525,600 Minutes

A lot can happen in a year. While it’s hard to say no one saw this coming, a spot at the head of the line for a vaccine wasn’t on my holiday wish list in 2019.

525,600 minutes.

December 2019:

Sure, I read the paper and I heard whispers of a new virus. But it seemed far away, “somewhere else.” I wasn’t worried. We’d done this before: SARS, avian flu, Ebola, H1N1. Deadly, tragic, yes, but always “somewhere else.” Even as China scrambled to construct two new hospitals in two weeks, I was pretty confident in my American arrogance that whatever this virus was, it wasn’t coming to a town near me any time soon.

Well, three months later, the virus was here–and likely had been here for some time. The second week of March — a week that gave us a full moon on Friday the 13th–and Covid was our new reality. Broadway: dark. Sports: Canceled. Restaurants: take out or delivery. Store shelves: empty. Schools: remote. Outside hospital emergency rooms in NYC, ambulances lined up at ER entrances like planes waiting to taxi at JKK. At seven each evening, a sequestered populace emerged on fire escapes, balconies and sidewalks banging on pots and pans in honor of front line medical professionals.

Experts who know so much more about these things than I ever will were telling us about social distancing, masks, flattening the curve of infection. We were learning about intubation, PPE, nasal swabs, essential workers.

Pretty soon, people we knew and loved were sick and some were dying. Yet our president announced Covid was a Democratic hoax, a political ploy created to rob him of a second term. Out of fear of offending the stock market, he perpetuated the fairy tale he knew was untrue: that like a miracle, it [Covid] would just disappear. He promoted false cures and further divided an already self-alienated populace and politicized face coverings. He lost interest in Covid after November 3rd, preferring instead to rant and whine about false claims of voter fraud. Meanwhile, the virus was running roughshod from sea to shining sea.

525,600 minutes.

December 2020:

Millions infected world wide. A mutant strain in South Africa and another in England. More than 320,000 Americans dead. Hospitals in El Paso and Iowa overwhelmed. Lines for food in So-Cal stretching for miles. Giant freezers for the dead in Brooklyn. Front line medical professionals nation wide still reporting shortages of everything from protective gear to ICU beds. Casualties in our black and brown communities have exposed inequities that we had been previously a little too willing, too able to hide. The only good news has been the arrival Pfizer and Moderna vaccines which we hope will help us begin to ease the pain of this crisis. An even in this bright spot, we see people whose distrust of science and government will prevent them from sitting for the shot.

Which brings us to the kids. We have all heard that kids are resilient and I believe this is true. But kids who have lost a parent to the virus, kids who have lost a year of instruction, kids who go to bed hungry will fall farther and farther behind their peers. There are legions of kids without the hardware required, without reliable access to the internet required for remote learning. There are parents who are struggling to keep food on the table. What about our special needs kids whose basic needs aren’t being met? How are we going to prevent the learning gap from widening?

When the crisis passes–and with the vaccine, we can see the distant light at the end of this dangerous tunnel–how will we address the needs of these kids to help them bounce back? How do we sustain the promise of the future for the kids we are leaving behind?

I don’t have the answers to these questions, but I know we must find solutions.

The next 525,600 minutes will be crucial.

A Million Little Things

A million little things: The number of unpredictable events a teacher must deal with on any given day.

Anyone who has ever been in a classroom—Pre-K through college—can do this math; yes, that includes an English teacher who famously avoids solving for x.

I can see some of you are not convinced. “Fake news,” you say.

Humor me.   Please.

Before unloading his backpack, Joey announces his hamster, Boo-Boo, died last night.  

Still wearing his jacket, Jeffery remembers he left all his homework at his dad’s house where he spent the weekend. His dad’s house is two hours north.

At 8:05, Debbie bursts into tears because someone posted a picture of her boyfriend with Susie.

At 8:30, Sandy experiences a nosebleed leaving her desk looking like a crime scene.

By nine, all of David’s writing implements have mysteriously vanished.

9:10: the wire on Joe’s braces breaks and he needs orthodontic wax. David is still searching for something to write with.

It’s now 9:20 and Janey returns from the restroom adjacent to your classroom with the news that there has been a plumbing disaster and water and other ‘stuff’ are seeping into the corridor, rapidly approaching your door.

