks will be worn in the class, we will sanitize our hands regularly- never mind that we are outside in a portable and all the sinks are in the building- and spend as much time outside as possible, especially while the weather is good. At times I really believed what I was saying, and I am actually encouraged by the science around masks. But then again, don't I have to be?

At the same time, I didn't sugarcoat anything. Sitting in the space, I stated it was obvious with 23 bodies we wouldn't be able to stay more than a meter apart. Some who arrived later saw the Plexiglas barriers that will allow for some separation between those sitting together, as well as support students who want to work together. It is certainly not ideal, but it is something. 

I was as optimistic and encouraging as I could possibly be, and also reminded many parents of the power of their voices, and that they should express their concerns beginning at the top of the food chain, with the premier, and then with the minister of education, their MLA's and school trustees. I assured them that I already had on several occasions and will continue to do so as well. 

As many times as I answered questions about the number of the students in the classroom, I also stated quite plainly that our school leaders and every teacher, including me, are doing the very best we can with what we have, and care as much about the health and safety of their children as they do.

I am not sure how much it reassured each of them, but it helped me, as once again, it is pretty much all I have got.

I don't have answers for many of their questions.

I can't answer how 23 students in a room for several hours over the course of the day is okay in school, when in every other place every person is required to socially distance by 2 meters?

I can't explain what happens at lunch, when those same 23 kids, who have been in the same room all day, have to take off their masks and eat at the same desks on which they have worked. We can't avoid sharing some supplies. We can disinfect between use, and we can disinfect the tables, but if the kids can't touch the disinfectant because it is too strong for them to use, and need someone to clean for them, then who does it fall on, but teachers? In addition, kids are eating on the tables on which we are using harsh chemicals. I don't know how this is okay? 

When parents asked why their 8th grader needs to attend every day, but their 9th or 10th grader is in a socially distanced learning environment, because they are going every other day, it was pretty easy to explain that schools are being used so the economy can function and kids have where to go, but I couldn't explain why this is okay.

It was easy tell parents all the measures we were putting in place to keep their children healthy, happy, and safe in school, from the creative ideas our music teachers have, adjusting all the instruments they play, and even teaching choir without singing, to the idea of cohorts, staggered schedules, cleaning, Plexiglas barriers, masks, walking kids back and forth, moving furniture, not using lockers and microwaves, and a million other little things.

What is impossible to say is if these measures will be enough. Will it be enough to maintain the quality of teaching, leaving teachers with the time and resources to implement their programs and provide learning experiences for which students can take ownership, while still ensuring the safety of students and staff, and some sense of sanity for teachers?

Our school leaders are responding swiftly to requests for equipment to support student earning, and their staff, within the constraints placed upon them- again not really new, just a new feat in different times. I have heard it described that they are building the airplane while already in flight. They have been open and flexible, and conceded that much of what we are doing is based upon trial and error.

Having 23, 12-13 year-old students in a room, in which we are unable to maintain 1 metre of social distancing, even assuming they can all wear masks correctly all the time, and never eat and drink, is going to be a mistake. All the doctors and science has said so. Schools opening in other places in the world have shown it.

So, if we know something is an error, why do we have to try it?

Of course, I don't have an answer, and at this point, I don't really expect one, though I will copy and paste all of my questions and send off another email to all the powers that be, because at this point, why not? 

It is all I know I can do.

As for tomorrow, I will be excited to meet my students, as they will be there to be met, and from there energy grows. 

I left my room in disarray, because I still hadn't decided what to do with the desks and tables to make students comfortable and keep them safely distanced. I realized the answer lies where it often does, with them. I will give them some options, and we can decide together. We will figure it out as we go. It seems it will be the theme of the year, so we might as well embrace it. 

We will meditate. Maybe with masks in the classroom, maybe outside. Maybe we will start outside, and then determine how to set up the room. I am lucky. I have outside space and an abundance of chairs. I have choices and I am grateful for that. 

Whatever tomorrow brings, it will bring another first day of school, and I will do the best I can, just like I do every year. 

 

  

   

 

First Day in the Building

    Since the government, in its infinite wisdom, has deemed it necessary for me to be here, at school today, all day, I decided to start writing and document some of the day's events and my feelings and observations as I return to school.

