Decking the Halls with Memories

This year, dubbed COVID Christmas II, we put up a Christmas tree as an act of hope that in the coming year we will be better able to pick up the pieces of our pre-pandemic life and begin again to find a renewed, but perhaps more cautious, sense of “normal”.

I enjoy the beauty of Christmas lights on greens, and as it does for many, decorating the tree brings on memories of past Christmases. I am among the fortunate for whom those memories are pleasant and plentiful.

I thought this year about my Dad, who seemed to be at the center of tree-decorating when I was a child. My family’s tree, always a real one, was a short-needled beauty, sometimes oddly shaped, but that was of no concern. We could always face the mis-shaped side to the wall where no one would notice.

Dad’s first task was always stringing lights on the tree. As with most state-of-the-art tree lights in the 50s and 60s, this could be a very long process. First, the lights had to be removed from their storage box which was usually the original box the lights came in when purchased. Next the string was unwound which was not a problem in our house as my Dad made an art form of winding and unwinding cords. Finally the string was laid out on the floor and plugged into an outlet. If the string lit successfully, my Dad could start winding it carefully over the tree branches using the metal clips that were part of each light’s socket. However, sometimes the whole string wouldn’t light. Oh series circuitry, I miss your challenge. Thus would begin the hunt for the bulb culprit as it only took one burned out or loose bulb to render the whole string dark.

In our house, the bulbs were always multi-colored. Providing that all the strings would light, after the lights had been installed on the tree, came the artistic portion of holiday tree trimming: moving the bulbs around the string so that no two adjacent bulbs were the same color. This of course required consultation between the two adults in the family, leaving the under-aged and highly excited children to impatiently await permission to finally start hanging ornaments (smaller sizes at the top progressing to larger ornaments at the bottom). Sometimes those same children/I would become bored with this artistic process and give up to seek out another activity.

Eventually the collection of ornaments, mostly glass and a few imperfect, but treasured child-created (did anyone else make a glittery metal (sharp/dangerous) “ornament” from the top of a frozen OJ can?), ornaments made it onto the tree. The finishing touch was to hang tinsel, those silvery non-environmentally friendly strips of metal-coated material. (Read the history of tinsel here).

There were rules for that. Each strand had to be hung just so. No throwing of clumps, mostly hanging down (a 1:3 ratio was best), placed on the edge of the branches. Much to Dad’s dismay, mostly what we did was throw a clump here and there which caused him to have to rehang each strand according to the rules for accepted application. With four of us, there was always at least one non-compliant tinsel applicator.

This year as I trimmed our tree with white, LED mini lights and no tinsel, those childhood memories were close to the surface. For me, this holiday season has always been about the precious memories formed by my past. With gratitude for all gifts of memories - and for parallel circuitry - I’ve been given throughout the years, I am humbled. Though we may celebrate different special days and in different ways, I wish you a most joyous holiday season.

A Walking Meditation

At some point in the middle of Pandemic Year 1 with our Fitness Room closed and feeling a need to get out of our house, I started taking walks each day. At first, I hoped walking would lead to a physically healthier me and it did. But as I walked farther and farther each morning, something more was apparent. I became aware that walking had not only become a way to be more physically active, it was a necessity for my state of mind.

In walking, I’ve come to appreciate the natural world I live in. And yes, I live in a City. My expectations for discovering the beauty of the natural world in an urban environment were, I am embarrassed to say, low. I’ve discovered the ignorance of that assumption because within this City there is much to be observed and discovered. Every day, I’ve always found something surprising.

While I enjoy walking with friends, I also enjoy walking in solitude. I appreciate time to think about what is going on around me, to sort out what is or is not really important, and to press PAUSE on the continual pants-on-fire world we have inhabited over the last several years.

Walking in the quiet of trees rustling on a warm summer morning, listening for the crash of the river over the rapids after the rains stop, or the crunching of a snowpack in January - there is a peaceful quality to walking in any season.

It is in those quiet moments that I can find peace. Walking is my meditation.

20 years minus 1 day

Today is September 10, 2021. It is 19 years and 364 days since nearly 3,000 people died in a series of coordinated attacks on the United States.

I reserve tomorrow, the actual 20-year marking of this anniversary, for reflection and remembrance. But today, September 10, 2021, is a sparkling September reminder of the day that overwhelms many of us with sadness.

The photograph above was taken this morning as I walked by the University of Massachusetts Lowell memorial to alumni whose lives were cut short by the events of September 11, 2001. It is a naturally somber and quiet place that overlooks the rapids on the Merrimack River near the Northern Canal. There, engraved in granite, are the names of some UML alumni, some of whom were studying on campus at the same time as I.

On September 10, 2001, those whose names are etched in granite may have been anticipating a trip for leisure or business early the next morning. Maybe they were at the office tying up loose ends, preparing for meetings, or even on their farmland. They would be anticipating the next day and beyond; looking toward the future.