At ten am, a kindergartener realizes he misses mom.  Then, the quiet kid in the back of the room silently vomits at his desk. Half the class is now crying in sympathy. The remainder of the kids are at your side offering helpful solutions.

Third period: Andy’s trusty pen explodes and instantly, he is covered in blue ink.

Recess: Patty sniffs in tears because her besties are no longer her besties and have joined Sarah’s posse.

Every one a true story. The list goes on…and on…and on…

By the end of a good school day, teachers have flexed superhero muscles a million times in a million different ways. OK, so maybe I am prone to hyperbole—a literature teacher’s occupational hazard.  But maybe it’s not a million; it might even be more than a million.  Educators all know that  in addition to content area instruction, teachers are stomping out little fires everywhere. Constantly.

“OK, maybe not fake news, but what’s your point?”

The point is that classrooms are not laboratories where variables are controlled. Kids are not test subjects. The laws of physics don’t apply in a middle school. Stuff happens. All. The. Time. Every. Single. Day. And teachers just deal. They get to their lessons and kids learn to factor, to write argumentative essays, to read primary source documents, to play the violin, to master English as a new language. Teachers model kindness and empathy and remain calm in the face of classroom calamities.

No matter how easy it may appear to someone on the outside, teaching is the equivalent of juggling swords, swallowing fire and explaining what it means “to be or not to be” all at the same time.

Now, toss Corona virus into this brew of unstable elements that skilled teachers mix up 180 days a year and there is potential for a theoretical big bang.  Especially when the powers that be—ahem, no names Betsy DeVos and President Trump—have no idea of what it takes to teach and have made it clear they won’t be shackled by science.  

Covid has shown us that we can control only so much. We can do all the right things–mask up, wash up and keep to ourselves– and we can still get this damned bug. The inverse is also true: we can take chances and tempt fate and stay healthy. It is well and good to require masks and to erect physical barriers, to demand social distancing. Under ideal conditions, these precautions might work. But as any teacher will tell you, there are no ideal conditions in any classroom. It’s school.

In the time of Covid, how does a kindergarten teacher comfort a homesick child or a kid who has a meltdown over a dead pet? What about the students who forget their masks or who lose their masks or whose masks break? What about the biohazards that appear out of nowhere?

Teachers have a right to resent political posturing issued by people who know nothing about the realities of daily classroom living.

A million little things and one very big thing.

Thank a teacher today. For a million and one little things they are trying to do.

Reopening Schools: Who Do You Trust?

Trust. Abstract. Hard to define. But you know it when you feel it and you surely know  when it’s lacking. Like you trust your mom, but the spokesman hawking the amazing night vision glasses on TV?  Yeah, him, not so much.

 

A few of the people working to reopen classrooms might be like your mom; however, more of them present like grinning infomercial talking heads.  The stakes are high: mom would remind you there’s nothing more important than your health. But the fashionable, $19.99 night vision glasses are scientifically approved, and if you act now–right now— you get an additional pair–for free, shipping and handling extra. Hurry, though, supplies are limited.

 

So, who do you trust?

This country has failed to control the corona virus. That is a statistical fact. In pockets from sea to shining sea, Covid’s wrath is marching on.  It’s harder and harder to dismiss the virus that has claimed 160,000 American lives, especially when one of those lives might be your neighbor, your friend, your brother, your mother.

 

White House response has been loud and glib. Act now. Liberate the economy.  And how has that been working out?  Supplies are limited.  “It’s going to disappear, ” the president said, “One day, it’s like a miracle–it will disappear.” But wait, there’s more.  Scientifically tested and approved? Oh, that. Sure. Here are a couple of “doctors” describing the hazards of demon sex and face masks. 

We all know what Mom would say.

 

Which brings us to the plans to get kids–and teachers– back into classrooms.

No one denies that kids need the structure of school, that they will benefit from daily instruction delivered by the pros. This is a no-brainer. But managing this safely for all concerned demands more than superficial come-ons.

