Perspective
The last two years have been trying. Both personally and globally, there’s been a lack of consistency and dependability that’s made it difficult to anticipate the events of the next few days, let alone the upcoming school year as a whole.
I spent a lot of time last school year lamenting about what couldn’t be. Our school was entirely remote from March 2020 through January 2021. It was for the safety of our community as a whole. That I understood and agreed with wholeheartedly. But as we reentered our classroom in the Spring of 2021, there were a lot of things (and people) missing.
Collaborative centers were replaced by individual boxes of exploratory materials to be experienced by only one child at a time, for a week at a time, in order to ensure safety. Most lessons were taught with the use of technology like slideshows and videos, primarily to help teachers simultaneously plan for remote and in-person students. A class I’d taught for 18 months was halved. Only 13 of our 26 students were on site. This was by choice, and again, was for the sake of safety, but felt like a loss. The students on site seemed happy to return, but I often found myself missing the days we had together when students gleefully shared materials, played tag and collaborated on projects that required close interactions. I missed having families visit our classroom each week and inviting experts to share on topics we were exploring. I missed huddling in a circle around our class pet, wondering whether it would cooperate or would leave a fun mess behind making students laugh, chatter and wonder even more.
This year I’m dedicated to shifting perspective; a shift to focusing on what is, and not what isn’t. The reality is that I’ve done everything possible to help better the circumstances in the last two years. I’ve stayed inside. I’ve missed out on seeing friends and family. I’ve bought take out, worn masks and walked on the opposite side of the street, all while navigating a divorce and raising my two young children at home during remote learning. There’s no more that I could do and I’ve resigned that the current reality of our lives and classrooms is the best that we can safely do for now. Wishing things could be different will reap no progress.
This year, we have some leniency as compared to last year. A large portion of the New York City population has been vaccinated, assuaging fears of spread amongst adults. Our students will be masked and will maintain space as best we can within our space together. That being said, we’ll be beginning a new loop in second grade with a full class of students exclusively in-person.
My perspective is intentionally shifting this year, not from what is missing, what’s not working and what can’t we do, to what can we do? What is possible? Who is here? What do we have?
This year I’m lucky to be working with the same co-teacher as last year. Luke and I have a lot in common, but even after spending a year working together, we still haven’t gotten to share our classroom space together for more than a few minutes at a time due to remote learning requirements. Over the last few weeks, we’ve taken time to get to know one another. We’ve laughed during meetings, we’ve figured out our classroom arrangement, reorganized our shared spaces and spent many hours talking about work and our lives outside of it.
In discussions about our classroom and class culture, Luke and I focused on what can still happen, and gently let go of what can’t.
Can we sit at the rug together?
Can we play together with blocks?
Can we have a class pet?
Can we take walks to the park?
Can we model sharing and collaboration while maintaining safe boundaries?
Can students have class jobs?
The answer to all of these questions, and so many more, was yes.
On our last day of planning together before the year began, Luke and I took a walk together. Every year, I love attending the Dance Africa festival here in Brooklyn. There, I typically buy a few yards of fabric to put in my classroom in the upcoming year. This year, I didn’t get to make it to the festival. Another tradition missed. Without hesitation at my proposal this past week, Luke offered to join me on a walk to downtown Brooklyn to buy some affordable fabric to decorate the break space in our classroom. An hour and a half later, after decisions about colors, material, length and cost, following conversations about tv shows, Syracuse basketball and a detour for some lunch, we returned to the classroom and finalized our setup.
When I reflect on the ending of our year in June 2021, I recognize a lot of opportunities that Luke and I took to make our class as close to normal as possible. Reading outdoors. Additional time at outdoor recess for social interaction. Extra time conferring with students to build stronger relationships. If we found those opportunities with safety restrictions in place then, we can surely do it now.
As our new school year begins, our focus is on what can be. What can happen? What is still possible and how can we make it the best year yet?