Today I also remember September 11, 2001. It was a beautiful bright September day with a sky so blue it hurt my eyes to look at it. I was excited to be teaching in a second grade classroom again after having been a more itinerant specialist for the previous five years. As a new staff member at my school, I was just getting to know my grade level colleagues.

On this September morning, I was administering a reading assessment to individual students in the hallway while a colleague worked with the rest of my class on reading. Twenty years later, I am still able to bring up the sounds of the nearby classrooms working. The calm and quiet hum of routines were the last I remember before 8:45 am.

When my partner teacher stepped out into the hallway and whispered into my ear what had just occurred, I didn’t believe him. I didn’t believe him 17 minutes later when the second plane hurtled into the South Tower either. But by the end of the school day, it was clear: what seemed outrageous and impossible was indeed fact. We were instructed to keep our emotions under wraps and not share the events with our young students so that their parents could speak to them and comfort them. I don’t remember how we got through the rest of the school day, but I can recall the deep feeling of sadness.

When I retired in 2014, we traveled to New York City on another beautiful September day. We made certain to stop at the 9/11 Memorial which was, at that time, not fully completed. What was striking was the absolute, reverent and profound silence as people milled around the Memorial.

Today, September 10, 2021 marks 19 years and 364 days since those attacks. Tomorrow there will be many events and ceremonies marking this anniversary. I, too, will take a more than a moment to think of what happened on that day, but most of all to think of the 3,000 lives lost on that day, and the many impacted by those losses; the unfulfilled legacies and ordinary lives of extraordinary humans lost forever.

Desktops

A person’s desk top can reveal a lot. Is it compulsively organized, hopelessly chaotic or something in between?

Recently Adrien and I helped my Mom move to one floor of her condo by moving nearly everything she uses to the main floor. And that included moving a desk set that was my Dad’s. Even though my Dad passed away in 2004, my Mom kept his desk upstairs in their condominium where he had worked since they moved from their Amherst home.

The desk itself was, and is, a testament to my Dad’s engineering. The top of the desk had been an unfinished door which Dad sanded, stained and refinished to a semi-gloss. He also added a strip of quarter round to the back of the door to keep things from falling behind. Before moving the desktop, I hadn’t noticed that before, but to me, it explained my Dad in a nutshell: practical AND ingenious. The desk was supported by a bookshelf - which I suspect was also finished by my Dad as the stain matched the desktop - and a 2-drawer file. Once we removed the desktop we noticed a two-inch wide strip of old tape on the top of the file cabinet and the bookcase. Thinking it was a defect we almost removed it until we realized the tape was purposely put there to stop the desktop from sliding. Practical and ingenius.

For the last 17 years (and a bit longer as toward the end of his time on Earth things were difficult for Dad) my Mom has sat at that desk doing bills and paperwork - the normal stuff of keeping a household going financially. Although it has been Mom’s job to keep track of the finances, some of my Dad’s desk items have stayed right there on that desktop.

The blotter on the desk was my Dad’s. So when we removed it from the desktop to carry it to its new home, I was surprised and delighted to find my Dad’s penmanship on a single page of a bank statement. Written in his familiar hand was “I give up”. That made me laugh out loud.

I immediately pictured my Dad sitting at the dining room table - his pre-desk desk space - every Sunday night writing checks to pay bills and balancing his checkpoint. He always chased down every single discrepancy - and I’m guessing there weren’t many as his math skills were stellar. That was a trait that he could not convince his eldest daughter to adopt. I (probably to his horror) just concede those pennies to the bank. Somehow the image of my Dad writing “I give up” on his bank statement after spending what I can imagine was an inordinate amount of time trying to get his balance to match the bank struck me as comical.

On Father’s Day 2021, I am missing my Dad as I always do. But I am treasuring who he was and how he influenced all of us. And I am grateful to have had his practical and ingenius nature in my life.

The Abyss We Live With

This pandemic year has been mentally exhausting. Given the number of reports and news articles about our mental wellness, I know I am not alone with my personal exhaustion. We are seeking finite and concrete assurances that we have escaped from this virus. There are no guarantees; just a reliance on our own collective good behavior.

We are exhausted.

As vaccines help us avoid death, hospitalizations and the more critical parts of COVID, we are being told it is possible to live with fewer health protocols . Those habits that had become a norm for living with a highly contagious, deadly virus are changing as scientists fine-tune transmission data and as those miraculous vaccines get into more arms. We are being trusted to monitor our own risks by becoming fully vaccinated and avoiding obvious situations that might allow the virus to rebound and surge again.

And once again, I - and most likely you, too - are hesitant to trust this situation.

The great scientist and author, Oliver Sacks, when faced with his own mortality, wrote about the very choice we have before us now. We must choose how we will live so that we can begin to resume those activities that give us enjoyment, that feed our souls, and keep us from harming our fellow travelers on this Earth.

“It is up to me now to choose how to live out the months that remain to me.”

