Back at School!

Thank the stars and the powers that be! We’re back in school! I am so excited: I finally get to be in the same room with my students!

It was tough working with students through a screen, especially since our school day was shortened and screen time was limited to 150 minutes a day, while our curriculum of course did not get any smaller. We had more to do: we taught how to wash hands, wear masks, use a device appropriately, where to pick up food, and how to describe and improve one’s emotional well-being, among other duties. It seemed like every week there was an additional way for educators to extend a helping hand through the screen.

Because so many students enrolled in e-learning and home-school programs, I ended up being the only 5th grade teacher in the school. So, no teaching partner to bounce ideas off of. At first this was all right. I’d still see colleagues in the school building, and before the expectations and anxieties became too intense, I could find people to join me in a video meeting for an idea exchange or just to vent and commiserate. Thank goodness I am naturally an introvert or I would have gone off of the deep end and other teachers on staff would have had to absorb my students into their digital classrooms.

I got really good at recognizing people from the eyes up. When they kept on their hats after coming in from the long, cold 45ºF-below Alaskan winter I only had the mask design to go by. Then everyone starting buying or making new masks because our original ones were giving out. We started calling out greetings so we could recognize each other: “Good morning, I’m Erica!” “Hello, this is Richard!”

The winter did not kill the virus like someone said it was supposed to. Maybe that was because the cold and the dim winter light (or, where I live, the lack of light) prompted people to huddle together in friend and family groups. Maybe it was because the virus was fighting harder for its life. Whatever the reason, the bug did not die. It grew, multiplied, and strengthened. People of all ages contracted the illness more frequently; half of these died, while those who recovered could still get ill again, at greater ferocity.

Sadly, the heat of the second summer did not destroy the virus either. Scientists eventually determined that a quarter of the original population who showed no symptoms were in fact carriers, and there were a very, very, very special few who were completely immune. Despite all of the thorough, exhaustive tests governments around the world are running on these blesséd people, no drug, vaccine, or immunization procedure has proven effective.

This doesn’t matter anymore because schools have found a way to bring the children back into the buildings! Yay!

I’m so excited that I have to force myself to take deep breaths and look over the checklist I made for myself. I have all of the paperwork (real paper!) my students will use this year, all of the textbooks, the writing and art supplies. I wrote the schedule on the board yesterday, and sanitized the desks and the chairs.

I take another long inhale to quiet my excitement then pull on the straps at my wrists to synch up my sleeves. The school district is providing me with this new uniform and only taking the cost of it out of eight of my paychecks. My salary, like all teachers’, was reduced to help purchase an outfit for all of the returning students. The custodians who lived are receiving double what I used to earn — for hazard pay.

Before I get out of my car, I press the buttons at my neck again. I’ve never taken ill, which could mean I’m a carrier. I would rather be that than immune.

I greet my students at the classroom door. They are so excited to be in the classroom but after a joyful loud noise as they shout out to each other, they settle into chairs at their six-foot-apart desks. It’s strange that we’re still automatically maintaining social distancing. I suppose it has become a habit. I admit I feel undressed not wearing a mask, even though logically I know that my new uniform makes a mask unnecessary, assuming I’m wearing it properly. I pull at the fastenings and check the collar.

“Welcome, boys and girls! Welcome back into the school building!”

Cheers bounce echoingly, but jubilantly.

“I am going to come round to each of you to ask the health questions. Remember to answer honestly, just like you’ve been doing at home. We’ll do this at regular intervals every day, just like at home.”

A couple of groans go up. One child lays his head on the desk with a clunk.

I can’t help but smile because I know what I’m about to announce. “I know it might take a long time for me to get to everyone, and that’s why I have put some paper, pencils, and crayons in your desk. You can use them to draw whatever you want.”

Cheers again. I grin wider as I listen to the pupils.

“Look! I’ve got two pencils!”

“What’s this?”

“My older sister had one! Until she broke it. It’s a pencil sharpener.”