There is a pandemic that, so far, has not disappeared miraculously. Objectively, we have to admit that the corona virus is currently worsening. Hospitals across the so-called Sunbelt have been overwhelmed. States have scaled back plans for gatherings requiring indoor spaces and imposed travel restrictions on one another. There isn’t a lot that this administration has done to address the crisis that inspires trust. Reopening schools will require honesty, hard work, funding, intelligent design and–yup–science. None of these have been hallmarks of the Trump presidency.

Then there’s Betsy DeVos.  Admittedly, no friend of public schools, here she is Secretary   of Education, making possibly the most far reaching decision about schools nationwide. In July, she and the president insisted that all schools reopen fully: five days a week, full time instruction. Liberate the schools.  They discredit the CDC guidelines as “too tough, too expensive.”  They discount science. Despite the fact that kids are dying and are suffering from a life threatening, Covid-related syndrome, they dangle the dangerous misconception that kids can neither contract nor spread Covid. DeVos inaccurately asserted that children are actually  virus “stoppers.”

Hmmm… Mom?

It’s no wonder that families and staff are gun shy about the whole back to school thing. School personnel have died from the virus contracted in their buildings. Children have, too, and they can unwittingly shed virus at home, potentially infecting vulnerable family members. Questions about social distancing, face masks, quarantines have gone unanswered.

It comes down to trust. So far, this administration hasn’t given us much to go on. The rhetoric, the chaotic response to this crisis, the outright dishonesty haven’t inspired confidence. This isn’t an infomercial; lives at stake.  When the powers that be sound more like the voice hawking scientifically approved night vision glasses than like your mom, the choice is pretty clear.

 

 

 

 

Hey, America, Feelin’ Lucky?

  August 1st is the date that my colleagues and I expect “the dreams:” annual nightmares centered on unanticipated observations or classroom tools that morph into neon pool noodles.  Late summer days are getting shorter and engaging ads for backpacks, spiral notebooks and new kicks peal with school bells ringing.   That was then.

 This is now:  Covid-19 occupies us day and night, dominating pre-September angst. 2020  teacher nightmares reflect this new reality: unanticipated PPE failure and hand sanitizer dispensers that morph into pool noodles. For some, strict adherence to new rules will be a matter of life and death. Funding is short and specific plans are shorter still. The prospect of a new school year is fraught with new dangers.

Three years removed from “Labor Day Tuesday,” and I am relieved to be retired, but terrified for my grandchildren and fellow teachers. 

Right now, it feels as if that the safety of my beloved family and friends has been left to luck. They are being offered up as COVID bait in a dangerous gamble overseen by a nasty pit boss whose primary motive is for the house to win at all costs. 

                                                                                       Feelin’ lucky?

 

 

Confirmed cases are now on the rise in 40 of the 50 states.  Florida saw a record number of new Covid infections in 24 hours. Doctors reporting from Houston describe hospitals reaching the tipping point. In virus hot spots, lines for tests stretch for miles and people wait a week or more for results.   

                                                                                Still feelin’ lucky?

 

 Yet, the president dismisses science and mocks one of the nation’s most respected infectious disease specialists.  The president demanded–on Twitter, of course– that the CDC lower the standards for school safety because what was asked was “very tough and very expensive.”   Guess he is feelin’ lucky, huh?

The Secretary of Education, Betsy DeVos, insists that kids return to classrooms, but offers   no firm plans because she said, “You can’t plan for something that hasn’t happened yet.”  She asserts reopening schools is a simple matter of hygiene. Simple hygiene?  Good luck with that.

 

Sorry, but there is nothing simple about returning to classrooms.  Nor should it be left to luck. There is too much we don’t know about this virus. In NY, for instance, we saw a cluster of kids– who tested positive for Covid– experience life threatening inflammatory system responses. Do we willingly expose kids to this possibility when we know next to nothing about it?

And what about the adults? Should teachers be expected to risk their own lives? Before you say that this is an overstatement, look at the stats.  More than 140,000 Americans have lost their lives to Covid since March, including school employees from NYC to rural Arizona.  Should districts reserve beds and ventilators for school staff because their luck might run out?

And this doesn’t even address the families who live in multi-generational households. Will the virus hitch a ride on those new backpacks and notebooks? Hope Grandma is feelin’ lucky.

 

There are so many questions we just can’t answer. School safety requires more than luck. It demands meticulous planning and jackpot level funding. Federal response so far gives us neither planning nor funding.