— Oliver Sacks

Will we choose to carefully, slowly, and purposefully begin to re-enter our pre-COVID lives? Will we take advantage of offered vaccines? Will we be patient about those things that may not yet be safe?

We have been looking into the abyss, and now it is time to step away from the edge. How we do that, is under our control.

Math Matters

Has this happened to you? Someone you work with brings a cake to the break room for sharing with work colleagues. Little by little, piece by piece, the cake disappears until only one piece is left. Of course, no one wants to be that person, the one who takes the last piece of cake, so that one remaining piece is subdivided over and over until a pathetic small sliver is left. The cake never is fully consumed, there’s always just bit left.

This is an example of what I’ve come to understand is exponential decay.

If you’ve never heard of exponential decay or its counterpart, exponential growth, you are not alone. However, it is these two terms that describe two very important ideas that have been in play throughout our last year dealing with the Coronavirus, and it is the phenomenon that will continue to impact all of us as we move toward regaining our life BC - Before Covid-19.

This morning’s New York Times carried a guest-authored Opinion piece written by University of Maryland, Baltimore County associate profession Dr. Zoe McLaren. Dr. McLaren explains how the concept of exponential growth can be used to explain the steep rise in COVID cases that impacted us a year ago. And she uses the countering concept of exponential decay to explain why - as COVID caseloads decline, things never really quite get to zero. We can continue to expect improvements in infection rates, especially as safety measures relax and vaccinations increase as long as the movement toward “normal” does not lift too many safety precautions too quickly. However, the road to herd immunity and to resuming our life as it was in the before times will probably not be a straight and steady one, and that is to be expected.

Having an understanding of the statistical risks that may be important for a return to normalcy is one way for me, and maybe for you, to comprehend the enormity of our efforts as we return to “normal”. From time to time, it may feel as if progress is stalling when what really is in play is exponential decay.

To read Dr. McLaren’s article, link to The Math That Explains the End of the Pandemic here.

21 January 2021: The Gates Have Opened & Change is in the Air

Yesterday was a giant cathartic and emotional day for me as it must have been for many others. Watching the change of our country’s leadership, a transition that was fraught with previously unimagined chaos, filled my heart with many emotions.

One of the most surprising to me was the release I felt as a woman watching another woman, a woman of Black and South Asian descent, finally, FINALLY become Vice President of the United States.

For a woman who is approaching the eighth decade, it has been a long wait. One of my first adult work experiences was as an Administrative Assistant, a job title that, at the dawn of women attempting to break traditional career barriers in the late 1970s, was meant to be “more than” a secretary. Unfortunately, the title did not translate into much more than office help-mate. I still was required to get coffee, run errands and often referred to as my girl, as in “I’ll have my girl set up that meeting for next week.”

So when Kamala Harris was sworn in as Vice President yesterday, I expected it to mark a big, historic moment. What I did not expect was that after so many years of disappointment that in some very important quarters, women were not equal - and in many important ways still are not treated equally to men - I would be watching Kamala Harris’ swearing in through tears.

The importance the 2021 Presidential Inaugural ceremonies also brought to mind one of my fondest, most vivid and important memories of a nearly 30-year teaching career. After posting this on FaceBook yesterday, I’ve decided to include that memory here.

I'm thinking of the group of third grade students that were in my classroom back in 2008-2009. When President Obama was inaugurated my third graders and I turned on the classroom TV before the swearing in. As the new President took the Oath of Office, without any prompting, the whole class stood - every single one - raised their hands along with President Obama and repeated his part right along with him.

I will never forget how that spontaneity signalled what the first African American President meant to these multicultural and multi-lingusitic 8- and 9-year olds.

If ever there was a teachable moment, that moment when the children became the teacher was one.

There is a relation between the two: for my third grade students, seeing themselves reflected in Barack Obama when he became the 44th President of the United States is analogous to my witnessing Kamala Harris break that glass ceiling to become the 49th Vice President.

I know in my heart that there is much work to be done in order to make this country and our society a better one. The days ahead will be difficult. There will be resistance, but forging ahead is what we must do for our future generations. It is this work that must be undertaken. It is John Lewis’ “good trouble”; it is Lincoln’s listening to our better angels, it is the brilliant Amanda Gorman’s Hill We Climb.

Even if it takes 243 minutes, 243 hours, 243 weeks, or 243 years. The gates have opened and change is in the air.

A Day "After"

I found a Tweet this morning that is really burning in my mind. The Tweet posted originally by @JustinAion is this:

A first year teacher asked me a question today. It shook me deeply.

I will ask you.

In your teaching career, how many times have you had a “day after”?

I admit that even as a retired teacher it shook me too. And so I started to think on that and, if I’m honest, cry a little.

There are days after that are both personal and local: the death of a former student, the death of a family member. There are the days when I’ve had a professional day after. The days after I lost it with a student and needed to apologize and start regaining their trust. There are those days after a local tragedy, like a devastating and life-stealing fire.

And there are the days after a national crisis.

Oh, those day-afters are among the most difficult.

