The value of a dollar

 

As I sit here on the eve of the last two days of school, I find my heart heavy with many mixed emotions. This year proved to be the hardest, most challenging, most sacrificial year of my entire 18 years of teaching in Texas with the least amount of support and appreciation from the families I sacrificed it all for. Yet I don't say that negatively towards them, as it may sound. Their lack of support just evidenced the devastating effects that COVID had on their lives over the last year. They, too, spent this last year in survival mode, just trying to make it to Friday so they could catch their breath, trying to make ends meet, get the kids to school, keep the devices charged and in one piece, provide space and structure for either occasional or full-time online learning that they didn't have a clue how to do, find childcare at the last minute, keep their own jobs with so many mandatory quarantines, and to keep their families safe and healthy. 

I look back over the year with so much sadness, regret, and disappointment, seeing all the materials we never used, the book nooks and beanbag chairs they never sat in to read their favorite books, the science lessons we never go to do hands-on, the small groups we weren't able to meet with consistently, the rich discussions we never had while sitting together on the class rug, the field trips we didn't take, the insects we didn't observe in the classroom, the butterflies we didn't get to release, the class parties we never had, the food we never shared, the books we never touched, the organization we never learned, the hands-on centers we never experienced, the level of rigor we didn't reach, and for some, the closure we won't have yet again for the second year. It didn't take long to pack up my classroom this year because, well, I never had the chance to unpack it from last year. 

That's not to say learning didn't happen. We learned differently. These kids learned so much technology that they'd never used in my classroom before. We learned how to do things in a new way. Some of which may have pushed me into better ways of teaching and learning that match their current reality, some that may benefit them much more for the future they are walking into. Other parts will leave a huge gap in their learning because there are things you just can't learn as well virtually as you can hands on or working closely in a small group. There are discussions that could never take off past the surface while trying to manage students on both sides of a screen, deal with internet issues, students entering late from home, or students who would switch back and forth from school to home on a whim, leaving all sense of consistency, structure, and routine out the window.  By leaving that door open and asking teachers to teach to both groups simultaneously, I firmly believe that we created a bigger problem than we started with that we will be trying to recover for years to come. 

I can walk away feeling positive about two main things that did happen in my classroom this year: my kids found a safe community, and they found their voice as a writer. We literally wrote for 30 minutes every day, if not more, and they all enjoyed coming up to the camera to share how they felt each day and why. They wrote letters to each other at least two or three times throughout the year, we published a class book, we made another paper copy book of their life stories to remember each other, and they learned how to give constructive feedback and encouragement to each other on our class blog. If anything mattered in a year of chaos, their sense of community, belonging, and safety mattered the most. In that, I can say we succeeded. 

The end of the year leaves me reflecting on what I've learned about the value of a dollar. This particular class celebrated me as their Pre-K teacher like no other class had ever done, planning a surprise birthday party for me after showering me with enough flowers and treats to open up my own floral shop for teacher appreciation week. Three years later, teacher appreciation week came and went with three small gifts, and three roses and a single gift for my birthday. And a dollar. One little girl, upon hearing it was my birthday, handed me a dollar from her pocket. "My mom gave me two dollars to buy chips at lunch, but I decided to give one of my dollars to you." I appreciated the three roses and the gift from another student, but that one dollar really touched my heart.  I stuffed that dollar in my pocket, thinking that I wanted to use it for something special because to her, giving up those chips at lunch was a big deal. 

The next day, she spiked a fever and went home midday, only to test positive for COVID, the one thing I tried so hard to protect my kids from all year. The rest of the year kept her online, never to return to my classroom. Another year without a physical goodbye to a student, along with the one who had to leave the country, and the one who had emergency surgery on his stomach. When I really think about it, that dollar was like her goodbye gift, and now I can't seem to be able to spend it. Every time I look at it, I think of her and cherish all the positive things I can remember about her from this year. Because the last full day we spent together, on my birthday, she made that thoughtful sacrifice for me. To me, that physical dollar is worth so much more than it could ever buy.