Creating a New Normal This Fall

For many of us, deep loss marked the 2020-21 school year. We yearned for a return to “normal”. We missed the camaraderie and connection with students and colleagues. We lamented the ability to use certain instructional strategies (group work, chalk talks, gallery walks, etc.) that were no longer safe or feasible in this new environment. I too found myself grieving for the past. But, being the practical person that I am, I returned, time and again to one truth.

“Necessity is the mother of invention”.

Growing up in a missionary family, our lives subsisted on the generosity of strangers, on hand-me-downs, and on the miracle-working power of a sewing machine and duct tape. If there’s one thing I know how to do well, it’s how to turn nothing into something. I know how to hustle for resources and find a way when there seems to be no way. This mentality is what kept me afloat so many years working in low-income, high-needs schools. 

It’s this skill set that kept me grounded when school closed in March 2020 and the phrase “quaranteaching” entered my vocabulary. I shared my transition to remote learning in my post, Rona Ramblings Part I. Over the past 18 months, we’ve seen necessity drive innovations in medicine, healthcare, food service, technology, and so on. I love witnessing the creativity and evolution of nearly every industry. We should be proud of the rise of tele-medicine, the increase in hands-free payment options, the innovation in cleaning technology, the ability to enjoy block-busters from the comfort of our living rooms or even the thriving sales of e-books. 

All of this is context for why I’m so adamant about not returning to a pre-covid “normal”, particularly in the realm of education. As my podcast co-host, Megan Holyoke, commented recently “going back to a ‘normal’ school year reminds me of those who clung to the ‘Make America Great Again’ slogan.”  And, in the same way we interrogate the sentiment behind MAGA, I think we should question our own desire to return to teaching and learning of the idealized past. 

What was so “great” about learning pre-covid? How well were we serving our students? Who was the center of the classroom?  Who benefited from the policies and practices of our school system? Who’s voices were we listening to? Who was left out? Who was institutionally marginalized?

After a summer that was far too short, the new school year has arrived. It’s here. The tweets, posts, and published musings of a return to pre-pandemic times are moot points. Here’s why.

First, you cannot have a traumatic event that impacted everyone on the planet and remain exactly the same. While one may argue that each person experienced trauma conditional on factors such as race, socio-economics, or geography, no one was left untouched. There is no “return to normal”. There can be creation of a new normal but the pre-trauma period is forever altered. Our memories will fill the pages of many books to come. We will (hopefully) reflect on our experiences in such a way that real growth will occur.  Pretending this was an insignificant blip on the timeline of life, does us no good. We cannot go backwards. Stop trying to erase this moment. 

Second, why tho? Was pre-pandemic education and schooling actually that terrific, joyous, and easy? It wasn’t. Let’s stop pretending. Students weren’t engaged 100% of the time. Our prom wasn’t that spectacular. Just because we had a sweet spreadsheet to manage our standardized testing routine, doesn’t mean that it was benefiting students and staff. Do we really want to MEGA (Make Education Great Again) our upcoming school year? I don’t think so. And I hope you cringed when you read that last line. 

Our memories of the past are tinged with a nostalgia that distorts the truth. 

I refuse to accept last year as a loss (more on that in a future blog post) and go back to some bygone sense of reality. 

Full disclosure ya’ll. I do not believe this pandemic is over. If you don’t believe me, check out the Delta variant memes or this Time article. However, as we begin to see a light at the end of this very dark tunnel, we need to confront our tendencies to glorify the past. We must release the old routines and structures we cling to. Instead, we ought to anticipate the uncertainty and prepare for the unexpected of the new school year.

In effort to do that, here are a few of the steps I’m taking to mentally, emotionally, and physically prepare myself for trash can fires of the fall.

1. Make a plan A, B, and C. I am engaging in a thought experiment that places me in a range of teaching conditions. I’m thinking about my desk space if I teach from home. I’m preparing for how I will eat safely on campus if I’m in-person. I’m envisioning how to partner students for collaborative work with social distancing, revisiting keys to success in a hybrid environment, or if I’m teaching in a concurrent model. I’m practicing speaking with a mask that is comfortable and matches my work outfits. I’m anticipating ways to distribute and collect student work. 

