If it’s not clear from my previous posts, I am a teacher. I’ve been in education for nearly twenty years now, and though pedagogically I become a better educator with each added year, the teaching experience is more difficult than ever before. Sure, there’s lots of curriculum to teach, new legislation is passed each year that directly impacts the students in my classroom, as well as culture war fallout, such as book bans and some of those in society believing teachers are indoctrinating the youth with whatever fill-in-the-blank issue is being talked about in conservative media. (And can I just say, for real, teachers do not have time in the day to pee; we barely have time to wolf-down a meal before running to our classroom to teach for three and a half more hours. No way is there time for teachers to plan and carry out a “liberal agenda” style brainwashing. Also, if there was a plan to indoctrinate young minds in a public school classroom, the goal would be to have the students prepared with a pencil, use electronic devices appropriately, and wear deodorant.)
All of what I have mentioned in the previous paragraph is difficult to deal with, but we manage. For me, I’ve noticed an increase in anxiety and emotional dis-regulation. It’s to the point in my career that I put a lot of daily effort into making my classroom feel serene, and a place where mistakes can happen, because we all know, learning does not happen unless we feel safe enough to make mistakes.
And that’s the point of this post: feeling safe. I can create a reset station, facilitate restorative practices, teach social skills, as well as personalize assignments to meet each students cognitive needs and physical abilities, but what I can’t do is make them ACTUALLY SAFE. I can only give them the feeling of it.
Years ago I taught first grade. A moment I will never forget in my teaching career happened after all the students had gone home for the day. I was preparing materials and lessons for the next week when the evening custodian asked me how I was doing since I’d heard the news. I had no clue what he was talking about. I had been working for hours and hadn’t checked any news sites, or read any non-work emails all day. He told me about the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary, and that teachers and students were dead.
I was shocked. Someone went into a school with young children…babies…and that’s what they were…each one of them was someone’s baby…and now they were dead. All these years later, I still remember what I felt that day; that paradigm shift, that now it wasn’t just high school students in danger, it was also the little ones.
I few years ago I was teaching second grade. We planned an end-of-the-year field trip, to walk to a nearby park. We lined up chaperones, bought popsicles to hand out, and ordered sack lunches from the school so the students could eat their lunches at the park. We sent reminders the afternoon before, for students to bring a water bottle, wear sunscreen and a hat. That evening I got home and read about Uvalde.
I was…not shocked. I was angry. I was horrified. I was outraged. WHY is this STILL happening? Why are WE, THE PEOPLE, still letting this happen to our children?!
The morning of the field trip. I greeted each student at my outside door with a smile, while my eyes constantly swept the area for anything that looked off or dangerous. Leaving the school, out in the open, with all twenty-seven of my second-graders following behind me like a long line of ducklings, felt perilous. All four classes of students, teachers, and chaperones made it to the park safely. The kids enjoyed their day. The adults were pensive and spoke quietly to each other, out of the hearing of young ears. I will never forget that feeling of exposed helplessness.
This week four people died in a shooting at Apalachie High School in Georgia. Two teachers and two fourteen year olds are dead, all of whom have families and friends whose lives are forever changed.
What will it take for voters and legislators to acknowledge gun reform needs to happen, has needed to happen for years? Thoughts and prayers are less than useless. They are the roll of paper towels tossed at hurricane survivors. Legislation needs to be written, debated, voted on and passed into law.
Tomorrow morning I will go into work, prepare my classroom to be the calm learning space it needs to be. When the bell rings I will greet my students at the door with a smile, take attendance, and lunch count, and then I will inform all twenty-five of my students that we will practice a scheduled Lock-Down Drill. I will show them all the spaces I have made in my classroom that will “hide” them when we go into lockdown. I will tell them that during the drill they need to be absolutely silent, as we are practicing as if it may really happen. I will tell them this while using a translating app, so that all my students will understand. And I’ll see on each and every face, the moment they understand and begin to spiral. I will do my best to reassure them that it is, only a practice.
I have done enough of these drills to know that when the drill is over the students will need to burn off all the adrenaline gathered in their system. I know the likelihood of learning and retaining anything I teach tomorrow will be extremely low, unless I overcompensate for the sheer madness of this reality.
Rather than hope for the day, when this is no longer a the reality of education, I will vote for the day this madness ends.
There’s your indoctrination.