“What? How do you use it?”

“I’ve never had crayons before.”

“I’ve never had new ones.”

“We don’t get these unless we go to school,” a girl said proudly, admiring the six brilliant colors.

“Whoa…! There are real books in here too!”

I am so very glad I dipped into my food money to purchase these gifts for my students.

“Okay,” I say to the first child, gripping my plastic-sheathed school device in one hand. “What is your name?…Nice to meet you. I’m Ms. Swift. Have you or someone in your family been out of the city in the last three weeks?…Have you or anyone in your home had a sore throat in the last three weeks?…a cough?…loss of smell?…body aches for unknown reasons?…”

I run through the questions, keeping my eyes open for wiggling students who look about to get up. None do. It’s amazing how a couple of years will change behavior. I read this child’s temperature measurement and type it into the records.

I’m nearly done with the morning health check when a girl raises her hand. “Do I have to leave to go to the bathroom?” She asks.

“Students cannot leave their classroom.” I shake my head. “Is your sound filter installed?” I have a few extra in a sealed package on my cart just in case.
She nods her head.

“Good. Go ahead.”

I finish making my rounds, then I pass out water pouches, checking that the children can easily access the contents. A pair of students suspiciously refuse the water until I point out the stamped seal, and then they accept.

“Attention please,” and I wait for everyone to put down their writing utensils. “Everyone looks healthy.” I smile. “Now, get ready. When I say ‘go’, you need to press the two center buttons on your collar. When I say ‘stop’, push your head covering back on. Ready? Set. Go.”

Hsss… The pneumatic helmets crack open at the collar, letting in the classroom air. While I watch the timer, I also scan the room, making sure each child has opened his or her hazmat suit. We practiced this repeatedly during our school district professional development day.

“Stop!” I mime pushing my helmet back into place.

Click-click, click. I scan the room once more. The buttons circling the metal collar at each child’s neck are lit up solid green. Still, I walk the room quickly, making sure that the locks have indeed firmly closed and each child is in its own sealed environment. A couple of students nervously suck on the straws that connect to the water pouches fastened at their shoulders.

“Why do we have to do this again?”

“We’re exposing you slowly to the virus so that you build up a natural immunity. This time it was only one second. Each time it will be a different number of seconds. Our next exposure is in two hours.”

I really hope this natural immunity process theory works — without the “acceptable losses” everyone talks about.

I give a short math lesson and my students instinctively pull out their devices.

“If you finish your work early, please check the Google Classroom for additional math practice, or you can look at the Language Arts assignments. If you are comfortable that you understand what to do, you can work on them, or practice your typing skills. Lessons are in the Classroom topic folder. You can even read the textbooks that are in your desks.” I’m pleased at the eager looks in some children’s eyes when I mention the hardcovers. “When I come back, I’ll do another health check and refill water if you need it, and I’ll have a snack too.”

Some students clap or smile. A couple have already turned their focus to their studies.

“Lunch is at 11:30.” I point at the schedule. “You can see, too, that twice a day I’ll be emptying your holding tanks.” I smile reassuringly at the girl who has already made use of hers.

The instructional tutor appears at the doorway. After making sure that everyone is paying attention, I introduce her and leave the class in her hands.

As I am heading out, I notice a temperature indicator wired into a helmet has bumped up one degree. I hope this is just a minor fluctuation and not an indication of the child’s sensitivity to the virus. Not on my first day…

I make sure the suit’s fan system is working properly before I leave.

I roll my cart down the hallway to the next room, where the next group of students is waiting. I greet them, usher them in, and begin the same routine I ran through with my first group.

Each of the six remaining teachers have five classrooms to manage. The staggered starts mean that the pods of students will be even less likely to interact. It also means that my day, and each of the next 199 days, is going to be a long one. I know that my job description has changed significantly in the last two years, but I still reserve hope that in these forty weeks of school I will be able to teach some of my eighty elementary students at least a little of the academic skills they have lost due to the virus — without losing many of them to it.