Unfortunately, in my teaching time, there were many of those: the Challenger explosion, Oklahoma City, Columbine, 9-11, Newtowne.

I don’t believe that handling myself and addressing a “day after” was ever something I was comfortable with. And that, thank goodness, is how it should be. “Days after” should be an abnormality. Days after are mind-numbing and faith-stealing.

As a classroom community, it was important to find a safe space, free from judgement, to express questions and fears. That of course, takes time: time to build student/teacher norms and trust. I will always have a deep appreciation for Morning Meetings and was always grateful to have had the support from Administrators who recognized the value of Responsive Classroom.

Answering big questions from young children can be difficult and challenging. It takes courage to answer children’s questions, to calmly counter rumors and misconceptions with objectivity and facts. It also takes courage to admit when you yourself don’t understand what is transpiring or has happened. I have heard and read postings from several parents who, in this period of tele-education, express wonder and gratitude at the calm and gentle way educators are opening discussions and allaying fears about an event that they, too, are questioning.

There will undoubtedly and unfortunately always be “days after” for all of us. There is no remedy for how to get through - just lead with mindfulness and a caring heart.

It is what educators have always done.

Closing a Year-Long Project

Back on September 29, 2019, I had an idea for photographing my view from a window wherever I was physically located each morning when I woke.

At the time, I envisioned our excursions into the world as we knew it then. Short trips to New England towns, a stay a cabin in the woods, a trip overseas. A year of documenting seemed like a fun way to pass a year.

For most of the Fall and early Winter months of 2019, we were both busy with work-related responsibilities, so our trips became a trip to Boothbay at the end of leaf-peeping.

And then, 2020 happened.

Our last trip away from our condo in Lowell, MA turned out to be an overnight to a concert held at the Museum of Fine Arts at the beginning of March. We took the train into the City, had a wonderful time going to the Museum, stayed at the edge of the South End and returned the next day. It was the in-between time when the virus was just getting started in this country - or so we have been lead to believe.

We haven’t had a leisure trip since.

The visions of travel and waking up in different locations in the world - the way I envisioned this little project - is not the reality of 2020. Certainly we don’t feel as if a trip is in our immediate or long-range future. It is entirely possible that our return to a sense of normalcy will be altered in ways I cannot begin to imagine when we finally feel as if travel outside of our bubble is safe.

This all seems very strange.

I did keep on with my project though, even with the change in scope. As I cull through the 365 photos I did take every morning, mostly through the two giant banks of windows in our renovated mill building, the photographs will document changes over time throughout the seasons of 2019-2020. I believe the subtle changes and uniqueness of this year of years will be evident even though the vantage point does not change.

For now, however, I offer two photos: one at the project start (September 29, 2019) and one at the end (September 29, 2020).

Back-to-School? You Go First.

To me, reopening schools and deciding on the best course of action to do so is a matter of trust.

I’ve been out of my classrooms for 5 years now and my granddaughter is not old enough that her parents need to make a decision about this Fall over the next weeks. So I admittedly do not have any skin in this fight, but I do know limburger cheese when I smell it. And the insistence by some in leadership positions that school buildings reopen for the Fall academic year is pretty ripe.

The New York Times editorial staff posted a piece today (“Reopening Schools Will Be a Huge Undertaking”) outlining many reasons why children need to be back in schools: socialization, food insecurity, social emotional health, and academics. I don’t think there is an educator that I know who would disagree that the overnight switch from face-to-face learning to distance learning has been “less than”. The sudden shutdown of school buildings and the resulting switch to distance learning will have impact on students - and educators - for many years.

The plans for returning to school buildings in the Fall that I have been reading and the advisories coming from the Department of Elementary and Secondary Education (DESE) appear to me to be just trying to accommodate a face-to-face return to school buildings happen without any significant guarantees of funding. We’ve all experienced the impact that those advisories can have. Theoretical plans and mandates coming from state and federal Departments of Education often come without any consideration of the realities in terms of costs.

Here’s an example from our very own Massachusetts Department of Elementary and Secondary Education (DESE). In the past weeks, DESE published guidance on classroom configuration which has been thoroughly analyzed by Blogger and Worcester School Committee Member Tracy Novick. I have to ask this: Was this entire document some undergraduate education major’s project? There are so many things wrong with this DESE “guidance”: 3 feet distance chair to chair in place of CDC recommended 6 feet; teacher in the front, removing all other classroom furniture but the student and teacher desks and chairs.

Loading 24 to 30+ students into building spaces where air quality has been an issue will also make safely reopening school buildings difficult if not impossible. For many school districts, including Lowell, carving out the suggested additional space needed to accommodate social distancing and student/faculty safety will be a very big factor. Where will the space be found and how will it be paid for? Nearly every nook and cranny in Lowell’s school buildings (K-8) is being used as learning space already. There is no more space available to socially-distance the nearly 15,000 students in Lowell Public Schools, no new school buildings, and even if there were, there is no money to pay for more space.

