I am currently in my 17th year of teaching. Ten of those years were as a 4th grade teacher, 3 of those months were as my own son's kindergarten teacher while his teacher was on maternity leave, and 6 of those years have been as a Teacher Librarian, which is my current position.
All of that to say, I have taught a lot of different kids of a lot of different ages in a lot of different settings. I have seen a lot and experienced a lot as a teacher. But up until now, I had never taught a single student from my own home. I had never recorded a lesson from my basement. I had never read aloud a book to a camera. I had never asked a student to unmute herself when she had something to share.
Since March 13, however, that has all changed.
I have now set up a make shift desk space in my basement. I have now facilitated virtual author visits. I have now connected with every class I teach by joining their classroom Google Meet or Zoom meetings.
25 classes. Nearly 600 students.
That has turned out to be a lot of different kids of a lot different ages in a lot of different settings. I now know more about Zoom meetings than I ever wanted to know. I've been in over 30 virutal meetings with students. To begin most of the meetings, I silently repeat in my head “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” as soon as all those faces I haven’t seen in way too long start popping up on the screen.
And I haven’t.
My heart swells. Emotions flood in. I hear a voice I haven't heard in weeks. I see a face I've been missing since March. But I’ve been able to stick to my “Don’t cry” mantra. Sometimes I laugh at something they say or do. Sometimes I nod as I agree with something they say about this situation we currently find ourselves in that is wise beyond their years. Sometimes I just take it all in as I hear them eating whatever crunchy snack they’ve brought to the meeting, or watch them walk around their house while holding their portable device, or look at their eyeball taking up the whole screen as they press their face against the camera, or watch them hold up every single stuffed animal they own, one by one, while the lesson is happening. Always, always, always, we talk books and reading.
But I’ve been able to keep the tears at bay.
This afternoon, I saw the last class I had yet to meet with. It was a Developmental Kindergarten class, some of my very youngest learners. The classroom teacher welcomed them all and got them settled. And muted. I said hello and read aloud a picture book. While I was reading, I started to think about how much I have taken for granted the magical experience of reading a book together, what joy it can bring. I've read a lot of books aloud through these meetings, but for some reason, this one was especially fun. When I finished reading aloud, I asked if anyone wanted to share anything with me or ask me a question.
An eagerly raised hand and a bright smile from one girl quickly told me she did.
“Hi Mrs. Davies!! I really liked that book and I miss you and I love you so so so so much!!!”
Her words came out fast, in one long string, and there are not enough exclamation marks in the world to accurately communicate the excitement in her voice.
And I tried and I tried and I tried, but I just couldn’t hold it together this time. I don’t know if it was just the day or the time or the sweet little voice or that my emotional tank was just empty. But my voice cracked and my eyes welled up and I simply said “Thank you. I'm so glad you liked the book and I miss you and love you so so so so much, too!”
And I do.
Kids are the heart of my teaching. Their smiles. Their stories. Their connections. I miss and love all these kids so so so so much.
All teachers do.
We miss you and we love you so so so so much. The students we have now. The students we had last year. The students we had years ago that are now graduating in these difficult circumstances. The students who no doubt will be finding solutions to the problems we currently face. You are on our hearts and our minds more than you will ever ever know.
You are the reason we became teachers. You are the reason we come to work everyday, whether in a school building or in our own homes. You are the reason we get up early and stay up late, planning lessons, grading papers and worrying about you and wanting the very best for you. You are the reason we show up on Zoom calls and have virtual office hours and record video lessons, that may or may not include interruptions from our own children dressed in their unicorn Halloween costumes. You are the reason we keep going and plugging away, even when it is hard, to find innovative ways for remote learning to happen. You are the reason we were devastated when it was announced that schools were closed for the remainder of the year. It's you. It's always been you. You are the reason we became teachers .
We miss you and we love you so so so so much.