The question we have to all ask ourselves is this: are we feelin’ lucky? 

 

 

To Class of 2020

 Back in 2001, my students invited me to give the commencement address at the high school where I then worked. Finding the right words wasn’t easy, but in the end, my advice was pretty generic: take risks, be the best version of yourself, find ways to make the world a better place.  

In June of ’01,  9/11 was still more than two months away, the US wasn’t engaged in a two-front war in the Middle East, no one forecast the Great Recession. And a pandemic? What’s that?

  For the Class of 2020, though, there will be no processions, no group hugs, few of the rites of  closure associated with commencement. They will be moving the tassels on their mortarboards in the same isolation in which they finished spring instruction.

Many of our community college students are among those accepting diplomas in cyber space. Their plans vary. For some, the next stop was to have been the workplace. Others had secured transfer spots at four year colleges around the country. And now?  They are all in this vacuum of uncertainty.

What advice can we offer them? 

1. Though you are accepting your credentials in quarantine, you are not alone. The people in your lives who have supported you are still here, proud of what you have accomplished. Let them share this milestone. Send photos. Video chat.  Accept congratulations and encouragement.
2. A pandemic is new, but commencement is always an event of contradictions: an ending that is called a beginning. You are simultaneously thrilled and terrified, exhilarated and exhausted, confident and cautious. Understand that your experience–amplified in 2020– is at once singular and collective. Embrace your emotions as the fuel you need to take your next steps.
3.  Anticipated access may be blocked right now, but new entrances are opening every day. Find your own way into your future. That will look different for each of you and will require effort and thought, but look at what you have already achieved; with work and creativity, you can do this.
4.  And remember, the world needs you right now. No pressure, but you and your classmates represent hope. In what you have learned about your chosen field, about the past and present, about yourselves, see optimism, see potential, see solutions. We see those things and have high expectations for you.
5.  Finally, trite as it all sounds, define your success in human terms, by the people you love who love you back. Be the best version of yourselves. Fear no mistake. Resolve to do one thing each day to improve the world you inhabit.

 

To the Class of 2020, you will have stories to tell. You will face obstacles and opportunities no other class has seen. But you got this. Do what you have to do and do it well.

 

 

 

 

 

Lessons for the White House from Middle School

NOTE: It’s been some time since I went full-on political in this blog, but current events have put us all in harm’s way, changing daily life, maybe forever. We now routinely face life or death situations.  More than 72,000 Americans have succumbed to a torturous death by Corona virus. 72,000 mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, friends. 72,000 lives.  Small businesses are closed, some with no prospect for survival. With job loss, people have also lost access to employment dependent health insurance. In the Michigan statehouse, armed protesters demand an end to the state shutdown. Hungry families line up at food banks across the country. Front line workers put themselves at risk to save lives. 

In the midst of this deadly mess, federal response has been chaotic, ineffective, juvenile. The Senate Majority Leader tossed a lit match into the dry brush of  partisan politics when he called this a blue state vs. red state issue. The president has let us down: he disregards science, manipulates public sentiment for personal self aggrandizement, makes impulsive,inaccurate statements, refuses to take responsibility. 

There’s a lot to be learned from a middle school project.

When I was still teaching middle school, our 8th grade English capstone project was an autobiography. Through a series of structured assignments, students wrote their own life stories as they worked their way through excerpts from the autobiographies of people from all walks of life: Malala Yousefsai, Tim Russert, Sandra Cisneros, Sonia Sotomayor, James McBride, Christopher Reeve, Barak Obama. It was a chance for kids to see their own lives parallel to the lives of those who have changed the world in some way. More than this, it was a chance for kids to see these game changers as kids themselves. The excerpts I chose for our readings centered on childhood and adolescence.  The project culminated in an evening gallery style presentation where students shared their work with their families, friends, and faculty.

An overwhelming student favorite in this unit involved reading Chapter 2 of Colin Powell’s book It Worked for Me and his 13 Rules of Leadership. The former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Secretary of State describes his early life as the son of  hard working Jamaican immigrants. His 13 Rules offers life lessons for success and satisfaction.

