Ask me about Miya

 The new school year began only seven weeks ago. Yet during this time I have fought off feelings of wanting, no, needing to leave the building early to go home. I have done so just once, asking for coverage of my last period class and I stayed home just one day, calling in sick after waking up and feeling this rush of uncertainty and dread. It wasn’t a panic attack; I’ve experienced those. That morning I simply knew that I could not be a leader of any kind. 

We remain at war with Covid 19. Despite mask mandates and vaccinations, we hear weekly of cases of positive tests and quarantine and the names of those who are feeling ill. The fighting is different this year. Our hours at school have been extended and we no longer move to remote learning as it hasn’t been deemed necessary as of yet this fall, but it is by no means a normal school year. The thing is, I don’t feel it will ever be normal again. Teens’ masks slip down to reveal noses. Spoken reminders and gestures are made to persuade students to comply with the rules. The old “No hats” rule is abandoned as an apparent compromise. But between the brim of a cap and the top of a mask, I must memorize only eyes to see whom I’m talking with each day. I miss full faces. I miss seeing smiles.

I may have begun a countdown. I think I’ll retire from teaching in ten years. I hope I can afford to. I never thought of retirement until recently. It’s been a grueling few years during Covid; we teachers have learned to pivot, adapt, adjust, redefine, rework, and grow at rates unbelievably impressive. I put all this down here on paper to mark the journey. But the most heroic accomplishment we, teachers and students alike, have made is to continue to show up. Every morning we arrive to face another day. 

Everyone it seems has a 504 plan. People speak of having anxiety and I think, “who doesn’t?”. The truth is, it’s good practice to be kind and forgiving as often as possible. There’s no need to rate one’s level of suffering. For those taking advantage of a situation, it is what it is. It’s a mark of integrity and character anyhow, isn’t it? 

But here’s the thing. I am reaching the end of my prep period. My last block class will be at my classroom door momentarily. And all I want to do is walk to the chalkboard and to write a brief request upon the green. 

Ask me about Miya. 

It would have been easy to simply close this word document and to move forward in the teaching of my last period class. It would have even been justified if I’d decided to leave school and to go home. But instead, I did walk to the chalkboard and I did write those words above for my teens to see. It was after several minutes of helping students find comments of feedback I’d written on their essays. It was just before I was to tell them of their second summative of the quarter. 

I read them the words above and after saying the phrase above, the class of dutiful creative writers all said in uniform, “Thank you for sharing”.  

I stumbled through a few more minutes of explanation. I didn’t wait for anyone to ask. Instead, I just shared. How we were connected, when we’d met, what she was like, her brightness and her light, how she’d earned her Master’s, how her patients or clients had loved her, how cool she was in all ways. My words were not the most articulate by then but I had trouble stopping. Finally though, I did. I took a big breath. And then  I asked them to take a minute or two to talk to me by responding in their journals. “You don’t have to, though”, I said. I just hope it was okay that I shared that. 

And then we moved on. 

All of the teens in the room wrote to me. They were sweet and they were kind. A few responses stood out to me: 

What happened is horrifying and horrible. But, honestly, I appreciate you sharing that with us. It was really brave, and something I would never be able to do, but… human connection is important. Thank you for sharing.  ---J

How you described Miya shows her as an incredible person that everyone should inspire to be. I think it’s good that you told us about her, if not to introduce us to her, then to be helpful for you. I have a feeling she would be proud of you for making it through the day.  --S

The tears are still brimming now as I close this out, but I don’t think it was a mistake that I wrote, cried, or shared with my students. I accomplished what I had needed to do for their daily lesson. But on top of that, if for just 15 minutes, I did my best to stop the world from spinning. I didn’t run home. I pushed through. 

I did it despite exhaustion and grief. I did it wearing a mask. I did it for Miya... and for all of her loved ones... and for my teenage students...and for me...and for us all. 

Yes, I’ll be ready to retire someday. But for now, I’ll do what I can to make each and every day count.