2. Keep My Personal Routines. Much of last year was tolerable because I reorganized my morning routines (coffee, prayer, journaling) and my weekend habits (one day dedicated to my mental, emotional, physical and spiritual health). I call my parents every two days. I schedule Zoom dates with my sisters and some college girlfriends. I’ll continue to find joy in exercising, skating, and cooking. 

3. Plus It. Through collaboration with my grade level team, emails with colleagues at my old school, and random voice notes idea-sharing with teacher friends across the world, I have some incredible lessons and corresponding handouts from last year. I’m capitalizing on this work by tweaking or expanding my use of certain tasks. While 5Es framework and hyperdocs were intended to design online learning they are just as relevant this year. I’m adding to my already curated list of best practices and resources for teaching in a pandemic. If you don’t follow Dr. Cailtin Tucker or aren’t familiar with Global Online Academy, go bookmark them right now. 

4. Yes...And...I’m not joining an improv team nor am I approaching this year with toxic positivity. As my friend Camille Jones says, we can do hard things. I may grumble, cry, and drink a couple glasses of vino, but in the end I will face whatever reality is in front of me with as much determination as I can muster. I’m looking at each situation with a “yes/and” mentality so that when I face a mountain of hardship or what seems like an impossible task, I will be able to put one foot in front of the other. Yes, this is tough...and who can I bring along with me in the struggle?  Yes, this schedule sucks...and how can I maximize student interest and class time for deeper learning?

5. Stay Woke. If you’ve read my work before or listened to the podcast, you know I’ve got a speech about educators who pushed equity and justice to the background this last year. Folks stay making excuses for why they cannot engage in the inner or outer work of making the world a better place. The pandemic shone a big, bright spotlight on inequalities across the school system. Anyone who paid attention could see this coming. And now, as the light grows dimmer or fades away, we cannot go back to the “normal” habits of ignoring what is hanging out in the dark. If anything, we should be motivated to fill these gaps and find real solutions for the troubles that plague our schools. If education is not prioritized within pandemic response plans, when will it be?

As we head into a new school year, I hope you are ready--ready to resist a MEGA mindset and commit to creating a better educational experience for each of the students entrusted in your care this year.

Rona Ramblings Part I

I’ve stopped and started this post numerous times. And just like that, six weeks have both flown by. Somehow I feel a decade older.

It was early February when my personal bubble burst, waking me up to the new realities of a world impacted by the coronavirus. It would be disingenuous not to acknowledge the privilege I had to leave this particular aspect of news in the periphery of my vision which was focused on wrapping up semester grades starting new units, and travelling for spring break. I really began digging into the reports when we were faced with whether or not to cancel our flight to Bali for spring break. It got quite real when airport officials in both the UAE and Indonesia carefully checked our travel history, zeroing in on trips to China and South Korea. One week later, on our return trip home, airport personnel donned masks and temperature guns lined entrance ways. The concern, fear, and general anxiety was palpable. I felt myself getting a fever just standing in line to check-in. 

As I noted in a recent interview with Nate Bowling on Nerd Farm Podcast, my experience with the coronavirus feels like I’m standing in turbulent ocean waters, surrounded by waves. I can see waves coming. I ready myself and jump a little to keep my head above the water. Yet, it’s almost guaranteed to knock me off balance and pull on my swimsuit. I resituate, planting my feet “firmly” into the sandy ground yet a wave comes faster than I think, and knocks me down. I barely have time to catch my breath, wipe the salt out of my eyes and adjust my swimsuit before the next wave hits. 

Thoughts on Teaching & Learning

We are incredibly blessed to work at a school with leadership who intentionally tried to prepare for a pandemic (can you even prepare for something like this?!). We closed school one day, engaged in a kind of rapid-fire professional learning experience, and then rolled out our remote learning plan! I was in awe. Even the branding was on point. E-learning, virtual learning, and online learning put me to sleep just thinking about it. But remote learning? That’s fresh. Throughout that day, I found myself longing for the normalcy and consistency working would provide. Concurrently, I kept thinking, “how can you keep things normal in a world on fire?”