After reading Secretary Powell’s suggestions for positive leadership, kids came up with their own rules:

“Resist the urge to distract others. This was hard for me. I like making my friends laugh by doing dumb things. It doesn’t usually go that well, though. This means don’t create a fuss to make yourself a star. You might get a few minutes of fame, but in the end, it doesn’t get you very far. This has worked for me because in the beginning of the school year, I was making way too many jokes. I fell out of my chair in English class. I piled up the weights on the scale in science. People started getting sick of me and my jokes, especially the teachers, and my grades were going down. So once I stopped distracting people, I spent more time working in class. The teachers noticed and told my parents I was trying harder. Now I am on the high honor roll and ready for high school.”

“Be honest. Telling the truth is very important.  Besides, people almost always find out when you lie. It’s not that easy to talk your way out of a lie. I found this out the hard way alright. One day I wanted to go to the mall with my friends but my mom wouldn’t let me. I was begging. I promised to do anything she wanted me to  but she still said no. So I told her I was going to someone’s house and her mom drove us to the mall. The second lie I told was that my mom knew where I was going. It was pretty easy to pull all that off because people still trusted me then.  Of course, my mom found out. I kept trying to make excuses by lying even more, but that only made things so much worse. Finally, I told the truth. I still was punished, but I learned a lesson. It wasn’t worth it. Plus, it took a long time before my mom believed anything I ever said.  After you lie, you aren’t trusted anymore and that feels terrible. Be honest.”

“Read the directions. This sounds silly, but it’s good advice. In fourth grade, our teacher gave us this test and I can’t remember the whole thing, but it was a list of ten directions that told you to read through all ten instructions before doing anything else. Naturally, no one read all ten steps. Everyone just started rushing through the worksheet like it was some kind of race. The first nine were activities like write your name on the back of the page and then draw a heart around it or write a sentence using three spelling words. Number 10 said to do none of the activities, just wait for everyone to finish. To this day, I still remember that test and I always read the directions.”

“It isn’t always about you.  I didn’t make this one up. My Grandma told me this from when I was just a little kid. I used to complain about a lot of things. Too much homework. My sister was annoying. I wanted my own phone.  Then Grandma told me to count how many times a day I was using the words “I” or “me” or “my.” She explained that there are just some times that it didn’t have to be about me. She said I was important but I wasn’t the only person in the world who mattered. This has worked for me because people appreciate it when you put them first and it helps you get along with others. Furthermore, you want to know that people will do this for you when you really need it. Finally, when everyone sees the big picture, life is just easier and better.”

“Don’t be afraid to ask for help. This is my number one rule for life. Mrs. McDougal and Mrs. Smith are always there for me when I need help. But it wasn’t always easy to ask for help. Sometimes I felt like everyone else knew things I didn’t know. It seemed like I was the only one who didn’t get it. No one likes feeling stupid.  So I didn’t ask and I tried to fake it all the time. Let me tell you, that is hard work! You don’t learn anything when you keep trying to pretend you know everything. The thing is, no one knows everything.”

“Love one another. There isn’t that much to say about this. It kind of speaks for itself. No matter what someone wears or what kind of music he likes, he is still a person. Love him just because he is a human being. You don’t have to love all the things he does, either. But you might.  If we can all just love one another, we can be better at all the different things we have to do. Give a person a chance and you could be surprised at how things turn out. It could be hard at times. But it is so worth it.”

Good advice for middle school, good advice for the White House as well. As for the rest of us, we have a choice to make come November. When 8th graders demonstrate more maturity than the current president, it is time to make a change. 

 

 

What A Pandemic Has Exposed About America

Tragedy and challenge can bring out the best in us.

The evening news is full of images of front line heroes as they continue to fight the good fight.  Health care workers, first responders, truck drivers, delivery workers, grocery clerks, teachers all show up daily. These are the folks that have healed us, kept us fed, found ways to engage our kids.

And there are those who continue to serve their communities, filling needs as these needs crop up: hunger, unemployment, loneliness, fear. Grassroots activists are a lifeline for so many.

In these people–during the worst of times– we see the best of humanity. They inspire us to be better than we are; their courage shows us what we could/should do.

 

The flip side of tragedy–the ugly underbelly– is also there for the viewing.

