So, What About 'All This'?

O would some Power the gift to give us

To see ourselves as others see us!

— Robert Burns, “To a Louse”

Never in my 20-some years of teaching have so many non-educators asked about the school year.

What they really want to know about is “all this.” Imagine my index finger tracing a circle around my face where a mask perches while I teach.

“All this” also refers to social distancing, the disinfecting of desks after each class and the mental and physical wellness of kids and staff. I’m sure grocery store employees, doctors, nurses, and other workers whose day-to-day routines have undergone massive changes because of the pandemic field similar questions.

Well, “all this” in schools is going about as well as can be expected.

I’m sure it’s a challenge for younger kids, but high schoolers, by and large, have accepted mask-wearing as a way to resume a degree of normalcy. Occasionally I have to give a visual cue — a quick horizontal gesture of my finger beneath my nose — to remind an errant masker to pull it up. And some students take full advantage of the opportunity to slide down the masks and take loooong drinks, as if a Dunkin or Starbucks cup gives them carte blanche to go maskless for longer periods of time.

A song on the loudspeaker two minutes before the end of each period reminds students to stand while I pass among them, distributing paper towels and spraying disinfectant. Three squirts down the back and seat of the chair, three squirts on the desktop, accompanied by my verbal approximation of a Star Wars laser gun — pew! pew! pew! and then pew! pew! pew! again.

Students scrub to a variety of music — country, rap, rock. At first, we had only songs with “wipe” or “scrub” in the lyrics. Not many tunes fit those parameters, however, so the musical palette expanded. Two weeks ago, a few seconds of “Jump” honored late, lamented guitar god Eddie Van Halen, even though the snippet only featured him on keyboards. (Everybody’s a critic, right?)

The social aspects are also challenging. Modifications to extracurriculars, the postponement of dances, friends on the opposite day’s schedule (at least until we get back to all students, five days a week, in November) — all have contributed to student stress.

But kids are resilient and adaptable. They have an abiding belief, shared by their teachers, that normalcy will return, even if we don’t know exactly when or how.

Don’t mistake this for a desire to abandon masks and social distancing before it’s advisable, however. Most teens understand, more than many adults, I’m convinced, the concept of shared sacrifice, how their masks protect others inside and outside the school, including teachers, family members and vulnerable members of the community.

As for how teachers are handling “all this” — well, I can speak only for myself.

Every now and again, I have a moment of clarity, when I realize the enormity of how the world has changed. I had one such incident the first week of school, when I looked out across a room of masked kids and made eye contact with a student I’d had a few years before. His eyes communicated nervousness and uncertainty, maybe because of the new school year, maybe because he was stuck with me for another semester, or maybe because that strip of cloth that covered his usual smile indicated this would be a year unlike any other.

I had to pause, take it all in and swallow hard with a gulp I hoped wasn’t too audible before proceeding. If he could carry on, so could I.

A similar revelation came earlier this month, after I saw myself on camera, speaking in front of a classroom. I looked and sounded like a gangly robot, my head moving only slightly as I spoke in monotone.

To the casual observer, it would have been hard to tell if I were happy, angry or bored. Facial expressions say a lot. So does the lack of them.

Since then, I’ve made efforts to be more animated, to speak more loudly, to laugh more heartily, to push my intentions through the mask and into the room. I’ve upped the goofiness factor by several degrees.

Maybe it’s overcompensation. Or maybe just a case of fake it until you make it during “all this.”

chris.schillig@yahoo.com

@cschillig on Twitter