While the Times editorial suggests decision-makers think “outside the box” and consider instructional spaces created under tents in outdoor settings, that idea will only go so far if the virus lingers through the colder, winter months, as one might expect it will. However, more importantly, funding necessary for all of these out-of-the-box ideas will still need to materialize and the very same Federal government insisting that schools reopen buildings in the Fall is seemingly unwilling to back that up. At this writing, the Heroes Act, an act that might just provide some desperately needed monetary help is languishing in the US Senate.

Schools in Massachusetts have long been underfunded, and that is particularly true in the Gateway cities like Lowell. At the time the Student Opportunity Act was signed and passed last November, Lowell Public Schools was operating with $50 Million less as the Commonwealth has not kept the promise of funding public schools for more than 25 years. Schools systems like Lowell have cut and cut and cut until there really is no more to cut. If the Commonwealth cannot adequately fund schools under “normal” circumstances, what makes anyone trust that the extraordinary measures needed to keep students and faculty safe for a building reopening in Fall 2020 will end well?

From where I observe, this really does all boil down to trust, which has historically been tested and unearned. Locally, educators and parents see plans being made that put student and staff lives in danger. State and federal leaders are insisting that school buildings reopen as usual and yet there appears to be an unwillingness to dedicate adequate and appropriate funding and resources to do so safely. And that feels a lot like business as usual in the field of education.

In other words:

Many teachers, and parents, are wary of reopening schools. They fear policymakers will cut corners and safety measures will prove inadequate. These fears have been reinforced by the president and by Vice President Mike Pence, both of whom have publicly encouraged corner-cutting. Such a strategy is willfully shortsighted. It might succeed in reopening schools for a time, but it is not likely to allow schools to remain open.

As my grandfather used to tell me, “you reap what you sow.” That certainly seems applicable now - because of the history of underfunding schools and the history of unfunded mandates, parents and educators do not trust that buildings can reopen safely. They are pushing back on this idea and rightly so. Corner cutting will yield deadly results.

Let's Get Real About Affordable Higher Education

Fifty years ago, in September 1970, I matriculated to Plymouth State College, now Plymouth State University, and began studying to become a teacher. I don’t recall the particulars now, but I do recall that some time later I added up all the tuition, fees, and room and board costs of my four years at Plymouth which was approximately a rip-roaring $10,000. Included in those fees were things like performance and music lessons (I was a piano “major” in a Music Education track) and course overload fees.

For the 2019-2020 academic year, an in-state undergraduate year of study at Plymouth State costs $25,790 - $11,870 in tuition, $2,570 in fees, and estimated $11,350, depending upon housing and dining choices, in room and board. The tutition portion of my first year at Plymouth was $600 each semester. I understand inflation has occurred over the 50 years, but I am truly gobsmacked by the 989 percent increase students and their families pay for an equivalent year of education. And, to be clear, Plymouth is not being singled out here except that it is a comparison I feel I can make because of my experience. Take a look at your own institute of higher education; I’m willing to bet there have been similar increases.

We hear a lot about diversifying the teaching force in our public schools, and rightly so. It is my strong belief that, on top of education being one of the most maligned career choices today, students experiencing the effect of an over-$100,000 investment in undergraduate school as an education major, see loans and repayment of same as a showstopper on a public educator’s salary. The financial pile-on continues when one considers costs of required licensure and testing (MTEL), as well as the requirement for a graduate degree in education by the fifth year of employment.

Here’s what I think. In order to increase the diversification of teaching and education force, there needs to be a real effort to make higher education affordable. In order to make a career in education a choice for BIPOC and language-diverse candidates, I believe the credentials - the degree, the license, the post-graduate requirements - have to be attainable financially without causing a lifetime of choking debt.

Once this country gets serious about creating an affordable pathway through higher education, a career in education will become a viable option, and the efforts to foster a teaching population reflective of the diversity in our society will begin in earnest.

Footing the Bill for Reopening Schools

Once, long ago, I had a student in my third grade classroom with severe allergies triggered by contact. The reaction to coming in contact with an allergen or with someone who had touched the allergen was severe and could result in anaphylaxis. All of the staff members who worked with this student were trained to spot triggers and how to administer an epi pen.

As is usual in such a circumstance, the student had a 504 plan. One of the protections for the student was that I, as teacher, would ensure all students cleaned their hands upon returning to our classroom - which was kept as a safe place - so as not to inadvertently bring the allergen into the classroom space. For this purpose, the 504 plan specified using hand sanitizers as students re-entered the classroom space.

These were the requirements for enabling this student to be educated, and I was responsible for implementing these safety accommodations. That is, of course, is a civil right and is outlined in the 504 guidelines which you can read here. What was not part of the plan was the provision of the hand sanitizer, which, as you might imagine with multiple cleanings and 25 students, was depleted every week.