 

Individual villains

Scammers prey on us, price gouging goods suddenly essential to health. Too-good-to-be-true internet offers threaten our most vulnerable.  There will always be people among us willing to take unfair advantage of adversity, happy enough to use grief and fear for personal gain.

However, COVID-19 has exposed systemic flaws that extend beyond self-serving opportunists, societal inequities that, in better times, remain under wraps.

Feeding the nation

Weaknesses in our food chain that emerged even before COVID are suddenly more pronounced. Recalls of tainted beef and romaine were signals of deeper concerns with our food supply. Widespread infection in meat processing plants across the nation prove that our reliance on industrialized food production is misplaced. Trump tried to insist that these plants remain open despite the dangers to their workers’ health.  Today, supermarket meat department shelves are empty and fast food restaurants cannot fill orders for burgers in many of their locations.  Diary farmers in central New York have had to dump huge quantities of milk even as families in other locations are having trouble putting food on their tables.

Poverty

Statistics clearly show that the pandemic is hitting under-served communities hardest. No one should be surprised; poverty makes everything that is bad worse. The poorest among us are most at risk for illness, abuse, unchecked addiction, illiteracy.  Population density in public housing makes residents more vulnerable COVID. Poverty means limited access to nutritious grocery options, healthcare, transportation, education, employment.  In 1961, in his inaugural address, JFK told the world “Never before has man had such a great capacity to control his own environment, to end hunger, poverty, and disease, to banish illiteracy and human misery.” Guess we haven’t used that superpower yet.

Health Insurance

As the pandemic puts people out of work, more are losing their health care, exposing the problems with insurance tied to employment. What happens if you–or your child–breaks a leg, has appendicitis, or needs mental health care and you are no longer insured because you are no longer employed? The pandemic is making us rethink options like Medicare for All, concepts that just a few months ago may have seemed too extreme for  a moderate voting bloc. No American should have to forego medical care for lack of insurance. We owe each other that much.

Hate and Exclusion

And then there is the quiet shame of our culture: the racism, misogyny, homophobia, antisemitism and ultra-nationalism that have existed in the shadows of our famous documents and monuments. We are seeing a rise in hate crimes. Public demonstrations where protesters arrive armed with weapons of war have become part of our national fabric and these protesters are spouting angry rhetoric of hate, rhetoric that has, sadly, been condoned by the president. Crimes against minorities and alternate lifestyle groups are on the rise. Are the promises of equality and respect just talking points or are we willing to put our money where our mouths are to promote these ideals?

What will we do? 

These are but a few of the glaring societal and cultural nasties the pandemic uncovered. At some point, the acute emergencies associated with the pandemic will ease. At that point, we, as a society, as a nation, we face some serious decisions. The pandemic forces each of us to confront these flaws.  New York Governor Andrew Cuomo, in his daily COVID briefing this morning, said that this country is not blue, not red, but rather red, white and blue. Will we leave fellow Americans behind? When the immediate threat of this virus ebbs, will we have the same strength of character, the same courage that our everyday heroes are currently daring us to emulate? Will we emerge from this catastrophe stronger than we were at the start? Will we rediscover our humanity?

 

 

What technology can–and cannot–do for our students

Yesterday I had my first full-length Zoom writing conference with one of our community college students. Up to now, my colleagues and I have been supporting students via an email based platform. Our “dialogues” have taken place in our inboxes. Within obvious limitations, our staff has labored endlessly to make this option work for our students.

Yesterday’s conference was a success from both an educational and a technical perspective. It went off without a hitch and the student left the meeting with a plan and confidence.

Zoom reminded me of what I love about this post-retirement position: our students. And so, it reminded of how much I miss the human element of education, the conversations that constitute learning.

What Technology Is Doing For Students

  Throughout the campus shut-down, we have been grateful that tech has given us the means to continue to do what we do. Students and staff have been able to remain safe at home and move toward a successful completion of the spring semester. I won’t lie; in theory, I embrace technology, but when it came to putting my money where my mouth so often is, I was tentative, hesitant. Nevertheless, I took the leap and thanks to a great set of instructions and my coordinator’s encouragement, cyber space is safe for another day.

So, yes, computers have kept us from falling into an instructional abyss. But there is so much we cannot accomplish with our small screens.