    I have long been enamored with the concept of paradox, or two opposites that are true at the same time, to help me to reconcile some of the contradictions at play in the world and life. I can accept human nature, and people with endless patience that eventually runs out, or even that smart people who make stupid choices. Paradox is part of the mystery and wonder of the world.

     It is the lies that are hard to swallow. 

    To be clear it is evident that our school leaders are doing the best they can, with the many challenges, and whatever limited guidance and support they are receiving from the powers that be, whether in my division, or from the government. As information was transmitted they were respectful, optimistic, and as clear as they could be based on what they know and what they have been told. They heard the questions and answered as best they could. Yet so much is unknown, so much remains to be seen, and so many responses were predicated on the idea that we are back in the classroom, but...

    This is the part I can't quite wrap my mind around. As if it is possible to keep 23, 13 year-old kids sitting in their seats with masks, and if we are lucky nearly 1 meter distance between them, for chunks of time, making communication challenging at best, and still imagining we can achieve the same quality of teaching. Then further limiting access to already scarce supplies like computers and library space, adding cleaning practices which will eat more time, and removing all the fun and social interaction from school, yet still believing we can maintain the same quality of learning.  

   Are we operating in a pandemic or are we not? 

   We have been told over and over these are unprecedented times, yet in school not much has changed. Sure, there are some sign, masks in the building, and many new rules of things we cannot do, and learning that will limited as a result, yet the expectation to teach, has not changed.

   As I write, I am waiting for my administrators to come to my classroom so that we can brainstorm about furniture. My 8 month old tables are each 1.38 meters long, and usually seat 2 per student with triangle tables on the corners. I could create a Math problem having my students work out the placements of the currents desks requiring at least one metre space between each student on all sides and accommodating everyone, but it extremely cruel to assign trick questions with no solutions. 

    The only answer to how to properly social distance in a classroom is to have less people in the classroom. The government is not willing to make any changes, operating as though is it business as usual, which should be surprising as they believe education is business and its role is supporting the economy, not children, 

       Later reflecting on my big question, and the many more that followed, and after a busy day. I still don't have many answers. Yet the day is done, and as if to prove the paradox, it was both long and quick, and full, yet relaxed. I have many concerns, but worrying will not help me, or anyone. 

   Instead I will commit to doing my part, writing here and continuing to speak up where I can. I posed many questions today, first in our staff meeting, and then later as part of the #SafeSeptember phone campaign to the offices of the premier and several other ministers. 

    As important as it was to call, it is equally important to note the roles of the administrative assistants answering the phones, each of whom was female (Conservative Party coincidence?) and perfectly lovely, accepting my calls with interest, dignity, and respect, though the secretary of the premier sounded particularly frazzled. She was also very grateful when I acknowledged her dedication to her job on what must have been a particularly annoying day, which was a highlight of mine.

   My calls, in which I reiterated my questions to the different ministers including education, health and families, letting each know that I was sitting in my classroom, looking at an impossible situation, and genuinely concerned about the health and well-being of my students and their families, as it is simply too small to accommodate so many students while maintaining any semblance of social distancing, took less than 10 minutes, but I am hopeful mine, and others, will make a difference. 

    I remain optimistic that my classroom will be a safe space for learning next week as it has been for the last 18 years because it will look different than it did today. The furniture will change, one way or the other, and hopefully the number of students I expect to see it in each day will too, sooner rather than at their expense. 

     In the meantime, for today I have done what I can. As annoying as it was to be called in early by the government, I am grateful to return to the security of a job that I mostly love, and the support of some great colleagues and friends. As is often said in the teacher world, there was time for planning and some rich conversation today, for which I am grateful. 

    I am grateful I had some quiet time in my classroom this morning to meditate. I was able to spend some time connecting, with myself, the space, my purpose, my abilities, and my breath. I am pretty sure those minutes made the rest of my day much easier. I was also reminded as I sat that masks or not, meditation will remain part of the practice in room 11. 

    No matter what happens, I just have to keep breathing. Tomorrow is another day.

    Thanks for reading and joining me on this journey. I don't promise to write every day, but I am committed to documenting some of this time and experience, a meditation of its own.

For now, may you be happy, may you be healthy, may you be safe!