The catch was that, as the District did not supply the hand sanitizer, I became personally responsible for purchasing it in order to ensure the 504’s provisions were being implemented properly. So what does this little anecdote from the past have to do with planning for re-opening schools in the Fall?

I’d say a lot.

School districts have not had adequate funds to operate for years. Unless something prevents them for doing so, the current Legislature will use this year’s predicted revenue shortfalls to delay increased funding of the Student Opportunity Act which was a step in correcting those shortfalls. And now we hear local predictions that state funding will be even less than the previous year.

And yet, in order to re-open schools, health experts are stipulating that schools reopen in the fall with requirements such as additional sanitizing procedures in place (more personnel, more equipment, more supplies), fewer students in already over-crowded spaces (more personnel? split schedules? more costs), hot water for hand washing (higher expenses), more soap, more bus transportation, and temperature monitoring, There will need to be modifications to just about every aspect of a school’s logistics including school facilities that have long needed attention when budgets became impossible.

And just who will supply the personnel, equipment, and supplies to keep students - and staff - safe in the classrooms? If you look at past practice as described previously, you can see the writing on the wall.

I don’t believe anyone who is advocating that schools re-open sooner rather than later has a clue about the impact of preparing for school reopenings. Just considering the funding aspect of implementing safe reopening protocols, if we cannot keep everyone safe in a building, if government entities are unwilling to pony-up the funds to ensure everyone’s safety, brick-and-mortar buildings should not reopen. That’s my opinion, plain and simple.

Not reopening our schools will have enormous impact on our students. I don’t know any educators who think remote or distant learning is the best environment for learning.  My fear though is that, like my experience in providing for the intervention mandated by that 504, quite a lot of the needed supplies for new cleaning protocols will come from an educator’s personal funds.

Unless school funding matches the need to keep everyone - students and staff - safe, there should be no brick-and-mortar reopening of schools. There may be no other choice than to continue the less-than-optimal environment of remote/distance learning.

My Grief Cycle for A Not Normal Time

None of us - NONE OF US - is living normally right now, are we? No surprise here, but stress levels in this household are incredibly high as I/we have recently come to the conclusions that our old normal is no more.

While I am not alone in high levels of anxiety, and while I do think we need to take a zen moment to collect ourselves and practice thoughtful decision-making, I understand that is not easy. I am guilty myself of being over anxious and fretful, and full of emotions these days.

For myself, I am trying to understand where my mind is here and to make some sense of what I am feeling. As I have in the past when faced with emotional challenging times, I think of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler. It gives me some comfort to recognize that states of grief also apply to my own feelings of loss right now.

The denial stage was of course easy to recognize. In January not many outside of the field of infectious disease could wrap their mind around what was happening, first in China and then like wildfire throughout the world. How could this be happening? Our scientists will surely solve this. The federal government continued to insist this was all a giant hoax until, with thousands infected just here in the US, COVID-19 itself can no longer be denied..

I am angry. I am angry at lack of anything resembling leadership from the federal government, and at a governor who seems to be stuck in presenting the optics of being “in charge” without actually making an unpopular decision. Gov. Baker’s response to closing public schools happened AFTER all districts had already decided to close for some time period. How is that leadership? And yes, that makes me angry.

In place of the federal officials claiming COVID-19 is a political hoax, what if our dear leader had offered some measure of leadership by accepting help and assistance from other countries or private labs to develop a test for potential carriers? And what if those tests were widely available instead of being rationed to the most ill? What if instead of a delayed response to controlling the virus’ spread, extraordinary measure had been put in place to increase its containment? Would things be different today? I believe they would and I am angry.

I feel drawn to bargaining, but bargaining simply causes one to absorb guilt for something we have no control over. COVID-19 is not my fault, yet there is a boatload of guilt placed on us. If only I had been more diligent in isolating myself from family members. If only I had not gone for a walk. If only I had been more diligent in hand washing. Because “if only” is irrational, we turn to bargaining. Spare my family member, take me.

Which brings me to depression. Yes, I feel depressed and this is where my feelings live most of the time now. I feel an intense sadness for things that are lost: jobs, human contact., security. We sat at dinner tonight talking about how our retirement looks nothing like we had envisioned. We are insecure about what lies ahead and that is frightening financially and health-wise.

The final stage of the Kubler-Ross cycle of course is acceptance. We hope to be able to accept this new normal knowing that, for now, we cannot. For myself, I hope acceptance will bring peace of mind and, although the ways we had once practiced may be severely altered or even missing, new ones will start to take shape. In acceptance, I know my mind will be more open to change and in so doing new norms begin to take place.

I do not know what lies ahead for me, for us, for my family and friends. I do feel deeply that things have and will continue to change. That change will be difficult for this creature of habit, and I will mourn what has been, but I will also eventually learn to accept the new normal. And that is something that comforts me.

Changing Gears

We are learning to live in a new reality. As our normal daily schedules continue to be impacted by new ways to mitigate this current health threat, several things come to my mind.