Computers Can’t Create Community

Students and teachers come together to create distinct learning communities. By accidents of scheduling and proximity, a list of names becomes a class and, under the right conditions, a class can become a family. Every grouping is different. When I taught high school English, I carried a pupil load of 125 kids in five sections. Though we worked through the same novels, short stories and poems, every interaction was unique; no two discussions ever started or ended exactly the same way.

   This has been true of my experience on the collegiate level, too.  Sharing writing  demands a level of trust. When we meet students in face to face conferences, our first job has nothing to do with subject verb agreement or thesis statements or text-based evidence. Initially, we have to find ways to prove to students we respect them and their work. We must meet our students where they are. We are creating community, a risk-free zone where it is safe to share the written word.

Each of my colleagues has his/her individual way of making this happen and each of them does it so well. It is the people that make our little corner of the world so successful.

And this is what on-line instruction lacks: the human element, the exchange of ideas, the give and take that characterizes learning.

The Best of Both Worlds

After the threat of this contagion passes, I hope that we can hang onto some of the new ways we have found to stay connected. Even for a newbie, Zoom is a wondrous tool for challenging times.  But I hope we never lose the humanity that we need for real learning.

 

 

 

Corona Blog: How Community College Students Are At Risk

Because of the threat of COVID-19, college students nationwide are now finishing the spring semester on line. In response to this challenge, colleges and universities– like Boston University and Cornell– have announced wholesale changes to their grading policies. Commencements have been postponed or cancelled.  On platforms like Canvas and Edmodo, professors are laboring to create a semblance of continuity and community while maintaining the integrity of their courses. Students are logging on, commenting on one another’s threads, getting through required reading and submitting papers.

It’s a brave new world alright full of uncertainty, isolation, anxiety,  and disappointment.

Full disclosure: I am new relatively new to the community college scene; I am not an expert on collegiate achievement. I am privileged to have found a post-retirement position in a community college academic support center as a writing tutor. Therefore, anything you read here is derived from personal observation as opposed to from data driven research.

Completing the semester will be difficult.

Navigating the novel circumstances created by the novel corona virus is challenging for students with every ideal resource in place. For community college students, completing the course work they began–and paid for–in January could be a task of Herculean proportions.

 

Some community college students won’t be able to access the internet.

It’s easy to assume that everyone is equally cyber linked. But the reality, however, is that some students don’t own computers or printers. They rely on on-campus hardware and connectivity to access library data bases, to submit papers, to get to and print assignments and readings. Under ordinary circumstances, these students find what they need at school.  These aren’t ordinary circumstances. Those resources are no longer available. In addition, under current conditions, other options–public libraries, for example–are closed, too.  Our community college is offering  a limited number of students loaner lap tops, but not every school can do this and it doesn’t solve the problem of accessing the internet.

Academic support across the curriculum continues to be available to our students, but that, too, is internet dependent. Accessing tutorials that had physical presence on campus now happens on line. So much of the support the tutors provided students happened during meaningful dialogues. There is just so much that cyber communication can do to reinvent those conversations.

There is discipline, comfort and support in the classroom.

In addition to on campus resources, seats in classrooms provide students with a predictable routine. There is accountability in being members of a  physical learning community. Many of our students are new to the collegiate experience. Others are adults returning to school after many years.  The discipline and routine of attendance help students meet the academic expectations of college achievement.  Once on campus, professors reinforce independent learning through lecture and in-class activities. There is no substitute for the human interaction that takes place in class.

 

English Language Learners are particularly at risk.

And what of those students for whom English is not their first language? Our campus has a designated center for international pupils, a place where they share the challenges of attending college in a new place and where they find additional resources and support. There are an estimated 49 languages spoken on our campus, but instruction is conducted in English, a disobedient, unruly tongue. Think of through, rough, though; the same sequence of letters result in three different sounds. We use definite and indefinite articles. Verbs and nouns have to agree. Capital letters and apostrophes. There, they’re and their.  It’s hard enough for those of us who grew up speaking English.  Students whose native languages are Spanish, French,  Chinese, Farsi, Croatian, Greek are tackling  demanding coursework across the content area. Face to face instruction allows English Language Learners to participate in discussion, to ask for clarification. On campus, these students have lifelines. At home, in academic isolation, they muddle through using the imprecision of translator apps–if they have access.