While many schools/districts that closed “early” were viewed as fear-mongering or hyperbolic, closing is (or I guess was) preventative. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in education, it’s that we tend to react rather than be proactive in cases of crisis. I was relieved to see this type of initiative or forward thinking regarding our state of emergency. But, so many people I love were back in the US, where as a nation, coronavirus wasn’t even on people’s radar. It was something that could happen there (aka, Asia). Not here in the land of the free and home of the brave. 

In the lead up to my own school’s closure, I began to lurk online, trying to wrap my head around what remote learning looked like around the world. I was in awe of teachers in China, Hong Kong, South Korea and Thailand. I was especially amazed by the elementary school teachers who were designing fun, engaging, well-rounded online classes for their students. Within days, many education organizations started posting articles like “10 Strategies For Online Learning During a Covid Outbreak” and “Teaching Through the Coronavirus”.

As one colleague put it, “we are in constant change. The sands are shifting.” It took moving to the desert for me to finally get that metaphor! While routines and structures are essential to well-run schools and classrooms, it’s far too easy to get stuck in a rut, teaching the same books or using the same instructional strategies over and over. If you’ve always done something one way, you can’t imagine or envision it another.

For many of us, this is a steep learning curve. If you’re used to singing and dancing in front of a classroom to hold attention, trust me no matter how awesome your students are, put them in front of a laptop and add the stress of the unknown and pour some worry about a relative back in the US and it’s far more challenging to keep them focused. I don’t care how good your lesson plans are or how charismatic of a person you are. 

One of the reasons my husband and I moved abroad was to open our eyes to other ways of doing things. Certainly, teaching in the middle of a pandemic forces you to rethink what teaching and learning could or even look like.  And let me tell you, not all “best practices” in the classroom transfer into an online setting. Not only do we need to consider the cognitive needs of our students, it’s critical to consider their emotional needs as well---and these are varied. For every student who is melting down, you’ll find another who just wants to do a worksheet. The constant barrage of waves of excitement, disappointment, anxiety, and fear impact teachers and students alike. 

On Responses in US School Districts

What I found most striking in the early weeks, was that suddenly there were a bunch of equity warriors taking to the internet. I was fully immersed in remote learning when it seemed that US school districts began to get whiffs of potential school shutdowns. 

Out of the woodworks came a lot of well-meaning white women who were waving an equity flag. “It’s a privilege to teach online,” they announced. “It’s inequitable to force remote learning on communities.” I was caught off guard for a handful of reasons. 

1. Knowing how much I was working to shift my classroom practices and routines to a remote context didn’t feel like a privilege. 

2. Teachers across Asia didn’t have strong wifi and were figuring out how to teach remotely with some success. 

3. I couldn’t wrap my head around the alternative to online school which was no option for learning at all. Basically, students who were ahead would be fine. Anyone else who was behind would become further behind. My heart ached. 

4. Didn’t these educators realize how deeply rooted in inequities American public schools are? Where have they been living/teaching/breathing? To suddenly care so much about “equity” (which btw, was interpreted as simply access to technology) when I’d bet my left-hand most of these folks were doing little to actually solve matters of equity in their schools and districts up until now. 

I’ve thought through and dialogue with many smart, respected educators about this. In fact, I wrestled with it on a recent episode of the Interchangeable White Ladies podcast. Anyone who has known me, knows I care deeply about issues of equity, dedicating much of my professional life to learning, thinking, and working on matters of equity. 

Closing schools and keeping schools closed through the remainder of the school year is necessary. However, weeks in, I am still not convinced that closing schools without some plan to provide meaningful ongoing learning is the best option for students, especially the students who have the greatest academic needs or need the social-emotional support school communities provide. I know many smart educators who’ve made a case for how much students are learning on their own, or that Maslow’s hierarchy means students aren’t in a place to engage in this type of structured learning. I don’t disagree per se with any of those arguments.  

But, I keep returning to this lingering thought. I can’t do everything for everyone. I  can do some things for some students. And I can try to do that for as many students within my sphere of influence. Being in a remote learning environment is not an excuse to throw best instructional practices out the window and simply stay in crisis mode (I get being there initially, but we can’t stay there). 

Rather, as I head into week 7 of remote learning here in the UAE, I continue to ask myself to questions:

• How can I create a safe place for students to feel validated in a time of crisis?

• How can I create learning experiences that are differentiated enough to engage all my students wherever they are emotionally, academically, and physically?