We have always washed hands after touching anything from outside. My Dad worked in an agricultural business; I learned early about salmonella and wash my hands after handling raw eggshells.

Handwashing is a way of life for us - always has been. Now we are hypervigilant; we have hand sanitizer in our cars, we keep a container of Chlorox wipes on our kitchen counter, we wipe down door handles, light switches, locks, faucets, remotes, phones… anything and everything. Like most everyone I know, our hands are scrubbed raw.

We have taken the advice of healthcare professionals by keeping our distance, we have a plan for what happens if one of us is ill. We worry not only about picking up a viral infection oursleves, but about unwittingly spreading it to friends or family, especially those who are vulnerable to the ravages of this pandemic. We simply don’t have reliable facts. Our government is not very forthcoming or truthful in this regard, nor does the federal government seem very knowledgeable. I have an unprecedented distrust of the information coming from it.

There is an old John Wesley quote that applies now. It gives me some measure of comfort, because it is all I have to offer:

Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.

As we move through the next days and weeks, and perhaps months, this is the truth that guides me. Stay healthy my friends.

First Days

Do you remember your first day of school?

I recently came across some photographs my mother took on our first day of school in Huron, Ohio. In one, a line-up of neighborhood children are waiting for the bus. Bus Zero – Bunky’s bus. How I can even recall those details so many years later is a testament to the pleasant memories I had growing up in a small town in northwestern Ohio.

In another photograph, the first day of third grade for me, I am sitting on a rock boarder near our garage. From that image came a flood of memories – the smell of stiff new leather shoes, a new metal lunchbox stylishly tartan plaid, hair pulled back into a tight pony tail, and of course the smell of air on a morning in September when summer fades toward fall. 

Those warm and wonderful memories are juxtaposed with the reports from Mississippi detailing the aftermath of ICE raids on the first day of school. The children of workers rounded up by ICE went off to their first day of school with all of the anticipation that encapsulates a first day of school, but those young children returned home from their first day of school was not the stuff from which warm memories are created. It was nightmarish and cruel. 

Those children arrived home to uncertainty and fear. Not knowing what has happened to your parent and the uncertainty of where you will stay or who will take care of you is a cruel brand of separation anxiety that is likely to scar these children for years. Acting DHS Secretary McAleenan may claim that the 680 workers were given an opportunity to use cellphones, make arrangements, released, whatever, but the reality is that did not always happen. Many questions linger including whether the cooperation – and timing of the raids – from the processing plants’ managers was retaliation for harassment charges.

In my opinion, if our immigration and naturalization policies and laws need to address new realities, have that discussion and revise accordingly. Instilling a sense of insecurity, anxiety, and fear because it is expedient to enact a round-up of immigrant parents is cruel, and without a doubt will result in irreparable harm to the children whose first day of school in Mississippi featured chaos and anxiety.

Massive round-ups of and raids on immigrant workers, many of whom seem to have been knowingly employed under suspicious circumstances, does not make this country “safer”. It makes our country heartless and without empathy and the collateral damage can be found in the fears of children.

We Have Become Insane

This was a story featured in the online edition of the New York Times this morning. And it has really driven home for me how insane and "normalized" mass shootings have become, as if that wasn't totally obvious already.

Apparently, along with this week's advice for potty-training a child, we now need expert advice in helping kiddos to cope with our own - and the child's - fears after a mass shooting. Our country has experienced so many of these gut-wrenching mass shootings that advice is needed?

Allow me to rant a bit here. There are actual solutions to the number of violent terroristic acts involving mass shootings. Licensing and strict registration of guns for example. Or amunition. Yet legislation always seems to be dead on arrival in the hallowed halls of the US Congress. So what happens? Experts offer advice about everything except to address the elephant in the room.

As an educator, I was trained to respond to an active shooting situation during our yearly active shooting drills. Specifically, that meant instructing my 8-, 9-, and 10-year old students how to defend themselves should a shooter enter our school building and/or classroom. We planned to stack classroom furniture in front of our door, throw whatever was handy (like a stapler), hide silently against wall so as to not be visible to anyone looking from the hallway into our classroom interior, and/or run like hell to a "meeting place." My paraprofessional and I scoped out a closet that I and a mobility-disabled student could attempt to hide in since a sprint out of the building was not possible. We removed the closet bar and brainstormed ways to make that closet a viable hiding place.

So I ask: Have we become insane? The solution to mass shootings is to stop them. This week over 30 families have a huge hole in their hearts where a loved one once lived. Many other families are coping with serious injury that will take weeks to physically heal and a lifetime of therapy to cope and recover, if that is even possible. 

Are we to believe that the solution to mass shootings is to learn to live with that fear?

You say potato: Losing track of low income/economically disadvantaged students

WBUR's Max Larkin's piece on the way Massachusetts has changed counting children living in poverty, How Massachusetts Lost Count of Its Poor Students, was published yesterday. While Massachusetts educators are paying attention, this is a topic that deserves much broader discussion as the unintended consequences are substantial.