Then there are the external pressures on community college kids.

Add to these obvious obstacles the other factors that put community college students at risk. Out of economic necessity, they may be working one, sometimes two jobs, while trying to keep up with their studies. They may be balancing family obligations with coursework. They may be the first in their families to attend college. They may face food insecurity or the threat of homelessness.

Community college students have to dig deeper for strength to succeed.

The pandemic has changed life as we know. The things we took for granted just a month ago have suddenly morphed into a landscape we never could have imagined outside of a sci-fi novel. I hope that students across the nation find ways to make it through these tough times. I fear, however, that many will be discouraged. Community college students have both more to gain and more to lose during these challenging times. To them I say: don’t give up; you can do this. 

 

 

 

 

COVID-19 and High School Juniors

On social media, parents and kids are lamenting the things the Class of 2020 will miss because of the COVID-19 pandemic: proms, ceremonies, yearbooks. 

Yes, all of these anticipated rites of passage will be sacrificed in the name of social distancing for the common good.  And yes, it is sad that these kids will not have the closure activities they expected. But…we don’t always get to say what happens next.

 

It’s the kids who are currently juniors who stand to lose ground right now.

Historically, spring has been when high school counselors help eleventh graders and their families initiate the college search/application process.  Spring is when those of who have taught English 11 typically got our students started on writing the dreaded college essay. Spring is when many colleges ramp up recruitment and campus tours.

This spring, however, is unlike any we have ever seen. Teachers and students are hurtling toward the year’s end via cyber portals and on-line learning. College admission exams scheduled for May have been canceled (at least one school–Boston University–will go test-optional for 2021 undergrad admissions). Local and state tests may–or may not–be factors in pupils’ GPAs.

So what can high school juniors be doing to stay engaged in the college application process?

 

1.If your school offers the option, reach out to your guidance counselor. This expert has access to the most current information about what you have to do and when you should do it.  Your counselor will likely have access to your academic records, too.

 

 

2. One of the things your counselor will likely suggest is to compile a resume of sorts. Create a table of your high school and community activities.  List the name of the activity and a description of the role you played. Be comprehensive. Think of extra-curriculars–sports, student government, clubs–and community/church projects.  Include employment, too.  Colleges often want to know what–beyond academics–you will offer them. Don’t despair if you don’t have an extensive list. Admission committees are good at what they do and they know when students have merely dipped a toe into dozens of activities to pad the resume.

3. Start thinking about the kind of college experience you might like. Yes, this is a challenge because no one knows the future. But you can start thinking about it.  Consider if you think you would be happier in a rural or urban setting. Do you believe you’d like a small/big school? Public or private?  Two year or four year? Commute or dorm?  How far from home would you like to be? Do you have a specific major in mind?  You can use answers to these questions to begin thinking about specific colleges.

4. Do some research. Access websites of colleges that seem to fit your needs. Take the virtual tours. Look at admission requirements and access an application if you can. Think about the academic offerings and explore student life. It is a good idea to take notes because after you have “toured” a couple of colleges, they can all seem to blend. Do keep in mind that web sites are sales pitches, intended to attract potential applicants.

 

5. Pull up the Common Application at https://www.commonapp.org/. Poke around the site. It will give you a good amount of information about the application process.  While not every college accepts the Comm App, more and more schools have gone this route. See if the schools you are interested in are among those listed. You can also check out the  application essay prompts. Some colleges will be satisfied with essays submitted through the Common App; others require supplemental essays.

 

6. Use the Common App prompts to write practice essays. The essays are intended to let you show the admissions committees something your other documents will not tell them. Use the essays to showcase something unique to you, something you will bring to their collegiate communities. You can choose a prompt to describe a job experience, the positive outcome of facing an obstacle, accomplishing something you believed to be impossible, a person you admire. You want to consider how the experience you write about has changed you. What have you learned about yourself? About the world around you?  It can help to open with an anecdote, a story to drop your reader into the moment. 

 

Eventually, this moment of uncertainty will pass and we will get back to school. Life, as we knew it, may never be the same, but with a little luck and a lot of fortitude, we will emerge smarter and stronger.