In 2015, the Commonwealth began recalculating the number of students living in poverty based upon a new metric which included enrollment in programs like SNAP. Using this new way of counting and classifying the needs of students meant the use a new label, "economically disadvantaged", replacing the term "low income". However, more than a change in labeling data collection resulted. 

In Lowell prior to the new measures, the average (and I stress the use of the word AVERAGE) poverty rate district-wide was in the 75.1% (2013-14 DESE Select Population data). In the particular school in which I taught, that rate was closer to 85% (84.9%). Using the new means of measurement, in 2014-15, Lowell's District calculation of students in poverty, now referenced as "economically disadvantaged" was reduced to 49%. So according to the new measure, over the summer break about one-third of Lowell Public School's students disappeared from the count of children who lived in poverty.

Why does this matter? When we look at student growth and achievement, there are factors within the school and classroom over which educators have control but there are also factors which influence student growth over which educators have little to no control. One of those factors is the impact of living in poverty. This is a huge reason school districts make every attempt to provide students who are low income or economically disadvantaged with additional services. Such services range from wrap-around services for health and housing security to additional educational opportunities like books for home enjoyment and field trips.

As an educator, it did not make sense to me that over the summer break one-third of our students were suddenly no longer in need of such extra supports. Certainly no one could imagine that over the summer months about a third of Lowell's students for whom poverty was a factor had suddenly become financially stable.

Poverty levels are often a consideration for needs-based grants. Here's an example: In Lowell, the United Teachers of Lowell applied for participation in the FirstBook Books on Wheelsfree book distribution program in 2015. To qualify, the District needs-based percentage had to be 70%. Under the new calculation using CEP, Lowell's 49.1% economically disadvantaged calculation would have disqualified our students and their families from the benefits this wonderful program: books to add to a home library. Luckily our Title I office had actual data which did allow us to qualify for the program.

Which makes me wonder: what other needs-based programs are our children living in poverty missing because a district or school no longer qualifies based upon economically disadvantaged data collected by Massachusetts Department of Elementary and Secondary Education? Are our children who are living in poverty missing the additional services needed to help them be as successful as their more affluent peers based upon a falsely "improved" low income number?

When the Commonwealth falsely represents students living in poverty based on a flawed new metric, the consequences have a significant and real impact on our most vulnerable students.

A Year of Change

2018 was a year of changes for me - and for us.

This year our first grandchild was born in August. As one might expect from a new Nana, she is, to quote Kevin Henkes, absolutely perfect*. And I say that without prejudice.

Along with new grandparenthood is the realization that child-rearing has changed, considerably, in the past 39 years. Learning new ways of doing things can be disconcerting because my Mom muscle memory has proven to be a bit unreliable. And that is okay.

Which actually brings me to this blog and some changes in my (former) professional life. I have been retired for active teaching for nearly four years. Over the last few weeks, my decision to not renew my treasured teaching license - which I have held since 1974 - has been made. While I am a little hesitant about doing this, I know my time as an active educator is gone and that in my new phase of life, I will not be in a classroom.

Classrooms are different in many ways now. Although I am often sorry to hear that education has morphed to be what

That's Not The Way This Works

Watching last evening's school committee marathon and you come away with a sense of just how much educating is going to be needed in order to ensure that the Promise Act is successful this Spring.

Some will not have heard of this act. So in a nutshell, it is the (retooling) of efforts made during the last Legislative sessions to update (some) of the Foundation Budget computations. Some of those calculations, by the way, are 25+ years old.

New ventures: A podcast is born

Six months ago, my podcast partner Mickie Dumont and I started a new project for our local union, United Teachers of Lowell 495: we started a podcast that we hoped would be a short listen about some local and state issues that affected members.

We also wanted to highlight some of the great things educators in Lowell do. As an active teacher, I knew about many of the great ideas implemented by teachers in my own building, but it was really rare to hear about what colleagues in other schools were up to. So armed with a digital microphone and open-source audio editing software, we started the weekly podcast "Straight Talk".

Along with issue-based recordings, we've met some terrific people of course. One of our recent podcast recordings was with AFT-MA Director of Organization, Brian LaPierre.

One of the most talented and passionate advocates for public education, Brian is a member of the Lynn Teachers Union. He formerly taught at the Thurgood Marshall Middle School and at Lynn English High School. Tireless, enthusiastic, and resolute, Brian’s energy, enthusiasm and support for public education makes him a force to be reckoned with. As a political organizer, and now as AFT-MA’s Director of Organization, Brian was our go-to for the 2015 First Book Books on Wheels event here in Lowell, he was on the frontlines of the No on Two Campaign, and he's already deeply involved in pushing for Chapter 70 Foundation funding through the Fund our Future Campaign.

Brian has twice been elected city councilor-at-large in Lynn, MA. In both 2015 and 2017, Brian topped the ticket in Lynn.

It is the passion and energy of people like Brian who will help shift the punitive test-and-privatize culture of public education today to what some of us remember.